#<- cataloging for tags at least | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanaticsnail · 1 month

Text

"Good Boy"

Masterlist here

Word count: 3,200+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid didn't know exactly when it happened, but now he craves to be praised by you. He thrives beneath your words, but the one time you didn't call him a "good boy" has him in a bratty rage.

Themes: mutual pining, kid x gn!reader, fluffy, praise kink Kid, he just wants to be a good boy, no kisses just praise.

Notes: it's past 1am where I am, and I physically couldn't get to sleep until I got this request by @remisloves out of my mind. It's all about praise and softening rough characters lately with me. Good night everyone! Sweet blorbo dreams

Tag list: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine

A shudder erupted from the base of Eustass Kid's spine to the top of his cranium. Downturning his chin, he attempted to disguise how wide his smile had risen to his lips beneath the shadow of his blast goggles.

Never one to shy away from a challenge, Captain Kid pushed himself to the absolute limit to best his latest opponent. Blood dripping from his body, his bones bent to the point of nearly breaking. The weight of his metal arm overencumbered his body, his brute strength no longer enough to propel his legs forward.

Successful at last, he claimed their loot in their vast treasury, selecting a few key pieces that caught his eye to present back to you: a former thief, his ships’ appraiser, and now his curator of chronological dialogue, items and routines.

What would possess this hulking captain to risk his body and his crew to collect this small piece of art to present to you? Why would he ever risk such a heavy physical toll for a mere trinket?

Because he was a good boy.

And you always informed him as such.

While Kid saw no need for a chronicler initially, he very quickly warmed to the idea of maintaining one on his payroll. When Massacre Soldier Killer suggested a small snippet of their adventures be cataloged in journals, Kid never knew that reading the words back would prompt a rapid boil beneath his skin. A craving. A need.

Seeing those words scribed on paper held him hostage. Those doting, praising, uplifting words that held such passionate composition regarding his exploits; they pushed him to go further, drive harder, propell longer in his adventures. This was all in an attempt to dream of seeing more of those beautiful words describing him articulated upon paper.

Well, his exploits at least.

Most of all, he craved to hear them depart from your lips. You managed to slip a single verbalized expression of praise once upon his return from doing a menial task. Since then, he was hooked on the rush it brought him.

“Oh, wow! Captain, you've done so well! So unbelievably well!” was that first door opening to the praise he needed.

That small snippet from you, was all well and good in his opinion. He did enjoy your recognition of his talent, but it was not what he craved the most.

And what he wanted the most, was to be told he was, “a good boy.”

He couldn't explain it, but the thought of hearing those words flee from your lips had his eyelids half-hooded, eyes glazed, pupils blackened and blown, and a droopy smile lazily draw itself up onto his lips.

You had only ever come close one time to praising him personally, rather than the talent of his exploits. He felt the flutter of his heart rapidly igniting his veins with adrenaline, screaming with his eyes for you to utter the words he so desperately craved.

And you said it.

You finally said it today.

His feet thumped upon the wooden deck, after he hoisted himself over the small opening on the side of the ship. The ‘away team' had finally assembled together and began greeting those who remained behind.

Rushing to greet your Captain, he shot you a reciprocated, triumphant and winning smile, while happily presenting a small object up to you in the center of his right, flesh hand.

“You found it? You actually found it?” your eyes widened, reaching your hand out to Kid's extended right palm. His body was still dripping with the blood of his enemies, a visible shake in his fingertips as he elevated the trinket up to you.

“It nearly cost me my other arm,” he winced through the words, his forearm beginning to twitch beneath the strain of his exhaustion, “But I brought it back for you-...” he halted his words, pondering whether it was now time to make his affections known or not “...-to add to the collection.”

“For me?” your eyes widened, looking at the shiny and ornate gold filigree design. In the center of the flattened piece lay a single garnet: small, something one would cast aside should more items be presented. But to you, a prized piece in an antique collection you had been dedicating your life to find.

“It's the missing piece, yeah?” Kid smirked, huffing through his words as the rest of the crew assembled atop the Victoria Punk, “The one you told us about last Friday?”

“Honestly, Captain, I don't remember half of what happened last Friday,” you confessed sheepishly, up turning your brows as your fingers brushed against his palm, “You'd think my liver would be able to tolerate being aboard your ship, drinking that slosh alongside the crew by now.”

He barked a cracked cackle at your confession, prompting your own to rise in your chest. His laugh was contagious, a laugh that could be felt through his whole body springing and vibrating up within your own.

“Thank you, captain,” you expressed your deepest gratitude to the taller man, your head nodding in praise, “You don't know what this means to me.”

After a moment's pause, he looked down at the object before bringing his whisky-coloured eyes back up to meet with your own. He inhaled a shaken breath, baited and waiting within his lungs while anticipating his next words.

“S-So,” he stuttered over his words, scolding himself under his own anxiety, “Did I do good? Is this the one you needed? Am I a-...” he didn't want to lead you into giving him the praise he desperately sought, but didn't want to not hear it either.

With all the patience you could muster upon such a triumphant moment in your life, you prompted him with your eyes to have him complete his sentence.

“...Am I a good-...” trying so, so hard to say the final word, he physically couldn't have them pass his lips, “...-Captain?” He mentally slapped himself, knowing that those were not the words he craved and how stupid that must've made him sound.

You took a moment to carefully think about your next words, noticing how bruised he was, how bloody his knuckles were, how a lot of the crew that went with him on this private ‘away mission' were faring upon return.

“Of course you are. You captain us extremely well, sir,” you uttered with a soft smile, “I'll adjust my findings accordingly in the journals, if I may be excused?”

A small puff of air flew from his lips, defeat almost tangibly thick as it shrouded his shoulders with its presence. He looked away after giving his nod of dismissal, his gaze fixed on the wood of the deck below his feet.

Your smile widened, claiming the object from his palm and holding your hand within his for a moment longer, before withdrawing completely. Fluttering your eyes over each fixed point of concern on his features, you searched for what his body seemed to be screaming for.

Thanking him with a curt nod, you turned on your heel and abruptly halted your next step.

At this moment, it fully dawned on you exactly the words your Captain wanted to hear. Eustass Kid, captain of the Kid pirates, champion and leader of the Victoria punk, devil-fruit user and wielder of Haki… had a praise kink. And he wanted you to praise him.

A playful smile spread like warm honey up your cheeks, a scrunch in your nose as you rolled your next words over your tongue. You turned your head over your shoulder, guarding your intentions close to your chest as you spoke two words that almost had your Captain fall on his knees in gratitude.

“Good boy.”

From that moment on, he was simply smitten. No matter what he did, whether it was aiding his crew with carrying supplies, carrying out great acts of violence, defending his Nakama from their enemies, or simply finishing his vegetables at meal time - he would look to you in anticipation, that anticipation being met with those two simple words.

“Good boy.”

They echoed within his mind, swirling around within the chasms of his brain as slumber eluded him. He did not mind in the slightest having his lack of rest consumed with praises departing from your lips.

Your voice plagued him, haunted him as a spectral ghost would hunt down their unfinished business. He did not mind such a haunting, in fact: he wanted more. He wanted to have more praise, more compliments, more of your verbal, beautiful words crying out from your perfect lips.

He was smitten, completely smitten, by your compliments. The way your talented tongue made his name sound, the way your lips curved up in a knowing smirk each time you told him he was a ‘good boy.’

Until the day you didn't.

Eustass Kid was in a foul mood, one that nobody knew the cause nor the cure for such a horrid, stampeding mess of a captain. Food, ales, meads, even gold - nothing appeared to pry him from his raging temper. Breaking tankards, tipping over tables, scattering documents on his captains’ desk, nothing was safe from the wrath he was wreaking on the furniture.

Hunched over your desk, you continued cataloging and appraising the latest haul of trinkets and treasures thrust into your office. It was overwhelming for you, the sheer number of items scattered around your room. You attempted to alphabetize them, sort them accordingly and lump them into itemized piles.

The toll the elevation of work raised onto your shoulders had you dismiss all those who presented you with various finds, including your Captain. He rocked on the ball and heels of his feet, eagerly awaiting and anticipating his sought-after praise - but found nothing but an anxious sigh and scratch of your neck in response to his hard labor.

This was the reason for his intense rage.

After leaving your office, and selfishly paying no mind to your exhausted expression, he began to spiral.

“He was so good. Why didn't you tell him he was? Was there something he could've done better? Something he could've pushed harder to strive for?” all circled within his mind as he tore piece after piece of his office apart.

Several hours had passed, and you carved a hefty chunk of your work apart and managed to get a fair bit done. It was nowhere near complete, but it had you feeling a sense of anxious accomplishment.

A knock at the door prompted you to raise your chin, eyes panicked and overwhelmed with the amount of work still required to be completed before mealtime.

“Need help?” The light flickered off the cerulean and pearl colored mask of the first mate, who peeked his head around the doorframe.

“Please,” you sighed, gesturing to your position kneeling on the ground beside you. Killer promptly entered your office, crouching beside you and sifting through the uncharted treasures still needing to be sorted.

“What we up to?” he elevated his hand, gesturing out to the various piles in front of you both, “I think I see where they need to go. You written down them all?”

“All recorded in the book, down to the last drooped earpiece,” you confirmed, nodding to the mess in the center of the room, “They just need to be put in the right piles, locked in the treasury, and then we can call it a night. Maybe have an ale, if you're up for it, Kil?”

After a moment's pause, both of you rolling the items in your fingertips and placing them within the according: gold, silver, platinum, gemstone, raw material, ceramic, wearable materials, and weaponry piles.

“Leave this with me,” Killer uttered, placing a throwing knife within the weaponry stack, “And you go and perform your other job.”

“What other job?” your brows knit with confusion, “I've already done the journalling of the exploits, the timetabling of the crew shift-changes, notarizing the stock we need within the kitchen-.”

“-Oh, no, buckaroo,” you could audibly hear the smirk behind Killer's mask as he teased you, “the other one. The one nobody pays you to do.”

“Which is, champ?” you taunted in return, nudging him with your shoulder roughly against his, “Be specific.”

“The one where you-...” he took this brief pause as an opportunity to sigh in huffed frustration, “...-where you tell our captain he's a good boy. Although, in his current state,” Killer rotated his neck to relieve the tension on his shoulders, “I might even go so far as to suggest you call him a bad one, considering that's exactly how he's behaving.”

Your confusion knit your brow down in the center of your face, your mind focussing on when the last time you praised the puppy you had turned your Captain into.

“Oh, fuck! I didn't praise him when he brought in the loot!” your eyes widened in shock, promptly rising to your feet and brushing over your pants, “I just got so overwhelmed by the sheer bloody number, I couldn't think of anything else. Oh, I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot,” Killer interrupted you, rising to his own feet and cupping your shoulders in an attempt to halt the rise in your anxiety, “Hell, you're not even dating him. It shouldn't be your job-,” he brushed over your shirt, adjusting the crumpled material to make it more appealing to the eye.

“-Yet here you are,” he concluded, nodding at you before glancing down at the piles of treasure, “And here I am: the first-mate, the best friend, the confidant. The one who is unable to tear him away from his absolutely shit-house mood, because all he wants is you.”

You attempted to stifle the warm flush that drew itself up to your cheeks. Captain Kid was a tall, broad and intimidating man - those were the three assessments you initially made when you were hired to serve aboard the Victoria Punk. Then you got to know him, and were made privy to truly see who he was beneath the surface.

The twinkle behind the feral rage, the purity in his unbridled emotions, the lack of restraint in all his advances: you adored him. When he began to seek out your praises, you were immediately swooning at his attention.

He wanted your words, not just due to the fact words were your job, but because he wanted you to speak them. Just to speak his praises to be granted the luxury of a light tingle in his ears, a blush rise to his cheeks and a smile decorating his lips with such beautiful words.

Now within the doorframe of your captain's office, you arched your brow and crossed your arms. Leaning on the wooden panel, you continued to watch his chest rise and fall with each exasperated and berzerk breath. Your eyes never left his body, each arch of his back and ripple of his muscles straining under the taut fabrics atop his shoulders.

“All this because I didn't call you a good boy?” you addressed him in a low and dangerous tone. His feral eyes snapped over to you, widening as he truly witnessed the devastation in the destruction in his office.

“You've been a bad boy, I see,” you continued in your dark tone, promptly stepping into his office and closing the door behind you, “Look at all this mess. Tsk, naughty.”

The click of your tongue had Kid arching his back, straightening his spine as he bit back a soft whimper. His brows triangulated in the center of his face, bottom lip now quivering under the weight of your disciplinary tone.

Circling his body, fingers brushing against his large right hand beside his hip as you leaned into him. You shook your head, stooping down and beginning to collect the paper, stationary, tankards, and paperweights that had been flung against the floor.

Before you could say a following, disciplinary word, Kid immediately fell onto his knees and began hurriedly picking up the items he threw onto the ground beside you.

“I-I’ll pick it all up,” he nodded his head as to confirm his words further, “I'll tidy up all this shit. Please, I-I’m sorry. I just-.”

“-Just wanted to be praised, hm?” you hummed at him. He hid his head from view, his painted lips pouting while his eyes held their attention firmly against the mess.

He nodded, the weight of finally admitting his craving lifting off his chest and shoulders as he received the items you were holding atop the stack he was forming.

“Tidy up your mess, handsome,” you smiled, elevating your right hand to capture his pointed chin within your thumb and index finger, “I'll watch every step you take, and let you know how good you're being, if you do it properly.”

Kid’s breath caught in his lungs, a pink dust settled against his cheeks and ears. He hurriedly rose to his feet, up-turning his askew desk and dusting off his captains’ chair. He extended it outwards, wordlessly and politely gesturing for you to take a seat.

“My, my,” you commented, rising to your feet and accepting his invitation, “Such a gentleman, you're being. But, you've gotta’ work a little bit harder to earn that title you crave.”

Captain Eustass Kid was a dutiful, whimpering puppy under your watchful eyes. He was, almost, happily rearranging all of the objects he had thrown askew. He even took the time to appropriately categorize the pages he didn't complete prior to his little tantrum.

“Hm, very good. Well done picking up after yourself.” He blushed further at your words, but craved so much more.

“Oh, look at how much time you're taking on that bookshelf. I can even see how clean you're making each of the panels. Look at you go, big boy.” That praise had him whimpering, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to clean in silence.

“So strong, picking up that heavy weight all by yourself. So proud of you.” He could not stop the audible gasp, nor the rush of blood seeping to places they had no business in flooding to at that moment.

He completed all this while glancing over his shoulder and thriving beneath the giddy feeling rushing to his chest upon being the center of your unwavering gaze.

Upon the last paperweight being placed and straightened atop his desk, he knelt between your knees and glanced up into your eyes. He looked innocent of all wrongdoing, all prior anger and malice fleeing from within his silent pleading.

He was desperate for those words, those two simple little words that he so yearned for. Noseying up further between your knees, his shuddering metal and flesh hands cautiously placed themselves gently on your calves.

Soft and slow circles were traced against your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as they began twinkling with hope. All his mind was screaming, silently and internally, was a simple repetition of: “Please, please, please. Say it, say it, say it.”

And you obliged him by leaning down, caressing his left, scarred cheek and drawing your lips close enough to taste the tingle of his breath upon your skin. Hovering before contact was made, you floated your gaze between his whisky-hued orbs and his parted lips with a soft smile.

“Good boy.”

#one piece #x reader #Eustass Kid #eustass kid x reader #op kid #one piece eustass kid #kid x reader #kid x gn!reader #gn!reader #one piece x reader #kid has a praise kink #he just wants to be a good boy #fic request #ask snail #snail answers #snail needs sleep

680 notes · View notes

highvern · 3 months

Text

Patterns: Teaser

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut, 21+

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Warnings: fuckboy wonwoo, friends(?) with benefits, multiple sex scenes, oral (f. & m. receiving), choking, face fucking, multiple sex positions, strength kink, exhibitionism, fingering, handjob, sleepy sex, jealousy, others TBD

Length: TBD

Note: this is a repost of my one shot! It’ll be a multipart series! the fic rn is about half way done and stands at 21k w/o revisions so anticipate it being closer to 40k and it’ll be divided into at least 3 parts or more

Leave a comment or send an ask to be added to the tag list! YOU MUST HAVE AN AGE INDICATOR ON YOUR BLOG TO BE TAGGED!

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Head dizzily bobbing to the music, your eyes slip shut. You know it's Wonwoo at your back, hips following closely, one hand around your waist and the other dragging a path of fire across your thigh.

This wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in this particular position. Since your roommates started dating, whenever alcohol was close enough to serve as a believable excuse, you managed to find each other like super charged magnets; gluing together and drowning in each other’s touch.

It wasn’t like anything more happened. That was the excuse you told yourself after the first time. A girls night out Mingyu and Wonwoo happened to stumble upon. You’d still been upset about the breakup with Seungcheol two months prior, indulging in the shitty white wine that only served to fuel your boldness.

You’d never admit seeking out Wonwoo with the knowledge Seungcheol couldn’t stand him; taking sick satisfaction in imagining the look on Seungcheol’s face as you let Wonwoo touch the way previously reserved for him. You pressed against Wonwoo’s front with little care who saw; a challenging gleam in your glossy eyes, daring him to push away. Not one to be bested, Wonwoo pressed back and the rest is history.

After the first night of the new game, you went home and came embarrassingly fast to the fantasy of what would have inevitably happened if he’d followed. The week after consisted of staunchly avoiding Wonwoo. Guilt and disgust plagued every waking moment, and if you had to look at him you knew you’d feel worse.

Your only real connection was your roommate Lisa dating his roommate Mingyu which meant your evasiveness went undetected for nearly a month before Wonwoo managed to cornered you at a party and demand to know what your “fucking problem” was. It was then you realized he either didn’t remember what happened or didn’t think it was anything to make such a big deal about. You never asked for specific but came to the conclusion: If he didn’t care, then why should you? It was just a bit of fun. A game of chicken neither intended to end.

Each time you came across each other on the weekends after, the stakes increased. Your hands wandered across his chest, cataloging the plains hard muscle hidden underneath the fabric of his shirt. Or your lips brushed against his neck, tongue and teeth following the trail of goosebumps. And Wonwoo called your bluff everytime. His thumb tracing against the underside of your breast while delivering a particularly harsh grind of his hips leaving very little to the imagination. Or when he spun you around, forcing you to look him in the eye as he pawed at the soft flesh of your ass, using his hands to drag you across his thigh between your legs.

But whatever transpired fizzled away by the time the night ended, both of you content to go separate ways and ignore whatever was left on the dance floor (or occasionally a wall). Tonight would be no different. It never was.

Wonwoo was fun to play with but that's all. Throw him flirty smiles, indulge in the bold touches, take a thrill in the chase and then retreat to the safety of the bar or drag one of your friends to the bathroom for a break. He let go without any argument; something you found disappointing much to your own chagrin. But Wonwoo’s eyes never left your figure the second it left his arms. Even if he found a new partner, he would watch you while he did everything he had already done and then all the things he would have done if you stayed.

“Come home with me.” He whispers in your ear, more of a command than a question, breaking the delicate silence surrounding your unspoken attraction.

The air in your chest grows thick. For a second, you think you misheard him, possibly hallucinating that he’s spoken at all. With the thrum of music and shouts it’s not out of the question.

Unable to turn in his grip, you settle for leaning back against his shoulder, neck stretching, giving him a direct view down your top, his eyes privy to the fact that you hadn’t worn a bra.

“Come home with me.” Wonwoo tries again, his hand squeezing your waist gently, pulling you closer to his body to feel the evidence of his arousal.

It's just the next level to the game, you think. The fantasy is tempting; taking you back to his apartment, spreading you out across his bed and making good on all the promises he’s teased into your skin for months.

If he wants to play, you’ll play too.

“What’s in it for me?” you hum, lips brushing his ear in a mimic of his motion moments ago.

Wonwoo responds with another curl of his hips against your ass.

God, he’s good at this. Wonwoo is the only guy to spark any kind of interest since Seungcheol left months ago. Not for lack of trying but they were either too tall, too short, weird hair, awful laugh. The list of excuses goes on and on. Subconsciously, you’d been comparing them all to the man behind you and found each of them lacking. But if Wonwoo wants to progress to the next level, he’ll need to work for it.

“Not convincing enough.” You chide.

The hand on your thigh pauses, taking a second to squeeze the supple flesh before setting a new course. Wonwoo moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop his advance if you wish. Not sensing an objection, he pushes forward. Even over the thick denim of your jeans, the scorch of Wonwoo’s palm against the zipper burns. Continuing lower, he grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed pussy, nothing more than mockery of the real thing but it has you shuddering all the same; shoulders caving as you clench around nothing. The slope of your shoulder stings under his mouth, licking waves of fire across the nerves with each nip of his teeth.

Wonwoo pants against the shell of your ear on the next rock of his hand, laughing as your nails dig into his wrist before he whispers, “Unless you want our friends to watch, trust me.”

You need to see his face; need to look in Wonwoo’s eyes and find out if he’s trying to rile you up or if he’s serious.

This time when you move, Wonwoo allows you to turn in his hold. The look in his eyes tells you he would take you right here if he thought for a second you’d let him. He isn’t trying to just get a rise out of you and see you squirm. Wonwoo isn’t playing a game.

He wants you.

You nod once and Wonwoo has you both out the door and on the way to his place before the song ends.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu @lonebookshelf

#svthub #wonwoo smut #svt smut #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #seventeen smut #wonwoo fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fic #svt fic #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #wonwoo imagines #🫡 highvern

665 notes · View notes

https-yeonjun · 2 months

Text

[8:50pm] (c.sn)

wc. 1174

genre. smut

tags. san x fem!reader, neighbors to lovers (kind of ?), one sided enemies to lovers, college au

a/n. repost; i don't really write for ateez and i don't write for san but i originally wrote this for @skyechild for @/cultofdionysusnet secret santa and i am no longer affiliated with that network so i wasn’t going to post it but i decided to anyways <3

more of my work

with his head nuzzled in between your thighs, your hands tightly gripped san’s hair as your eyes rolled back. “fuck, you’re so good at that.” you moaned out.

earlier that day, you sauntered into the student lounge of your dorm building. the anticipation of a quiet evening alone palpable, you cradled a bag of popcorn and your coziest blanket in your arms. you expected to be the only person in the building, everyone else going home for the holidays. however, as you turned the corner, your joy evaporated into surprise when you spotted someone already occupying the couch.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, your smile vanishing as you approached. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” the scowl on your face deepened as you recognized your less-than-friendly next-door neighbor, sprawled on the couch, legs spread wide, engrossed in his phone.

“are you going to be here long?” you asked, tone dripping with rudeness. “because if you’re not using the tv, i would really like to use it.”

his eyes met yours briefly before he rolled them dismissively. “why would i be sitting here if i wasn’t going to use the tv?”

ignoring him, you settled on the couch, snatching the tv remote from the coffee table in front of you. the air crackled with passive-aggressive remarks as you questioned his purpose in lingering in the deserted building during the holiday. “are you going to leave?” you asked him.

“i didn’t know you owned the lounge.”

“ugh,” you groaned in frustration. “i mean don’t you have literally anything else to do?”

his response was delivered with a casual shrug. “there’s no one else in the school, so, not really, no.”

rolling your eyes in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief, you diverted your attention back to the screen. with a swift maneuver, you turned on the tv, the soft glow illuminating the room as your scrolled through the catalog. your fingers danced over the remote, selecting a movie randomly, one you hadn’t seen yet but hoped would serve as a brief escape from the strained atmosphere.

“are you really watching this?” he scoffed.

“is there a problem?” you fired back, your defensiveness betraying your irritation.

“these hallmark movies are so corny,”

“who cares? they’re classics.” you argued back

“corny,” he teased in a singsong voice.

determined to enjoy your morning, you dismissed his commentary with a pointed, “are you going to talk for the entire movie?” the question hung in the air, effectively shutting him up, at least for the moment.

as the rightfully corny yet endearing plotlines unfolded on the screen, you found yourself succumbing to the comfort of the couch, the flicker of the tv lulling you into a state of drowsiness. the feisty banter between the two of you had transitioned into an unexpected truce, and you drifted into a slumber with your head resting against san’s shoulder.

hours later, you stirred from your nap. blinking away the remnants of sleep, you were met with the sight of san under you, now engrossed in texting on his phone. the tv was off now, but he didn’t move you from where you laid, until he realized you were awake.

“hello sleeping beauty.” he greeted you with a lighthearted smile as you woke up.

“sorry about that,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“it’s all good. do you want to get food?” he suggested, breaking the post-nap silence.

the two of you walked to one of the only open dining halls on campus. the warmth and aroma of food greeted you, contrasting the silent lounge you had just left behind. the clatter of dishes and chatter from the food workers enveloped you as you settled into a booth.

you found yourselves engrossed in conversation, the hours slipping away until the workers kindly ushered you out as they prepared to close.

walking side by side, the chilly air of the winter night seemed to thaw the lingering awkwardness between the two of you.

“you know, i thought you hated me.” you confessed to him amidst the laughter as you two walked back to the dorm.

“what?” san’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his strides slowing as he processed your admission.

“when i moved in, i bumped into you in the hallway with my cart.”

“i don’t remember that.”

“yeah, but since then, you would always blast music at night.”

“so, you thought i was getting revenge on you?”

“yeah, it sounds stupid now.”

outside the dorm building now, the night wrapped around you like a comforting shroud. “do you want to hang out in my room?” his invitation broke the silence.

you nodded and followed behind him. as the door creaked open, the room revealed its poster adorned walls and the soft glow of the string lights around his bed. “you can sit wherever,” san offered, gesturing to his neatly made bed.

he settled on the bed beside you.

you’re not sure what shifted, or when it shifted, but the next thing you knew was the feeling of san’s hands cupping your face. “i’ve wanted to do this since you fell asleep on me earlier.” he said before pulling you into a kiss. your hands found the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to your body.

as the kiss deepened, the two of you rushed to undress each other.

“can i eat you out please?” he asked you, placing delicate kisses along your jawline. “please, i just want to make you feel good.”

you nodded eagerly and he took it as a sign to kiss down your neck to your stomach. you gripped onto his hair as he pulled your panties down to your ankles, the light touch of his fingers on you legs sending chills down your spine.

“tell me if you want me to stop.” he looked up at you with his pretty cat eyes.

“san, please,” you breathed out, “just go please,”

he lowered his face and you felt everything as his mouth latched onto your cunt with his tongue flicking over your clit repeatedly. you jerked your hips forward trying to feel every part of him. you wanted him so bad and he was just reveling in how desperate you were for him.

“you taste so good,” his voice was muffled, vibrating against you. you felt the warmth of his breath radiating on your cunt as he re-attached his lips around your engorged bud, sucking onto it and sending shockwaves through your body.

you felt yourself come undone against his wet muscle, your hips twitching with loud moans and whines. in that moment, you thank the universe that you’re probably the only two people in the building.

your chest heaved and you tried to collect yourself. but you didn’t have enough time because before you knew it, you felt his strong hands grip tightly on your thighs, pulling you down and into a kiss.

you pull away from the kiss, cupping his face that is covered in your slick. “are you going to fuck me now?” you ask him.

taglist: @atinyniki @bunnie-hq @wiisoob @isabellah29

fill out this form to join my taglist!

#fay's works #san smut #choi san smut #choi san fluff #san fluff #ateez fluff #ateez smut #san x reader #ateez x reader

292 notes · View notes

palipunk · 4 months

Note

Hey there sorry to bother, but I’m very interested in traditional Palestinian tattoos but I can’t find any good sources or information on them. Do you have any recommendations? Thanks so much in advance ! I’m Palestinian, but was raised so distantly from our culture I’m hungry for more if you know what I mean ♥️🇵🇸

Not a bother!

I will be honest, there really aren't many resources online that go into detail about them. A lot of information about them just hasn't been recorded and they've faded away, as older generations of Palestinians die, their tattoos and their meanings have gone with them. A lot of the Palestinians still wearing these tattoos are older Bedouin women.

I uploaded this post a few years ago with some illustrations and I answered an ask about it with some links and discussed traditional tattooing practices in West Asia between Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians, and Yazidis (there are some overlapping symbols and meanings with the tattooing throughout the region). Tattooing in Palestine is hard to document because we've been forcefully exiled all over the world. A lot of Palestinian traditions, including tattooing, were uprooted with the destruction of Palestinian society during the Nakba. There are a few different terms for it, depending on what language or what dialect of Arabic you speak, but dag/deq/dakk/daqyit are all ones I've seen used.

I also have to say that many of the meanings within the tattoos were discussed either only between the tattooer and the client or were based on one's own community or tribe. Just for example: Some tattoos or combinations of markings can distinguish a person's tribe (this is something more common for tattooed Bedouin women) or village or it could be for health, protective, religious, or cosmetic reasons. My Great-Grandmother had them for cosmetic reasons, it was just something they did in her village according to my father - sometimes tattooing is regarded to be like jewelry.

The tattooing itself would be done with a needle and the ink would be made of ink or smoke residue (sometimes breastmilk was included) and then punctured into the skin. The few articles or books I've seen it referenced in have made note that the tattooers were usually Domari artisans.

He's in the second link but I will always highlight @siinlayth 's work on cataloging tattoos in West Asia, he's a bedouin artist and has spent lots of time putting this carrd together if you'd like to browse: https://southwestasiantattoos.carrd.co/#gallery

I'll just include some more images here:

{I haven't posted about traditional tattooing in a while (none of this is directed at you butchorc) but the last time I uploaded stuff about tattooing in Palestine on my blog, I had people (who were not Palestinian in the slightest) reblogging it with tags saying it was for DND inspiration and putting information about our tattooing practices on their DND blogs for "character reference" - do not do this. Please treat our customs respectfully, this is a dying practice that we are trying to preserve- I will block anyone I see doing this.}

I hope this was at least a good starting point! I hope things go well for you and you can learn more about your culture, best wishes!

#ask #palestine #butchorc

383 notes · View notes

alicerosejensen · 7 months

Text

Tags: Dad!Leon(Older), Leon is the girl's father; fluff.

Warning: There are none.

He was really afraid of becoming a father. It's not so much the news of your pregnancy that scares him, but the likelihood that an innocent child may be harmed. His child. Leon is paranoid to worry about you and the baby. He'll probably get drunk before he puts that thought in his head. Don't get him wrong, he wants a family, he had plans after completing the police academy to get married in a few years and have two children, he still wants a family, but his fear devours this desire entirely because he knows that if something happens to the child and you one day, he just won't survive it.

It takes two to tango so I don't think he'll start getting angry and blaming you for everything. Leon just needs a little time, but when this happens and he thinks it over, he will want to transport you to some place that he thinks is safe.

You might have to get into a long debate with him, but this guy doesn't want anything like the Winters family to happen to his family. If someone kidnaps his child, he will simply go wild.

Due to the fact that he is a government agent, all information about you is classified. Also, if a bioterrorist attack suddenly occurs, you will be quickly evacuated along with your child. At least that's what Leon wants to believe.

The house will be nice and simple (perhaps like the Baker's house but without additional extensions) I think Leon likes something classic and cozy rather than modern and abstract. It is unlikely that you will be against it, especially since he does not skimp on quality items and excellent appliances.

Your child will definitely have a great room at all stages of growing up. But when the baby is born, Leon will still insist that the baby girl sleep next to him and with you for the first time. He would have put her in the middle of the bed, but since it was not safe, he agreed to just put the crib on his side. He's just calmer that way.

“Look, I found a catalog with a whole selection of cribs. There are different options, classic, round, even some very strange ones, what position should the child lie in?”

You will laugh, but in the end you will find the right option. Not too expensive, but first you need to explain to Leon that the baby in the first months of life will definitely not be whimsical in which bed he sleeps on. Leon, of course, knows this, as well as the fact that many of the toys that he has already ordered will not be needed by his daughter until at least six months, but he cannot do anything about it.

Choosing a name is a whole challenge. You two will have a debate about this when you find out the gender of the baby. Leon will want a simple name and will roll his eyes when you read him rare names from your notebook.

"Laura, Mary, Ashley, Sarah, Jessica, Kate? These names are for weaklings! Need something crazy and original, right?"

It will really be difficult, but he will win and his daughter will have a normal name.

When his baby is born and Leon holds her for the first time… you will see tears running down his cheeks. He would have kissed this pink, swaddled bundle of joy, but he just sat there, held her in his arms and cried from the fact that he was now the father of a little girl.

This girl will be lucky as hell. Her father would literally give her the whole world at her whim so you're a little worried that she might grow up spoiled. However, while she is a baby, your only problem is the fact that your daughter loves to be held in her arms because Leon constantly carries her around the house, showing her things and telling her some stories.

Leon will wake up at the first cry and immediately try to calm her down. Change a diaper? hungry? If you are not breastfeeding, Leon will easily prepare the formula and feed her. Sometimes you think that he is a better mother than you.

The best toys, a special children's area when your daughter begins to explore the world around her, beautiful and comfortable onesies. Your daughter will definitely have a bodysuit with the inscription "daddy's princess"

A stern special agent in the White House and on missions, Leon becomes an affectionate bear at home.

He is a truly caring dad. Watching cartoons with her, coloring coloring books, playing games when she grows up. This child is the only person who can attack him from behind and Leon’s reflexes simply won’t work.

Often he needs your help and advice on what to do best. He will especially need your help when her first childhood love and first broken heart happen. Because he can get really angry at anyone who causes his baby any pain. He really doesn’t understand how it’s possible not to love her, but more on that later.

At the age of 3-6 years, Leon can only be seriously shocked by some accidental injury or illness. Be serious but he will panic even if it is a common cold. You will have to work hard so that he doesn’t drop all his business and take your daughter straight to the doctors for all the examinations. Of course, you will dissuade him, but he will repeatedly check the baby while she is in bed. He will kiss her on the forehead and lie with her for a while so that she does not worry (even if she was initially calm). It would also literally break his heart if Leon heard you sneeze.

She will definitely be daddy's princess. She almost literally walks on his head, does her dad's hair with pink bobby pins and combs his bangs, and paints his nails with polish. Leon allows her to do almost everything to him. But of course he won't come to work with pink nail polish.

Support any hobby. It could be dancing, drawing or playing football. The main thing is that she likes it herself.

What Leon definitely won’t allow is to look into his safe where he stores weapons and ammunition. The password will be complex and only he will know it. This is one of the few things that Leon forbids his child.

He, of course, loves his baby and is ready to do anything for her, but… he won’t have a second child. Every time he returns home, a terrible thought comes to his mind: “What if something terrible happens to my family.” He often has a nightmare in which you and your daughter have turned into zombies, so he will need a drink.

I think one day, when your daughter woke up, she left her room and went down to the first floor, holding in her hands the plush bunny with whom she usually sleeps. She saw her father sitting at the table with a bottle of whiskey as he simply looked thoughtfully into his glass.

Leon, of course, immediately noticed her and looked at her. God, tears will immediately flow from his eyes when he stretches out his hands to her and your daughter runs to him. His arms wrap her tightly in his arms and pull her onto his lap. You will see this picture and the perplexed look of children's blue eyes turned to you when your husband is just sitting at the table, holding his beloved child and crying because he is fucking AFRAID!

You understand why Leon behaves this way. He finds it difficult to get rid of these thoughts because of his job. He survived Raccoon City, Tall Oaks, saved the president's daughter in Spain from parasite-infected fanatics, and a whole bunch of other crap that you probably don't even know about. He has every reason to be afraid and sometimes you regret that you did this to him. Although you know that Leon loves your daughter with him, the very thought that something like this will happen to her simply destroys him to the core.

Your little girl wipes the tears from his cheeks and kisses her daddy on the cheek, telling him that he doesn’t need to cry. Leon simply presses her too tightly, feeling her scent. If he could put an end to zombies and their creators once and for all…

Leon will take her and you back to the bedroom. Next to the two of you, he will be able to sleep a little peacefully, but you know that his sleep is never sound.

You try to talk to him but he pushes you away. He really loves you, but he hates it when people mess with his brain. Of course, whiskey is a bad medicine and Leon himself does not want his daughter to find out that her dad sometimes has the weakness to drink, thereby ignoring his problems, but still… no matter how hard he tries to be perfect, he is not perfect.

When your daughter goes to school, Leon will rejoice at any of her successes. She will also help with homework as much as needed. He will explain everything in detail, clearly and without shouting (sorry, this is a sore subject for me).

He will not always be able to attend school events, unlike you, but if possible he will not miss them. However, he asks you to record everything on camera.

Oh yes, on his desk at home there is a framed family photo of the three of you in the park, joyful and carefree.

So, adolescence is…complicated. Leon understands that his baby will begin to grow up and has no problem organizing small changes in her room. And he also understands that hormones are coming into play. Sometimes screams and anger accompanied by loud slamming of the door are simply inevitable.

That's the time when he can really start to get angry and swear in response, so you realize you need to cool his temperament… The truth is that you really have to punish your daughter when she crosses all boundaries.

Nevertheless, if something suddenly happens, she will always run to Leon, knowing that he will protect her. He may be angry, but as mentioned above, he will do everything possible so that nothing happens to his family.

Partying with friends at night? Absolutely not! Never! Have pity on the old man's heart. Leon will find a bunch of reasons not to let her go anywhere at night. After all, there will be alcohol, shitty guys who can offend her or get her drunk and take advantage of this by ruining her life. Perhaps Leon will exaggerate, but until the age of 16 he will definitely be adamant about this. Sometimes being the daughter of a government agent just isn't possible.

And then, before letting her go to the party, he will sit her down on the sofa and give her a long lecture, telling her to always watch her drink, drink only what she pours for herself or is poured in front of her. If are distracted, do not drink under any circumstances, but take another glass! If someone pesters her, he will show several self-defense techniques and immediately tell to call him. Well, the cherry on the cake - he still won’t allow her to stay there all night. He also won’t bother with calls, but she will need to respond to all his SMS, if not… he will come right away.

Even you yourself will get tired of this overprotection, realizing that Leon often goes too far.

But you ask your daughter to be more lenient towards her father, because he is simply worried about her life. However, when you are young and have not seen what Leon saw, it is difficult to understand his actions and behavior.

There will be conflicts and there will be a lot of them.

The only thing that can make your daughter understand the actions of her father is if someone kidnaps her and confronts her with the infected, forcing her father to go to another wilderness inhabited by the infected. (bad version of events).

Leon will immediately go after her, promising you that he will return her safe and sound. He remembers how he saved Ashley, but she was already an adult girl and not a teenager who, at most, had seen horror films on TV.

Leon, like Barry or Ethan, is ready to kick the ass of any bastard who hurts his baby. In any case, he will do everything to save her.

I imagine this concept as a teenage girl hiding behind her father's back, holding on to his kurta or vest while he shoots enemies, sometimes throwing improvised objects like bottles or stones, stunning the opponents.

After returning home, she will hug you tightly and cry for the hundredth time, promising her father that she will no longer contradict him.

There is no need to say what condition Leon himself will be in after this personal rescue mission. All three of you will experience extreme stress after what happened.

In a good scenario, bypassing the kidnapping, peace between father and daughter would most likely have come much later, when the teenage years would have been long behind us. Probably this realization would have come to her when her naive view of the world ceased to be naive and she began to understand what her father had been struggling with for many years.

Oh yes, about first love. Leon would definitely be vigilant and keep a close eye on everything. He has a whole database and he will immediately run through all the boy’s data, having learned everything about him, and yet he doesn’t really like the idea that some dubious guy is hunting for his daughter.

If Leon realizes that this is an ordinary bastard who runs after every skirt… well, he will find a way to take him away from his treasure. If not and he's just a normal guy… he'll just watch and give a couple of warnings.

The first parting… Leon consoles as best he can, but he has no idea what to do. He himself got drunk and slept through his first day of work, but this option is definitely not suitable. That's why he needs your help again.

"Movies, books, maybe give her something? What can I do to stop her crying into her pillow?! I don't know what else to tell her!"

In the end, he will gain strength and give a good speech, comforting your daughter's broken heart. After all, life does not end with one boy who, in Leon’s opinion, only proved that he is not worthy of his daughter.

He's a good dad. Not ideal, but your daughter wouldn't want it any other way. Of course, she is sad that he may not be home for a long time and sometimes he is too suspicious, but he is her dad who will move the earth for her.

407 notes · View notes

bucketsofmonsters · 3 months

Text

Deep Water - Part 2

cw: the ocean, talk of being drowned, loss of a sibling, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, drying off under the morning sun. It was easier than getting up and doing what you came here to do. But eventually, the rocks under you began to dig into your skin through your clothes and the warmth of the sun and your drying clothes stiffening from the salt in the water made you restless. You had to get up, to go somewhere.

The dock was the last place you wanted to be. It held a horrible ending and an even worse beginning.

But everywhere else in this new, unforgiving place seemed worse. At least you knew what was waiting for you on that dock. However horrible it was, it held something you understood.

And so you got up on stiff legs and stretched, fighting against pins and needles to walk towards the moment you’d fought to get to, the moment you’d been dreading more than anything.

The ground beneath you shifted from unstable stones to steady, aging wood, vibrating with the steps of dozens of people rushing around you.

It was just as hectic as the dock you had left from. There it had been a boon, the exact thing you had used to sneak onto that accursed ship.

You appreciated it here too. With dozens of people that had a thousand things to do, you felt invisible. No one had time to gawk at you, to ask if you belonged there. They didn’t have time to care.

You watched them as they passed and couldn’t help but wonder how many of them knew Isobel. How many of them greeted her with a smile every morning? How many people looked forward to seeing her every day?

You imagined it was many of them. She’d always had that effect on people.

But she wouldn’t any longer. And you were left to struggle to fill the hole she’d left behind.

That was why you were here. The pretense was that it was for her funeral arrangements, contacting the only family she’d ever told anyone about while she was still here. But really, you were here to take her place, replace her in the job she’d carved out for herself. They’d said as much in the letter, that they’d found her a shocking loss and you were welcome to pick up where she’d left off.

It was said more tactfully, of course, with much more focus on her coming to arrange the funeral for her dearly missed sister. However, they all knew it would hardly be a lavish affair, just whatever would be paid for by the church. She could mourn her sister just as easily back home as she could here. But a job, that was enough to have her hiding on a cargo ship.

Isobel has been an inventory taker, keeping the sailors honest, a job that probably would have been aided by you not being caught as a stowaway, but you weren’t particularly worried. They’d barely gotten a good look at you in the dark and even if they did, it had been for just a moment. With any luck, they wouldn’t dock here again, had left while she was sleeping on a quiet little island with a typically deadly monster.

The more you thought back on the last day, the less it made sense to you. It all felt fast and addled. Everything in you wanted to think you’d hallucinated it. If it weren’t for the fact that you were still standing here, alive, you’d be convinced you’d had.

And then you saw the last thing you wanted to see. You saw a ship that was sickeningly familiar. You didn’t recognize any of the men’s faces. You hadn’t had any real chances to see them, other than through holes in your hiding place and in your panic in the endless rain.

They looked like normal men. If they weren’t standing on that awful ship, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart from anyone else.

It felt wrong.

Something in you didn’t expect them to look like average men. In your head, they were monsters, the evil visible on their faces.

Your eyes darted over them, your mind trying to catalog as many of their faces as possible. The idea of seeing one of them someday and not recognizing them, of just seeing them the same way you’d see anyone else, sent a bolt of panic through you. You needed to know them, you couldn’t let yourself be caught off guard.

And then one of them locked eyes with you and you froze, unable to move, to run, to do anything without outing yourself. You knew that there was no way he knew who you were and yet somehow you were convinced that he knew, that exactly who you were was written all over your face.

He started walking towards you while you stood frozen. You willed your feet to move, tried to tell yourself there was nothing strange about just walking away, but some instinct deep inside of you screamed that if you moved he would know, that it would be just as obvious as turning around and running.

He greeted you with a smile and you felt a bile rise in your throat, fighting to keep the terror off of your face.

“You’re Isobel’s sister, aren’t you?” he asked, oblivious to the disgust and fear settling inside you. “You look just like her. Maybe a bit more nervous, but I never met her on her first day.” He chuckled as he spoke and you wanted to hit him, to run, to do anything. How could he just stand here and talk to you? How could he not know, not sense it somehow? “You’ll do just fine. I’m sure it all runs in the family, you’ll pick it up in no time. It is a shame what happened to the lass.”

“It was,” you said, your voice sounding stunted to your ears.

“Aye. Well, just take the run of our ship for me, let’s get everything sorted as soon as possible.”

You tried to shuffle off, refusing to meet his eye. “I haven’t even started working here yet.”

“It doesn’t really matter, you just need to make it official. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it you get paid. We’re all rooting for you, you know. God knows we’ve heard enough about you, Isobel’s brave, clever little sister.”

As he spoke, he laid a hand on your shoulder, one that you were sure was meant to be reassuring. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the people who threw you overboard, if those hands were one of the ones squeezing your wrists so tight you had just begun to see the bruises.

You agreed quickly, more in a rush to get away from him than anything. You knew you weren’t in any real danger but still, being anywhere near that cursed ship made you feel queasy.

You boarded the ship, knees feeling weak as soon as your feet hit the deck.

You hurried below deck as fast as you could, knowing you were doing a very poor job of looking unaffected by the whole ordeal. You quickly found yourself in the same room you’d hidden in. You saw your shawl stuck behind the heavy boxes, sitting, abandoned and smashed, against the wall.

You weren’t taking inventory of anything while you were down there, with no means with which to do so or any idea of what you were looking for. You didn’t really know what you were doing. It was a difficult job to do without guidance but you knew they didn’t really want you to do it. All they wanted was the stamp of approval that they were sure meant little, the one that you did not have the authority to give.

If you’d had the ability, you just might have given it, although not for the reason he’d imagined. You just wanted them gone, considering risking a job you needed badly just to get them away from you.

Maybe you’d feel different when you left the ship, when you were no longer being faced with reminders of what had happened.

It seemed too calm like this. Like surely some signs of your struggle and terror should be strewn around the room. The only thing that even marked your existence was that abandoned shawl, barely visible behind crates that were stacked high.

You stood down there, listening to the sound of boots on the deck above in the familiar room until they got more and more distant. Finally, with no idea how long you’d been standing down there, the echoing footfalls largely dissipated and you peeked your head out the door, set on slipping away.

As you did, slinking off the skip back onto the dock, working to get lost in the crowd before any of the other sailors could spot you as you fled, you heard the sounds of shouting surrounding you.

You turned to see severed fishing nets held in the hands of deeply upset sailors.

It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying but you caught wind of cursing at sea monsters amidst accusations that some ravenous creature has chewed through their nets for the easy prey.

Despite the frustrated cursing at sharks and monsters, you thought that, at least to your untrained eye, they didn’t look like they’d been chewed through. The cuts were too neat for that. Instead, they looked like they’d been cut, cleanly and meticulously.

“You know what I think,” someone said, and it took a moment for you to realize that the voice was speaking to you. You turned to see a man, one of the younger ones here, leaning conspiratorially into your side. “I think they’re getting cut on the rocks.”

You hummed noncommittally.

The man didn’t seem to mind your lack of response. “A group of piss-poor sailors, can’t even miss something that doesn’t move.”

That managed to earn a quiet chuckle from you.

He turned, really taking you in for the first time. “Hold on, you’re new, aren’t you?”

You nodded, sparing him a glance before your eyes darted back to the upset men and their shredded net.

He was a rather ordinary boy, a medium brown hair, lightened from long hours of working in the sun, dark eyes, and freckles creeping up his cheeks. He seemed altogether more interested in you than you were in him but then again, you were the newcomer here.

You should probably be friendlier, make nice with him. He looked like he worked here so you imagined you’d be seeing a lot of him.

He stuck his hand out, having to back away from you a little to create enough space between you for a handshake.

You took his hand and he gave it a quick shake, his hand warm and rough.

“I’m Finn. Are you taking Izzy’s job? I should’ve guessed, you look just like her.”

You shrunk a bit at the comment. You didn’t think it was true, not in the ways that counted. You saw so little of yourself in her.

But this man couldn’t know that, couldn’t know anything about you really. You hadn’t so much as spoken a word to him.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, your voice coming out quieter than you’d meant it, a breathiness sneaking its way into your tone.

He gave you a big, bright smile. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Has anyone helped you or have you just been milling about? Your first day here and we’ve already failed you. What would poor Izzy think?”

You gave him a halfhearted smile as he spoke, in no mood to hypothesize about what your dead sister would think of you now.

Finn didn’t mind, taking your hand in his once more and leading you through the crowd of people towards a building to the side of the dock, just barely on dry land.

He turned to you, another brilliant smile plastered across his face. “Here you are, ma’am, they’ll be able to take care of you in here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early. If no one else offers to show you the ropes, come find me, alright?”

You offered him a smile that you hoped was even half as big and genuine as his seemed to be. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

With a stilted little bow in parting, he walked away, leaving you with nothing to do but enter the building.

It was a small building, with not much room for anything inside. Most of the space was taken up by boxes and papers, with one lone desk against the back wall. An older man was sitting at it, hair looking overgrown and unkempt, streaks of gray working their way through it. He had a rather severe look about him, eyes sharp and pointed. He was reading something carefully as you entered.

His head jerked up to see you and it hit you suddenly that you should have knocked.

“I’m Isobel’s sister,” you blurted out. “You sent word to my family that she passed, you said if I hurried here I could take her place?”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and he settled back in his chair, eyes darting up and down to fully take you in. “Ah yes. Shame, that. She was a hard worker. Begged me for the job for days, swore she’d do anything to keep this dock running, that we’d never find a better worker. Smile on her face the whole time.” There was something unspoken in his gaze as he looked at you, a quiet challenge asking if you’d do the same. “And they sent you?”

You decided not to mention that really, there was no they. Your family was an independent people. Frankly, you hadn’t even known whether Isobel was alive or dead between the letters you got maybe once a year, if you were lucky. That’s what you’d thought that awful letter was, written on the same stationary she used. You imagine she borrowed it from whoever had written of her death. Or stolen it. You liked to imagine she’d stolen it, the little bit of extra danger she would have gone through to write to you leaving a warm feeling in your chest.

“They did,” you said, with the sweetest smile you could muster.

“Good. And you can read, we know that. How’s your attention to detail?”

“Immaculate, sir,” you said, straightening your back as you spoke. “I will be just as good as she was, I swear it.”

It was a lie, but it was one you could stomach.

“Good. I’m taking a chance on you, you know. But then again, I was taking a chance on her and anyone who works on this dock will tell you she was the finest worker we ever had.”

You smiled, and this time you meant it. “I’m sure she was.”

“Now, down to business,” he said as he shuffled some of the many papers on his desk around. “We’ve had some issues before, people fudging numbers, sneaking off with pieces of shipments. We have a reputation to uphold. If anything happens with any of them, it's on your head. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now what was special about your sister is she took the inventories in the ships without being largely despised like some of the others before her were. My advice? Play nice. Those men out there can make your life real easy or real hard. They’ll be nice to you, you’re pretty like she was. Try to keep it that way. Just don’t let anything they say go to your head. You report to me every morning and every night. Any questions?”

You shook your head. “No sir.”

He gave you a firm nod and then you were onto paperwork, setting up matters of payments and of reporting in. You took careful note of everything that he said, intent on getting this right. You had no other choice.

By the time you managed to get out of there, everything signed and squared away, the sun had begun to fall below the horizon. The docks were quieting, although they were far from empty. People bustled around in the orange light of the dusk.

The glowing sky reflected in the waves, shining back up at you from below. And amidst the reflections of auburn light and a dusting of clouds was a face, shaggy blonde hair framing cheeks with white scales reflecting the fading sun.

Just the top of his head was peeking above the surface, everything below his nose still under the water. His eyes were staring right up at you, watching you patiently.

You frantically looked around, making sure no one on the almost empty dock had noticed him.

“Shoo. Go away,” you hissed down at him when you ensured the coast was clear.

He splashed water up at you, wetting the bottom of your skirts.

Your eyes widened and you did your best not to yell. “You cannot be here, you need to leave.”

He stayed put exactly where he was, staring incessantly up at you.

His message was clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You paced off the dock, running over to the shore to try and pull him away from the lights and the people on the dock. The shore was largely abandoned, at least at this time of night.

His tail snaked across the surface of the water as he swam away, following after you and disappearing faster under shallow water than you were comfortable with, ideas of what else could be lurking under the surface flicking through your mind.

You weren’t sure when a siren following you had managed to land firmly in the non-threatening part of your mind but it had, his alien appearance nothing other than vaguely alarming in the presence of sailors who did not feel as nonchalantly towards him as you did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed when you both managed to make it to the shore and you stared down at him, disapprovingly.

He was clearly built for deep water, shifting uncomfortably in the shallows, and yet here he was.

He shrugged, staring at you from the water, eyes only leaving yours to flick down to your wet skirts. If you hadn’t been so set on getting him away from here, you would’ve scolded him.

“Do you want something from me?” you asked, trying to get some sort of answer out of him, like you just had to ask the right question to be able to send him away. “Look, there’s safer ways to call in a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to help, I just don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Don’t want anything,” he said with a huff. “Not now anyways.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, a sense of desperation bleeding into your voice. He’d saved you, if you got him killed now you’d never be able to live with yourself. It was out of the question. You needed to get him to leave.

He did not want to see reason. “None of your business.”

You sat on the shore, rubbing your temples as you lowered yourself closer to his level. “Okay. Sure, that’s fine. You know what? As long as you’re here I might as well ask. What’s your name?”

He paused, looking to the side for a moment before responding. “Simon”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged. “It’s a name.”

You stared incredulously at him for a moment before he decided it was time to try again. "Peter.”

This did not aid in your confusion. “What?”

“You didn’t seem to like the last one.”

“Do you not have a name?”

“Not your kind,” he said, his nose scrunching a little as he did.

“What kind then?” you prompted.

He shrugged. “Our kind.”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up inside of you. “Okay, well where’d you get Simon from?”

“Heard it.”

“Where?”

“From people.”

“What people?” you asked, feeling a little like a child who’d just learned the word why. It wasn’t really your fault though. If he’d simply answer a question properly he’d be freed from this endless barrage of questions.

“The ones on the ships.”

“Why were you…” The realities of sirens and ships flashed through your mind and you decided that you should probably end that line of questioning. You shook your head, set on getting back on task. “You’ve got to at least talk to me. Are you here for a reason?”

He shrugged again, nose drifting back below the water as he sunk down into the shallows.

“Look, they won’t take kindly to you if they see you. We can set something up, somewhere where you can contact me so you don’t have to put yourself in danger to see me. We can find a nice abandoned section of the shore, I’ll visit every day so if you need to talk to me, you can.”

He shook his head. “I can find you.”

“I know you can, but you really shouldn’t.”

“We will meet here at dusk,” he said, gesturing to the little slice of shore you were on now, the same one he’d left you at the night before. “And also when I want to, I will find you.

“Look… Simon? Is that what you want to go with?”

He shrugged noncommittally, eyes flitting towards the dock.

You sighed. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You groaned. “Fine. That’s fine. Get yourself killed if you want to, I don’t care.”

That knocked the smug look off his face, and he said hesitantly, with a bit of a pout in his voice, “You do care.”

“Not if you don’t want to listen. Why would I care if you won’t listen?”

He studied your face for a moment before a determined look set itself onto his face, saying with more certainty this time, “You do care.”

He turned and disappeared under the water before you could respond.

And then you were alone on the cold shore.

You sighed as you settled against the rocks, where you’d be spending the night you supposed. It was no worse than anywhere else you could think of in this city you knew so little about.

You had nowhere to stay, no money to get yourself a room. If you’d had it, you would’ve spent it on fare for a ship to get yourself here.

Or maybe you wouldn’t have. Maybe you would have been set in your ways, convinced you could just sneak on and save your money for where it would really count. Maybe things would have turned out exactly as they did.

As you leaned back onto the rocky shore where you’d be spending the rest of your night, you tried to put the spiraling thoughts of what might have been out of your head.

You stared up at the stars, already forgoing any thought of sleep. It wouldn’t be safe to sleep here anyway. Hopefully you could figure some sleeping arrangements out in the coming days. Keeping on like this might drive you mad.

But for now, there was nothing to be done, no use worrying over it. All that was left was to wait til morning.

#terato #merman x reader #merman x human #monster x reader #monster x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #merman #Simon is so difficult #Its only going to get worse lol #Praying for readers sanity in these coming days #Lots of setup in this one #Next one things get crazy though :3

346 notes · View notes

cb97percent · 2 months

Text

「Drabbles」 · #4

DRESS REHEARSAL ➥ One slip of the tongue, and your barely professional relationship with him completely derails.

➥ Personal Assistant!Hyunjin x Photographer!Reader (f) — 1.9k

➥ Prompt(s) requested: 7, 61, 90

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Sex at the workplace.

“Ex–Excuse me?” your assistant’s eyes widened in surprise.

It was another cortisol-frosted late night in the wardrobe room thanks to the back-to-back shoots you were preparing for, but at least the superhero working for you was keeping your stress levels at a very manageable threshold. On multiple fronts. Tracking all your communications, roasting whoever was responsible for the delay in schedule on your behalf, making sure you had your daily caffeine and calorie intake…

And just being his magnificent self for your viewing pleasure.

Sure, Hyunjin was great at his job, and no matter how friendly it was, you had a strictly professional relationship, but the looks you exchanged every once in a while, the way he checked you out when he thought you weren’t looking, finding excuses to stay late just to be with you three out of five nights a week…

It was unspoken, but something was there.

One habit that he had the hardest time kicking was the way he addressed you. Ever since his very first day, it was always ‘Yes, miss’ this ‘Yes, miss’ that even though you had told him time and time again to be informal with you.

It took one of the worst Freudian slips of the century for him to stop calling you that.

“Could you pass me the summer catalog, Hyun?”

“Yes, mistress.”

As soon as the words left his tongue, he froze in his place, mind completely blank. For you, on the other hand, this was an extremely entertaining piece of trivia even though you were caught super off guard. He was struggling to properly apologize, thinking you were on the brink of telling him to pack his shit up and leave, but besides that one long stare, you didn’t react at all. You acted like it never happened. Pretended you didn’t notice how he immediately replaced his miss with boss so as not to fall into the same hellhole one more time. You were thinking about it every second of every day, but you never brought it up again. Not once.

Until tonight.

“You heard what I said,” you repeated in a serious tone, “Model for me.”

“Right now?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

It was 1 a.m. on a fucking Thursday, and he was sorting out clothes with you. You could have deduced the answer yourself maybe.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“Change into these jeans,” you handed him a skin-tight pair, “then I’ll do your fitting.”

His beautiful features contorted in confusion because who the hell paired fucking Versace jeans with a simple print tee? But you were the boss. Of course you knew better. He headed into the changing cabin nearby, and when he reemerged shortly after…

It took everything in your willpower to stop yourself from openly salivating.

Fact—every time Hwang Hyunjin strutted his stuff in the company corridors, he was committing at least one murder with how fatally attractive he was, capable of turning heads even at the most random places he went. It was a fucking blasphemy that his career choice was drastically different than what you always pictured him to be. He was just standing there, no makeup, no coiffing, nothing, yet he was effortlessly beautiful simply with the way his hair fell in front of his face.

Carnally desiring him and falling head over heels in love with him was a perpetual dilemma you were in.

You approached him for the alleged fitting, fixing his belt and waistline, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be when there was no need for any of that. He was perfect the second he came out of that cabin anyway, but anything to be this inappropriately close to him for once.

Your eyes darted to the hem of his shirt, then you slowly reached for it and started peeling it off. He just watched you in silence, lips slightly parted, anticipating what your next move was going to be. Just one look at his bare torso was enough to overwhelm you. A lean figure, delicately chiseled by gods, so damn gorgeous, but what’s new?

“Close your eyes,” you gently touched his eyelids.

Mere moments later, he felt something cold on his skin. Metalish. Somewhat satisfying like dipping your fingers into a bag of rice. Something was cascading from his shoulders down his chest, lines under lines made of fine knots adorning his naked body.

“Who knew?” you sarcastically chuckled, “You look so fucking beautiful in body jewelry.”

He opened his eyes, and before he could even look at what you made him wear, his gaze got trapped in yours. You had taken one more step closer to him, and his heart was beating so hard in his chest that you could hear it like it was blasted from gigantic speakerphones.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Hyunjin?”

“Like what?”

Your index finger started tracing the outline of his collarbones and made its way down his chest. His cheeks were burning, flushed red, but goosebumps were breaking all over his skin, making him shiver as if a cold breeze was sneaking into the room.

“Like something you accidentally called me that one time,” your touch stopped right on top of his navel, “Is that what you think of me when you’re all by yourself?”

He kept his eyes closed as you explored his body. He wanted to say something, but the total state of trance you put him in had rendered him mute. Just breathing, exhales louder than his inhales, and growing deliciously harder under that denim mask.

“I want a straight answer from you,” you touched his chin to make him open his eyes, then stared right into his soul, “Do you touch yourself to me?”

He slowly nodded.

“Did you ever do it at work?”

A seemingly benign question, but something in his eyes shifted, and that cute, can’t-look-you-in-the-eye-for-more-than-three-seconds guy suddenly disappeared.

“I jerk off at your desk every morning before you arrive,” he responded with an odd amount of determination you weren’t used to hearing in his voice, “I’m fucking obsessed with you. Happy?”

“My shoelaces,” you looked down at your feet as if you didn’t hear him at all, “Can you tie them for me?”

Holding your gaze the entire time, he kneeled in front of you and fulfilled your request, but his attention was on somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you were hoping he would notice with his face that close to your crotch. Under normal circumstances, he would be a total gentleman about it, but when he could smell the sweet slick you were secreting because of him that up close, he didn’t even bother to hide his intoxication.

His hand moved up your thighs and landed on your ass on their own.

He was looking up at you, maybe waiting for a sign of discomfort, but you were completely enabling him. He lazily unbuttoned your pants and dragged them down just enough to reveal the sight he was seeing violent dreams about in the flesh. Never in a million years would you be able to guess your first kiss from Hyunjin would be on your pussy, too chaste for its location, but enough to make you want to burn yourself alive.

“I’ll go insane if I can’t fuck you,” he breathily hissed against your skin, inhaling your scent as much as he could. You intertwined your fingers in his silky hair and pulled it back to look into his eyes again.

“Tell me what you really want to do to me.”

He rose to his feet. You were having trouble recognizing who this man was by then. Eyes dark like bottomless pits, jaw clenched, nostrils flared like he was getting mad. He leisurely wrapped the delicate chain around your fingers, then placed his hands on top of yours.

“I wanna fucking eat you alive.”

Then he harshly yanked it to both sides to fucking break it, quite literally unleashing himself from his chains.

Hyunjin grabbed you by the nape and crashed into your lips, walking you backwards to the only sofa in the room. Once your knees hit the edge, you plopped down and watched the way this serpent stripped you bare and spread your legs apart to slither in. He latched to your clit like a magnet, sloppily making out with it with obscenely loud squelches, and every time you moaned his name, he moaned back into your pussy, making a mess everywhere. You clenched harder watching how exactly his tongue connected to your clit. How he sucked on it. How he fed himself on you like there was never going to be a second serving. And when you started moaning louder, he suddenly stopped.

“Up,” he pulled you from your wrists, “Turn around.”

You climbed on the sofa and got on fours like a mere puppet functioning on command. When you felt his tip pressing on your entrance, you tried bracing yourself for impact, but there was no way you could silence that loud, throaty moan when rammed himself inside you that hard, deliciously thick girth making you claw the backrest you were holding on to for dear life.

“I’m not even gonna ask if you finger yourself thinking about me,” he spat between his pants, “You fucking do, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you imagine me when you fuck other people, too?”

“YES!”

He tangled his fingers in your hair and yanked it back to pull you closer so that he could kiss your neck while fucking you even deeper.

“I’ll fucking do anything for you,” he loudly whispered into your ear, “Ask me to come relieve you at 4 in the morning. Ask me to come fuck the stress out of you. Ask me to get on my knees and swallow your pussy whole. Just ask me.”

He was insane. Fucking insane. His words alone were enough to get you there. Such a soft disposition, yet if you knew he was harboring this hungry maniac inside of him, you would have attempted to seduce him forever ago.

“How about we start with a creampie first?”

You turned your head around and grabbed his nape, then kissed his soul out of him as he unloaded inside you. So thick and warm, making you regret a little bit that you weren’t able to swallow it. He carefully pulled out, then collapsed on you to catch his breath for a while. You were both laughing like idiots once your senses started to come back.

“So are you gonna keep pretending to use me as a model, or can we get straight to the point from now on?” he brushed his thumb on your cheek.

“That piece of jewelry you ruined was worth ten grand,” you chastised him albeit calmly, “No modeling necessary, but I will keep using you.”

“So I got a promotion,” he smugly grinned, “When do I start?”

You turned to your side and spread your legs to show him how his cum was dripping out of you, then pushed his shoulders down to mount those perfect lips again.

“Right now.”

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

235 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 8 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.60)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, the word 'r*pe' is used to describe what Geumjae did to her but there are no graphic depictions of it, allusions to physical abuse, graphic violence, there is a brief moment where someone not in the pack touches the m/c's ass without her consent, blood, briefly implied suicidal actions- but it's nothing like what you haven't seen before.

W/c: 12.6k

A/n: i'll be attending my cousin's wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before <3

Previous part ~ Masterlist

You dab at the skin under your eyes carefully. You know they must look red and puffy. Tae’s careful instruction to treat your skin well as all good baby pups should has somehow stuck.

Even here. Even now.

“Do people like always loose it with you? Like when they walk in, do they all cry?”

Your therapist (yes, your therapist) across the narrow room is the opposite of threatening; soft face, pulled back hair, neutral clothing that might just as well be out of a country living catalog.

You don’t know where Jin found her, what little medical booklet he perused like a take-out menu, or how much her services cost per hour. Those kinds of details were not for delicate little pups like yourself to worry over in his opinion.

Most of the time, you're glad not to have to worry about things like this. But right now you're chomping at the bit. Weighting your odds. The other unknowns hover before you. One sticks out. One you're most concerned about.

Is she trustworthy?

Nothing about Dr. Rima seems outwardly threatening, yet you curl in on yourself. She smiles, scrawling something on the top of her notepad before she answers, and something taught in you ticks tighter.

“You’re correct in assuming that most people I meet cry in the first few minutes when they meet me, but you are the first person to cry on my threshold. Most of the time people wait until they’re at least in the chair.”

That has a smile tugging at your lips, albeit unwillingly. Your smile is like a leashed wild animal, with too many teeth when you feel threatened. Contained for now.

If you got up and walked out right now, would she call someone to restrain you? Will you be committed if you tell the truth? Or are you just misinterpreting the stakes?

You are here of your own volition. Even if it was a condition that Jin and Namjoon weren't willing to budge on after the events of last week. It's not like the pack is having you put in a mental institution or something, although they did come with you today. For moral support.

The waiting room was stuffy and yellow, one of those little waterfall mirrors in the corner that you’d watched in a fog sat between Yoongi and Jimin while Jin filled out the necessary paperwork. His pen hovering over the small boxes every few seconds. He'd taken the afternoon off of work to make sure he was there, just to fill out paperwork.

Are you on any medications? Do you have a history with substance abuse disorders? Do you have any intent to harm yourself or others?

Sending glares to anyone who dared to come too close, Jimin had looked and smelled threatening. You're not sure he’d have let you go into an isolated location with her if she’d been an alpha. Jin too had looked close to snapping.

yoongi was the only one who looked somewhat calm, althoug his hand was tightly laced with yours (and a little sweaty)

It’s a wonder that the rest of your pack had agreed to stay home for this. This was just one of several concessions you’d made after what the pack has politely begun referring to as 'sad pup time' during your more vulnerable moments, and blatantly 'your breakdown' during less fragile ones.

But sweet words or not. The facts remain; You are here in this chair after a nearly tearful departure.

You’d met the therapist in the doorway, shaking in your boots, and upon being separated from your pack with the promise that they’d be just downstairs in the lobby, you’d followed her inside.

Yoongi had made a noise in his throat, making you turn back. Dr.Rima turned to watch as he’d pulled you in for a last-minute hug, ducking down to your level. “One hour, okay? We’ll be just downstairs. Text me if you need me.”

His eyes were heavy-looking at the stranger. Unwilling to let you go just yet. A little stalwart, a little standoffish.

“Take good care of her please. She’s very precious to us.”

Precious.

That much was evident by the nearly three-page document that both your pack alpha and omega sent through once Namjoon and Jin had selected Dr. Rima as your therapist. Dr. Rima has quite a bit of experience dealing with overprotective pack alphas and pack omegas. Let alone a pack alpha and pack omega who have such a clinical background.

Yes, you must be well taken care of. At least on paper.

She’s already itching a little, to get her hands on all the others. Packmates and their names are written out, as a part of all intake files. Large packs aren't so common anymore. Her eyes fix on one name; Min Yoongi (beta, mate) unemployed.

The big windows help it feel not so small, on the second floor, the trees block out most of the view of the park below. A small voice that sounds like Hobi whispers that it’s a shame she doesn’t have any plants in here, they'd do so well with all of this natural light.

Your knees clack together a little, moving listlessly, the anxiety in your body begging to be released somewhere.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t we start with why you wanted to come in today.”

You avoid her eye contact, looking instead at the tops of the trees, you don’t know why they haven’t changed color yet, all of the trees on your street are half bare already. She has a smooth inoffensive scent, but you’re mated to a beta so you know what to expect when it comes to the relaxing effects, the subtle haze at the edge of your vision. It must come in handy, having the biological upper hand, when it comes to patients in distress.

If therapists are rare, beta therapists must be even rarer.

You can practically hear Jin, “Nothing but the best for my pup.” There is a part of your brain that won’t ever turn off, appraising everything around you. The designer pumps that she wears. The knickknacks on her desks, there are no photos of any packs that she might call her own, just a pink calendar in the corner.

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too <3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

The pack has kept you substantially plied with little solutions since your breakdown last week. They haven’t let you rot like usual. They’ve kept your days full of little activities; nothing too extravagant or tiring. Letting you rest when you need to and encouraging you to get outside of your comfort zone when it’s clear you’re giving in.

It comes down to that more often than not; giving in or not giving in.

Not giving in looks like trips back to the beach with Hobi. Like going to the salon with Tae and shopping with Jimin. Or another workout class with Jungkook where you’d spent more of the time lounging on the yoga mat than actually moving your body. But you'd still tenuously agreed to sign up for more classes under the encouragement of Wonho and Jungkook.

And now twice a week, you’ve got a mat to call your own during any classes, in the back, if you decide you want it. Your callender hasn't felt so full in years, it feels strange, to have something to do during the weeks that isn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel and doing house chores. Strange in a good way.

Not all of the pack's solutions aren’t silly but sometimes, silly is a good way to push out the dark.

The morning after your breakdown; you'd watched your pack work, fighting back a flush. Sitting at the kitchen bar stool while Yoongi applied painter’s tape to the floor, not intent on keeping back paint this time, but marking it off for you.

You’re a little bit more determined this morning although your first night without nightmares in a little over a month had kept you in higher spirits. You feel more well-rested than you have in ages.

“You don’t need to- I promise- I’m not going-“ but your requests had fallen on deaf ears. Worry building until Jungkook stood up fast grinning up at you, pupils wide brown pools from getting scented stupid this morning.

(Scented stupid, you'd been scented by the pack too, had struggled a little against it, too shy as Namjoon dragged his throat along yours, squirming until yoongi held you down a little, checking with you each few seconds that you wanted that, that your squirming was really just needing to feel a firm touch, a dominant one.

You will go nowhere until your pack have had their right to you, scenting you up, making your scent gland tender and swollen under their teeths and tongues.

It felt so much better to be made to handle it, each of the pack, even hobi, hovering over you to scent you with their wrists and throats. until you smelled so claimed by them that you couldn't breathe without smelling it- Pack.

Jungkook had pouted until he'd gotten the same treatment, although the omegaspace haze had lasted longer on him than it had on you.

He stands up so fast that his hair fluffs. Catching himself on your leg with a giggle before he topples over. grinning up at you before pressing a sleepy sloppy kiss to your knee and then another to your lips,

“No pup zone!" Omega Space Jungkook can get a little bit ridiculous even at the best of times. He's got a case of the morning omegaspace zoomies as he giggles and nips at your nose. You playfully push at his chest. He doesn't budge.

"Your whole face is a no-pup zone." The dissatisfied pur-chirp he'd let out had sounded half hurt, half encouraged.

Namjoon had eased your discomfort. Pulling you from the stool to lean back against his chest, fingers drumming out a rhythm on your legs as Jungkook huffes into your throat.

Having this failsafe- this rule, does not mean that they think you’re going to fail, these are guard rails to keep you on track. Namjoon looks down at you, his full bottom lip tucked a little, not a pout but close. “This is the easiest solution, if you don’t go near it then maybe, maybe it helps.”

His fingers drum against your skin again, and you lean back into him. Uneasy but willing to let him soothe you.

So yes, you’ve been banned from the kitchen, banned from crossing that line that runs from the edge of the coffee stand and just in front of Tae's library room, to the island and over to the fridge. Unless there is someone else close by. You are not allowed here without supervision.

It’s a simple solution, limiting you from the place that you use to hurt yourself. Never mind the fact that there are dozens if not hundreds of other possible avenues you could use. Your creativity knows no bounds when it comes to pain, but you quiet that part of yourself when the desire for hurt gets loud.

You can’t say it hasn’t helped. But then again, the pack has kept you so busy since your breakdown that you haven't had any time to think of hurting yourself let alone put any plans into action.

Across from you, Dr. Rima waits expectantly.

"It was kind of triggered by this thing that happened."

The tip of her pen bobs a little as she writes. “Could you describe the event to me? Or is that something you're not ready to talk about?" You nod and she waits patiently. It takes you a breath to answer.

“A little less than a month ago one of my packmates and I found a dead body."

You feel a little vindicated at her inhale of breath. Wide eyes that say yes- that is something traumatic, yes, it's fair that it kinda triggered you into a more fragile state.

"It dredged up a lot of feelings about my past. Before that, I was kind of starting to feel s-safe which I haven't like, ever been able to feel."

“And your packmate?"

There is new treacherous wetness balancing on your waterline. “Hobi’s a lot stronger than me, his past and mine are really similar but he just- handles his better. A lot of the time it feels like I learn from him even though he’d tell you the opposite is true. He’s my best friend." Your voice goes quiet, "I love my mate more than I love anyone else, but sometimes- Hobi just- gets me you know?" You go a little misty-eyed. Hands tightening on Hobi's sweatshirt.

“Yet he’s not the one sitting in my chair right now.”

You close your eyes, "he's not."

“For what it’s worth- you can have more than one best friend.” Dr. Rima writes as quickly as she can, taking it down. “How long have you been romantically involved with him? Who came first, your mate or him?”

You jolt forward, “Oh no- we’re not- Hobi and I aren't-" You take a deep breath to clarify. "Everyone else in the pack is together but Hobi and I are just friends. We all have our like… little units?”

"Primary partners." Dr. Rima offers.

"Yeah, that." But even that doesn't really cover it, because while Jin and Namjoon are JinandNamjoon and Jimin and Tae are JiminandTae. Jungkook is everyone's problem (in the best of ways) and you and Tae are something else too. The pack's girls the rest of them would say.

(You and Hobi are, well, YouandHobi.)

It sounds weird to say it once it comes out of your mouth. It makes an odd choked feeling lodge in your throat. Too much hope and too much shame for hoping blooming in your chest.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about him.”

She folds her hands over her knees, setting her pen down. Dr. Rima has chubby hands, disproportionate to her body. They look like they'd be soft.

She reminds you of your mom a little bit.

“That’s okay, we can talk about whatever you want. What you want and need is going to be the focus of our sessions. You’re the pilot here. I’m just here to help you interpret your thoughts and feelings.”

She folds her hands over themselves, setting her pen aside, “Why don’t we talk about the last time you remember feeling safe.”

"Physically or mentally?"

"Either, you can choose."

The rest of the session passes frightfully quickly. You can’t say that you don’t cry again. When you finally talk about Geumjae, her smile quickly dissipates. You talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw. Until you’ve depleted the whole box of her tissues. She shows you she's got more hidden under her desk when you apologize, her secret stash gets a laugh out of you.

“The fact that your pack omega filled out your paperwork isn’t the most unusual, but his preference for daily meetings or every other day is a little bit on the nose for a pack omega, I’m wondering if you share his preference.”

“He’s just overprotective.” She eyes you like Jin has good reason to be. You don’t blush this time, a little more comfortable with Dr. Rima than you were at the beginning of this. “I think maybe more than once a week but not every day.”

“How does Monday- Friday sound?”

~-~

When you walk to the door with Dr. Rima Yoongi stands abruptly from his chair.

You can tell by the shiny edge to his to his scent that he doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. He gets the information about your next appointment and then tugs you out the door.

Jins got his legs crossed, fancy leather shoes glinting in the sunlight by the windows. The lobby is buzzing with people coming and going. This building isn't just a therapy office but a collection of other businesses with a few shops and restaurants on the ground floor as well. He looks up and double-takes when he spots you, not standing from his chair, but he opens his arms and you fold yourself along his side, conscious of the other eyes but this.

This you need.

You press your face along the column of Jin's neck, breathing his cream scent in deep.

“Oh pup.”

Your red-rimmed eyes are too obvious and you sniffle wetly, “It was okay, I like Dr. Rima.” He laces your hands together and resists the urge to pester you with questions. Yoongi's hand is still tangled in the hood of your (Hobi's) sweatshirt. Your therapy sessions should be yours and only yours. Yoongi and Jin do not have Dr. patient confidentiality.

And yet the need to know if that helped burns through them. They won't have to wonder for long.

By the coffee stand, Jimin waves and he returns to you when the barista hands over a bag of sweets and a quad of cups. Jin continues scrawling something out for another second before he’s standing and pulling you in for another chaste scent mark.

“Let’s go home.” It's somewhere between an order and a request. But no one disobeys.

On the drive back (37 minutes total) you're a little quiet. You let the sounds of the others be your buffer. You look down at your phone and stare at Hobi’s texts. You respond with just a little heart emoji when you finally still can’t figure out a good response and you're close to home.

Home is its usual conflagration of moving bits and pieces. Each of your packmates is like a shiny cog in a pretty clock, tick tick tick tocking along. Tae and Namjoon are at the table looking through some of the pack’s bills, the pastries and coffee cups litter the table with little piles of powdered sugar and cinnamon. jimin bought enough for the whole pack.

You look at them a little too long, although not because you don't want to eat them. It’s been a while, a few weeks since you’ve made something like that, but every single one of the pastries is something you know how to make. You don’t know why you keep looking at them.

Tae smiles at you, still in the doorway. and it makes you feel a little less like you want to burst into tears. Her voice speaks of the quiet time you have in the library (the tenderness of having someone else do your makeup, another person combing your hair). You hope you'll get some dedicated one-on-one time with her soon.

"Hey little lovely, How was it?"

"She put me through the wringer but I think she got some suds out."

She and Namjoon giggle and you smile small. and you can tell that Namjoon wants to ask you more but he doesn't after a pointed look from your mate. There are footsteps in the hall and before you can move to take off your shoes Hobi is standing in the archway.

Yoongi efficiently strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt with a frustrated huff. It's Kind of like he’s trying to peel away the sadness (your clothes are soaked with your sour scent, rainy and unhappy. Regardless of Jin’s scent mark, you kind of stink).

You might have overheard their words just before you got into the car. Jin's hissed admonishment. “A lot of people cry during therapy Minnie, she’s not in trouble, can’t you smell it?”

Your scent is mellow underneath the memory of your distress, going sweeter by the second. Yoongi wants all memories of your sad scent banished from the house. Hobi stands at the door to the hallway, shifting back and forth, his eyes a little warmer than usual, hands shaking a little bit.

You’ve caught him looking at you a lot since the night he ran away, in the quiet moments when he thinks you’re not noticing. Eyes a shade warmer than usual, a sweetened franticness to his scent. Nervousness and happiness mix like blueberries and whipped cream.

When he pulls up beside you during movie nights and sits thigh to thigh with you. When his hands intertwine with yours over his knee or sometimes or when he pulls your legs sideways across his lap. He looks at you like that when he's doing the small things and he's looking at you like that right now.

You know how love starts, that it starts with the small things.

Hobi resists the urge to open his arms. would you come to him? Would you fold your body along his front so that he could feel your heartbeat? Pressing again and again to the opposite side of his chest with every thump?

He doesn’t say hey, but he does step a little closer. Fingers reaching out. The pad of his index finger slides down the meat of your pinky till it reaches the ball of your wrist. His own special hello.

Your breath hitches, just barely, almost imperceptible if it wasn’t for how close he stands.

A look behind you says Yoongi hasn’t made himself scarce, instead fussing with the pack's coats. Now that it’s getting colder, they don’t all fit by the door. You look behind Hobi and find Namjoon watching the three of you, he raises a singular eyebrow.

“How was it? Bad?” Hobi asks, breaking the silence and the tension, drawing your attention back to him. The next breath you let out is a lot less heavy, and your eyelashes flutter as he steps closer. Hobi smells good, a little earthy, mellowing out his usual sweetness. Sweet for an alpha.

“It was kind of hard, I kinda wanted to run away for a bit at the beginning." You can't keep meeting his eyes with how intensely he's looking at you and they flutter down to his hands. "I almost did.”

"I'm glad you didn't pup." Jin comments, full of reproach, the mirror to you and Hobi as he leans down to press a kiss to Namjoon's forehead. Shucking off his lapelled jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“If you’d have called me, I’d have picked you up. We could still like- run away, if you're down.”

But the house is starting to heat up, and Jin and Yoongi are starting to cook. The light is still honey-yellow happy. And you tip your cheek into his arm. He finally- finally lets his arms settle around your waist.

“Nah, not yet.” You drag out the syllable all playful, and something forbidden stirs in Hobi’s gut. “Jin’s making my favorite tonight. not until later?”

Hobi goes silent, pulls back, biting his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes down. and-

You laugh and Hobi blushes. “Just spit it out.”

Everyone’s been a little bit touchier with you since that night (a little more overbearing too). You won’t immediately chalk Hobi's touchyness up to what you're all thinking. But the affection makes your scent gland feel tender. Zinging when Yoongi steps up behind you and nuzzles into it, huffing again.

Friends can hug each other after therapy right? Hobi swallows thickly and you feel it against your collar bone as he pulls back and steps away from you. “I ugh- got you a present?”

You brighten up instantly, and Hobi's anxiety increases tenfold. A bit of casual mischievousness on the edge of your lips that always have Hobi feeling like he’s being teased even though he knows he isn’t.

“Oh? A present? You’ve never gotten me a present before!”

He kicks at imaginary dust bunnies, fighting back what he knows is a noticeable flush. “I ugh- still owe you, from the car you know and honestly it's not even like a big gift it's like- so small in comparison and-”

Yoongi huffs and continues to disrobe you. Pulling your sweater over your head when he’s not satisfied that your unhappy scent has dissipated. Muttering something like. “hopeless alpha” under his breath. Your tank top pulls up, inches of your hip and skin on display. It's nothing that Hobi hasn't seen before and yet the blush reignites. The sunshine to your morning glory.

“I guess you're right.” But it doesn’t feel like it. Hobi doesn’t owe you anything for that, not when it was so easy to give. Not when you’ve gotten so many late-night drives from that gift.

Hoseok got the idea for your courting gift, one morning while watching you say goodbye to Namjoon:

The pack alpha has always been a fan of goodbye kisses, good morning, and goodnight kisses too. The particular kiss that morning had ‘I’ll miss you’ written all over it. It was so pretty in the way that you lingered, arms around Namjoon’s neck. His hand is underneath your shirt on the small of your back. Such a small touch and yet so gently possessive that it had Hobi aching to see it.

Hobi is unfortunately prone to jealousy and it turns the back of his neck hot. Makes his hands feel oddly tender. He's distracted by the visual, the task of packing up his work bag forgotten. Hoseok’s shift at the flower shop doesn’t start for another few hours, and he’s waiting, watching, an unhappy voyeur.

You and Namjoon have quite the height difference, if he was in between the two of you he’d be the perfect middle ground. That’s just another stupid thought, another stupid thought in the countless number of stupid thoughts that he’s had. (I like my alphas a little pathetic, and nothing's more pathetic than an alpha pining after an omega.)

He grumbles.

Yoongi prattles on, more awake than all of them as he outlines what you have to do today to make progress on the house- which is to go find a place that sells cheaper tile than the ones you first thought of using in the bathroom on the first floor. And maybe change it up a little.

The bathrooms escaped the renovations somehow, and a few nights ago- Jimin had admitted how much they actually use it even though it’s not the pack's primary bathroom anymore. Now that it’s not in use, they’re more willing to part with it for a few days for some very necessary re-styling. it toes the line from vintage to old a little too hard. The yellow is a little…yellow.

Yoongi wants to go light and airy with the color scheme, like he did with the upstairs bathroom and it's seafoam and brown tones. But like with most of the house, your vote is for colorful. “How about a light blue-” Yoongi continues to argue while you kiss Namjoon a little senseless in the doorway, at least Namjoon seems properly dazed, chasing your lips when you pull apart.

“No- we don’t have a room that’s magenta yet!”

This starts the same argument as always; “We can’t make every room in this house pink for Tae.”

But goodbyes take precedence, and when you turn back and smile at Hobi he flushes, shy to be caught looking. He moves, stepping around you and Namjoon to put his water bottle into his bag when you shout, “Stop, Seokie!”

Seokie is a new nickname, one that Jin only uses in the quietest of moments that you've somehow adopted when you don't want to call him Hobi. Hobi always thought that if you’d use any other nickname with him- you’d use daisy (he might want you and yoongi to share that pet name). But he’s a good pup and stops what he’s doing. Every atom in his body every electron no longer circulates neutrons but circulates you instead. Pulled in by your gravity.

You’ve moved so suddenly that you’ve spilled a bit of your coffee onto the floor. Maybe kissing Namjoon has left you feeling a little dizzy too. Yoongi just sighs fondly and wipes it up. Jimin looks up from his phone, smiling when he sees.

“You’ve got a rainbow on your cheek.”

It’s a trick of the light, early morning sunshine refracted through the mottled window just right to cast a single rainbow on the wall and on Hobi when he steps in front of it.

You cup his cheek, finger skimming across where the rainbow sits.

"Pretty."

Hobi feels hot all over.

At Tae’s call of, “If I have to do my eyeliner one more time I’m going to scream!” You giggle and dart away from him. Going to tend to Tae with a soft reply of "I've got you baby."

Hoseok is left, blushing in the morning light. Staying still like you might come by and cup his cheek again, Like a flower staying still in the hope of pollination.

Hobi is left, wanting to scream and somehow demand you back, both would be fair. His plight isn't missed by his packmates, who lean in like a set of jackals, grinning ear to ear at hobi's flustered predicament.

She's going to send him into rut if she's not careful Jin thinks, but doesn't say. instead he teases, “You’ve got to leave in the next ten-minute Hobi.”

Only then does Hoseok move- released from his spell and finally losing the rainbow on his cheeks though they might as well have stayed with how happy and warm he feels. How absolutely incandescent the love is glowing in his chest. A full spectrum of feelings, longing for you to come back.

He almost trips over noodle, darting after you with his tail raised high, catching himself on the edge of the couch at the last second, one shoe on and one off, his water bottle falling and spilling in the process.

yoongi sighs, and stoops to wipe it up. Jimin giggles and pulls Hobi up by his hips, the alpha's fingers feel hot where they've touched him, scalding. “What’s wrong, omega got your tongue?” yoongi returns to his breakfast, throwing the wad of soggy paper towels into the trash.

Jungkook laughs, “It’s more like he wants an omega to have his tongue in her-“

“You guys are gross,” He pushes at Jimin’s shoulder finally moving right. Yoongi hides his smile in a mouthful of Captain Crunch.

Hobi doesn’t think about the rainbows again until his next afternoon shift. When the low angle of the autumn sun cuts through the windows and catches the suncatchers that they hang in the doorway of the flower shop and cast more rainbows- dozens of them really across him and the flower.

He remembers when you came to visit, how you'd lingered over them, looked at them a second longer than you looked at the plants.

It’s a bit of a kitschy display. Other polished stones and nick nacks sitting on the deep shelf along with some smaller potted plants. A little tray of rose-quartz stones falsely advertises themselves as ‘heat reducers.’

The colors start to blend, and the rainbows sway softly in the light, gentle and pretty. He snaps a photo and thinks about sending it to you, but doesn’t.

The store is blissfully empty of Hobi's coworkers when he selects three of them. It's quiet when he packages them in tissue paper, one with a huge pink stained-glass moon at the top, another with three tiers. Each of them is delicate and pretty in their own right. No one’s bought a single one of them in the last three months anyway. They'll hardly be missed. Hobi gives himself a fat employee discount.

Hobi is unfortunately bad at hiding things, especially when he's nervous. Luckily the pack alpha doesn’t have it in him to tease. Namjoon had in fact been only too encouraging and given him a pep talk just this morning about courting and courting presents.

“The worst that can happen is that she doesn’t like it- and then you just have to try again which you were already planning on doing anyway.” Namjoon is quite simply the best at courting. It doesn't matter which subgender; alphas, beta’s, and omegas have all fallen under his touch. At least Hoseok has the opportunity to learn from a professional. Somehow the thought that you'd compare him to namjoon doesn't cross his mind.

Hoseok isn’t good at the romantic gestures that courting necessitates. He’s more of the ‘there when you need him’ kind of lover. Ready to make the small changes to make his loved ones' lives more manageable. Ready with his car keys for adventures. Those parts are easy, this is out of his depth.

Especially when it comes to you. Even After the love confessions, (are confessions still confessions if they’re so internal?) Hobi feels mostly unmoored. About to shatter upon unknown shores.

God, crushes are so frustrating (in the best kind of way, the way that keeps you sighing and daydreaming, the kind of way that makes you look in the mirror a little longer).

Tae helped him half an hour before she started on the pack's paperwork. They'd spent an hour deciding which places were best to hang them to get the greatest number of rainbows. She had even fussed with his hair a little to make it lie right. Having him hop up on the couch so she could see Hobi's face from your angle.

Hobi wanted to make sure there were at least one or two rainbows when he shows you. But when he leads you to the sunroom, his hands over your eyes (the same position you found yourself in when Namjoon surprised you with the nesting pod) there are more of them than there were when he set them up, whole constellations swaying softly.

The suncatchers are pretty and twinkly sparkly in the golden hour light, and your lips part in a simple show of awe when Hobi tells you you can open your eyes. It's so bright, they send dozens of little rainbows across the walls and your nesting pod. Over the white couch and the fig in the corner.

It’s very very pretty. and when you turn back to look a thim, Hobi once again has a rainbow on his cheek.

Your eyes twinkle, but you don't say anything. you stay quiet for long enough that Hobi gets nervous. his anxiety makes him talk fast. “I hung them here- but you can put them wherever you want- in the kitchen or upstairs or I can get you more for any places you want to put them- or- or- ”

You just about tackle him, arms looping around his neck resting your weight in his arms that instinctively grip around your waist. Hobi teeters, unsteady with such a heavy heart, toppling both of you onto the couch as you cry. "I love it!"

You’re sprawled not lying across him but his hand goes out to support the way you cling and rub your face into his chest, a happy little chirp slipping past your lips.

The wild thing in Hobi’s chest settles, settles, and curls around you. Tight and protective like a vice. You pull back, and your smile is just as bright.

Hobi sags, and rests his neck back against the couch, "Good- thank fucking god- I was so fucking nervous-" You fiddle with the buttons on his flannel, it's one of Yoongi's. It seems fitting that you steal his clothes and he steals Yoongi's.

"What brought all this on?"

Hobi doesn't have a good answer, in the quiet with the rainbows, or at least an answer he's ready for. He doesn't say that this is a courting present, and he doesn't need to because instead of answering your question- he replies with one of his own.

“Wanna go for a drive later?” he asks, voice tremulous like he thinks you might refuse him. You’ve never said no to him before, never said not tonight only not right now. Do you treasure our little talks the same way I do?

“Sure, after dinner? like I said? Just-" You lean back against his chest, and Hobi’s hands go tight tight tight around your waist. Holding you close. Clingy. He does not slip his hand under your shirt to cup the side of your hip the way that Namjoon might, but the thought crosses his mind.

Hobi is a good alpha, he won't cross that line until you tell him it's okay. Until then a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. You're still warm to the couch.

“Sit and watch them with me?” You ask quietly. Almost shy, like you think he’d refuse you. He nods and the two of you sit on the couch to look at the rainbows together.

Eventually, Noodle finds the two of you, meowing and hopping up to stretch out along your thighs. Worming his way between the two of you.

The rainbows don't last forever, but Hobi sits with you until they fade.

~-~

Tae’s library is just like every public library:

Tall windows, wide quiet shelves with room for the stories to breathe. A colorful young adult section and an even more colorful kid’s section. A bit aways from the tables and computers so that any over-excited pups don’t disturb the adults. Big deep beanbags for small children to cuddle up to while they ponder fairy tales and adventures only a plastic-covered book away.

Tae’s long plaid skirt barely makes a whisper along the ground. The colder weather has allowed her to live all of her cottage core fantasies, her dark academia aesthetic truly flourishing. Her shirt is a little translucent today, and the fading summer tan of her skin pokes through it in spots where her tank top doesn't hide. Pretty long earrings dangle and clink in the quiet while she works on her shelving.

Wearing her chosen clothing items at work has been a bit of a work in progress.

Most of Tae’s coworkers approve of her transition in that overly willing-to-be-an-ally way that middle-aged women who generally consider themselves progressive outside of closed doors all do. And the ones that don’t approve have swallowed their words with lingering sour eyes and raised upper lips after the general receptiveness to Tae’s social transition.

It's hard to know who's genuine with it, who just doesn't want to cause a fuss, and who just doesn't give a shit. But most of the time her outfits get one or two compliments and thats it. Tae would rather them say nothing than anything negitive.

Tae likes the quiet of the library at this time of day, the silence gives her enough room to let her imagination wander. Tae likes to file away books in mid-morning, when there are fewer people around and her humming is less likely to disturb any of the library’s patrons. She sings to the stories and they sing back, tempting her with every well-worded title and delicately chaste summary.

But she doesn’t just think about stories or the book she's writing (her book is currently giving her hell on the 30th chapter) No. Today- there is a much more interesting love story blooming in her head, in the pack's den too.

She’s been thinking about you all morning (Tae thinks about you almost every morning) there are even little poems scrawled on the edge of her newspaper. Lines that are you and a bit of Hobi too.

I wished that I might be your hair clip / to know what it feels like / to be pressed against the nape of your neck/ To be your suntan/ perched on the edge/ of what you show everyone and what you show no one/ To be the bearer of every freckle/ like the sky holds the stars/ To hold and never let go/ Like birds hold sunshine / and flowers hold songs.

Everyone had noticed of course, how much time you and Hobi have been spending together.

The pack had even talked about it during a quiet moment without you and Hobi. Yoongi’s lack of communication regarding you and Hobi. “I don’t know anything” he’d unsuccessfully lied, and nearly been heaved up and wrestled to the couch as a result. But Jungkook’s puppy eyes had unsuccessfully endeared him.

Yoongi has kept Hobi's secret, but it's kind of hard not to notice. Tae isn't a fool. Tae is a much better liar than Yoongi is- because when you'd come to her after your late-night drive to gush with her about Hobi and the rainbows over makeup. She hadn't said anything about what she knows.

Tae couldn’t tell you how many times she’d noticed little touches, Hobi’s hand lingering on the small of your back, grabbing your waist when he moved behind you in the bathroom. When he take the greatest care to set out his sweatshirts in the morning and even asks Jungkook to make sure they’re clean. They’re practically not even his sweatshirts anymore with the amount you’ve been wearing them.

Tae isn’t an idiot, she knows that Hobi’s finally realized it. While she doesn’t trust herself to play matchmaker given how poorly the first time she pointed out Hobi’s attraction went. that doesn’t mean she’s not going to park herself firmly on the edge of her fantasy land with a box of popcorn.

If they were gonna get married, would Hobi wear a red tux or black or grey? Her brain is already thinking of wedding dresses. One of these days she’s really going to have to make a Pinterest board. Hobi would probably want to do sunflowers, and that might clash with the red unless it was a fall wedding- ooh, and what about pearl details and daisies? a beach wedding might be a little too on the nose for you.

Tae is so absorbed with her shelving and her daydreaming that she doesn’t notice the sound of small shoes on the carpeted floor. Nor does she notice the light-up flash of tiny iorn man sneakers. Her musings are easily interrupted by a small tug on her skirt, shy almost. She startles a little, looking down at the sudden touch.

The little pup's thumb is wet from where it was clearly placed behind their bucked teeth. He's got wide brown eyes and soft-looking hair, Tae can't stop the smile that comes to her lips.

“I wanted to read a book but I couldn’t reach, can you help me? Please?”

Tae’s heart swells as she leans down to the pup's level. “Of course, I can! Why don’t you show me what one you wanted,” diligently Tae follows the little one a few isles over, tugged along by their insistent pulling as he tells her about the pretty cover.

The little pup turns back, furrowing his bushy brows up at Tae, “are you a princess?” he asks. Tae almost has to laugh, a bright happy gender euphoric feeling filling her chest, that feeling of I could be filling her.

She makes her whisper just a little more hushed, playing along, “Don’t tell anyone okay? It's a secret.” The little pup nods, eyes darting around like there are dragons that would threaten her.

“What gave me away?”

“Princesses wear long skirts!” the pup says cheerfully, like it makes the most sense in the world. He's a little too loud and Tae winces. He finally finds the shelve with the story. The spine glimmers pink and gold and Tae is unsurprised to find the illustrated copy of Cinderella. Not the Disney or PJ version, but the Brothers Grimm version.

Tae cringes at the pair of doves on the cover.

Tae doesn’t say that the little pup is too small to read a book so big, or that there is one with more pictures much more appropriate away from the young adult section. The child can’t be more than 6 years old.

But still, Tae retrieves it and delivers it to their waiting arms. The little one clutches it to his chest, thanks Tae, and then promptly plops themselves onto the carpeted floor right there.

He opens the first page, huffs, and then looks up at her imploringly.

“I just realized I can’t read.”

He pouts and Tae melts. Tae wonders where the pup's mother is, but really, there certainly can't be much harm in this. This isn't the first time Tae has been guilted into reading a story to a pup while their parents work or make use of the library's computers.

"Just the first page.” She intones, caution for the child’s hopes in her voice, she presses her skirt under her knees and sits on the scratchy carpet. The pup curls close to see the pictures. Resting his tiny chubby cheek in the billow of Tae’s big puffy sleeve.

Tae's chest is all tight as she reads. The pup is very well-behaved, he pauses, and asks questions in a soft voice only when Tae gives him space to respond. Tae easily ommits the parts that aren't appropriate. but tae finds herself watching the pup a little bit more as the minutes stretch.

In a few years with your own little ones around, will Tae become the defacto bedtime story reader? Will she do this with the pack's pups one day? Will she be the one to take that bright little light in their eyes that imagines things as greater and more and cultivate it? Her cheeks feel warm at the prospect, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings in excitement.

Your pups and Jin's pups too- they're gonna be so loved. Tae's gonna be the best mom to them, The best alpha too.

One page turns into two and then three. In this quiet corner with only Tae’s voice as ruler and god, the little pup hinges on every word. Until there’s another voice close by. An adult not wishing to be loud, a whispered name.

“Jae?”

Tae smiles up at the woman at the end of the aisle of books. Her smile turns sweeter when Jae hops up and runs to press his face into her jeaned thighs. Tae remembers how that felt, how every scent besides Tae’s own omega mother felt overwhelming and icky.

Tae stands with a crack of her knees and makes to hand over the book, “This makes a great bedtime story until about chapter 8, that one you might want to skip until he’s a little older.”

The woman makes to smile, but it only goes so far. Tae watches in perfect detail, everything in slow motion, as her eyes flicker down to Tae’s Addams apple.

She drags her child close by their wrist quicker than Tae can blink. Tae sees the moment that the child realizes this touch isn’t gentle, wide eyes going fear-stricken as he's tugged behind her back. And then it's all downhill from there.

I'll spare you the more vile bits.

But the saddest moment of the argument that follows (Which involves not one but three of Tae's co-workers to calm down the hysterical woman whose screeches echo around the quiet library) is when the pup tries to get his mother's attention. "Mom, I liked that she was reading to me."

"He" the certified Karen hisses, moving in a way that makes the pup flinch back. "-should know better than to corrupt a pup with such- such-" her eyes dart down and up, and Tae's skin burns. "Disgusting behavior."

The misgendering doesn't even sting. What does hurt is the eyes peering in. She isn't being quiet and it's causing many of the library's patrons' attention is diverted. Tae's coworkers have put themselves between Tae and the woman. But there still aren't enough people (enough packmates) in between her and the verbal tirade.

An hour later, after the woman has left after threatening to call the police, Tae talks with his boss and his boss’s boss. The room behind the front desk is glass, and he knows that the door doesn’t keep the sound of their raised voice out.

“I wasn’t harassing her child; I was just helping him find a book for Christ sake!”

The worst part is that this isn’t the first time that this has happened. No- since Tae came out there have been two other complaints leveled against her from bigoted patrons. Both right at the beginning before she got the hang of presenting how she wanted to.

At least those confrontations weren’t face-to-face. At least those complaints didn’t end with someone threatening to call the police and a pup cowering, tugged along too roughly out the door.

The little pup had glanced back at Tae, mouth in pout, eyes swimming with tears.

Even if the woman felt righteous in her anger, the least she could have done was not yell in front of the pup. Tae promises herself right then and there, that she'll never raise her voice in front of the pack's pups, not in anger.

The book has stayed on the counter at the front. Pink and gold and treacherous. Tae hopes that if anything, the pup finds it and reads the ending one day. Stories have a way of finding us, even when the world makes us let them go.

Now in the back room behind the check-out counter. Tae’s boss levels her with an expectant look, the kind that people give when they don’t want to be transphobic not really- it’s just so hard for them not to, so learned. Tae is the nail that sticks up. It’s bullshit really. Tae can tell it's bullshit before she opens her mouth.

“Really? He asked for Cinderella?”

“Yes.” Tae’s biting tone is an alpha’s tone, not a man’s, and yet she knows how it sounds.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not lying.” Is Tae supposed to only help some children find the books they want? Is she supposed to look at them and make her best guess if they’ve got homophobic parents and skip them over? It’s not her fault that the sweet sweet pup’s parent was a bigot.

“I can’t help but feel like- you’ve got a personal agenda-“

"Charlie-" the district manager cautions.

Tae can’t stop herself from snapping, alpha anger sparking with the intent to burn. “Little boys should be allowed to read Cinderella if they want to” Rats and all. Her hands are shaking, and it isn’t missed by them. The room smells thick with Tae’s spicy cinnamon anger.

The district manager sets her hand on Tae's shoulder, and her anger ebbs just a little. “I think maybe you should go home a little early today, just to cool off. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Tae doesn’t want to go home early, Tae doesn’t want to go home at all as she packs up her books. Her bag lighter than usual, absent of the stories that she wants to take home. For once there aren’t any that she wants to read.

She walks to the train station because Jimin won’t be off work for another 2 hours and that’s when he’d usually pick her up, the last three days he’s gotten her flowers too; white roses the first day, pink the second, and red the third. She sends him a text.

Tae <3 (1:48): I left work early today, you don’t have to pick me up, I’ll get an Uber home.

Mini-alpha (1:49):!!!!!

Mini-alpha (1:49): What happened? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I can leave now.

Tae sighs, looking down at her phone while she waits for the crosswalk light to come on. Red still, green in a few seconds, she only has to wait. She can practically feel Jimin's nervous energy through the phone. it's a wonder he doesn't immediately call her.

It makes her soft. It isn't in Jimin's nature to give any of his lovers any space but he always makes an effort when it comes to her.

Tae <3 (1:53): No. It’s fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.

Tae doesn’t want to talk to Jimin about transphobia again. At least not yet. It’s too much energy. It’s not that Tae doesn’t want to make what happened during Namjoon’s rut better. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it- it’s just that there’s nothing to talk about, the explanation of his actions are such a burden for Tae to bear. And Tae trusts that Jimin’s heart is in the right place even if he makes mistakes. And even telling Jimin off, yelling at him, wouldn’t change it.

Either one day Tae will not have to deal with bigoted parents, either one day she’ll pass and won’t have to worry, or she'll always be in this awkward middle ground.

Trans people are like toupees, you only notice them when there’s something off, something a little misplaced about them. Tae fears that most of all. Femininity, as much as she wants it, as much as it's hers to take, what if it won't ever fit right? What if she never passes?

Tae loves her job at the library, it’s the perfect mix of boring and safe and easy even if it doesn’t pay enough. But even as she's gained things like skirts and puffy sleeves, she's exchanged them for days like today. Really, the library was her favorite place before today and now, every step away from it makes her feel a little lighter. She's not even angry anymore, just exhausted mentally.

Tae decides to walk home at least she’s in her most conservative channel flats, they could use a little bit more wear and love and Tae’s thoughts are still too sharp. She dulls them to a palatable edge that all falls apart when she gets home.

You’re there, thank fucking god you’re always there when she gets home. You’ll always be Tae’s comfort person.

Tae opens the door with a creek and push of cold air, you're saying something to Yoongi turning with a toss of your hair, eyes brightening when you see her before you've even said her name.

You look a little healthier today, with a little bit more of a rosy glow to your cheeks and a healthy brightness to your eyes, not all glassy.

"Tae! You're home early!"

Tae will never stop being proud of how hard you try, and will never stop being a bit envious either because Tae-

Tae looks at you and wilts, bag flopping onto the floor, and predictably burst into tears.

"Oh- oh Tae."

"Baby girl-"

You and Yoongi are just about the best security blanket a packmate could ask for. You're so good as you pull her down to your level so you can kiss away her tears, maneuvering her like a perfect team onto the couch. Yoongi's strong hands slide off her shoes. Yoongi's fingers digging into her sore heel as you kiss away her every tear.

A substantial amount of babying and a Sos packmate in distress text later, and Tae is reclining across a freshly fluffed nest, the muscles in her body relaxed. The blisters on the back of her feet are bandaged and kissed. Every inch of her body is too.

You don't talk about it until after the pack's facemasks are finished, and hobi's clear coat has dried over the tiny nail sticker that you left. a small bumblebee.

Your skin smells sweet after a long long bath full of fancy bath bombs. Jinnie had also rubbed oil onto her freshly shaven legs. You helped, dragging it along oh so carefully to not nick her skin. Ending each pass with a kiss to her ankle and then upper thigh.

Tae’s head is in your lap now, cheek pressed against your (slightly chubbier) thighs. Her sniffles the background music as Tae gives her final recap of what happened.

Your nose gets a wrinkle in it when you go cross. "There's so much meanness to the world, I hate how people have to add to it."

Jimin’s anger leaves an undercurrent in the air, dragging the other alphas along, Hobi’s hands are strong where they dig into Tae’s shoulders, belly down in the nest while you play with her hair, braiding it back and forth. The attention makes her feel a little tingly.

“Do you know what her name was? Did you get a look at her car-“ Jimin asks, nearly barking. The library has cameras. Jimin knows it does.

Jin sets a hand on the back of his neck, a scruff threatening. “Down pup. Tae doesn’t need you to track them down.” Jimin’s teeth look particularly sharp in the light. For a face so soft he has quite the mouth on him.

“They made her sad,” he growls, but it's softer, more pointed as he crouches over her.

Namjoon’s quiet voice unlocks the whole world's worries, massaging gently down the column of Tae’s delicate neck, rough hands, worn tender touching her regardless. Namjoon is rarely ever so pointed, but it's logical, from an alpha's perspective, Tae knows what he hints.

"I think that if your bosses aren't going to protect you from people like that, then I want you to leave your job." Jin gives him a look like, 'Now you know where I'm coming from' but Tae's the important packmate right now.

Tae rolls Namjoon's words around her tongue, her hand loosely twined with his. Namjoon has the steadiest hands out of everyone in the pack and a few minutes ago he repurposed his surgery skills to do her nails. Took off the chipped red and re-did them because Namjoon knows she feels best when her claws are polished. He checks them now. Tapping them lightly to not smudge them.

It's a girl's night, the first girl's night you've ever had with the whole pack. Tae's face is still glossy from the face mask.

“I don’t think I want to quit; I don’t think that would help at all that’s not going to like- solve the world and all its issues.”

“No, but- if it’s making you more sad than happy. Then maybe it’s worth considering.”

Tae knows Namjoon’s not saying that she doesn’t make enough to affect the pack's finances, but that's still the truth. Hobi pulls himself along her other side and you watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Hobi presses a kiss to Tae's temple, “All you want to do is write every day anyways, and we just want you to be happy,” 6 heads nod their agreement.

Hobi isn't wrong; The last four weekends in a row Tae has woken up several hours earlier than the pack would usually stir from morning cuddles, just to get a few hours of uninterrupted writing done. She’s also spent nearly every night in her library room, staying up late after the pack has retired upstairs until one of you comes down and wrangles her upstairs. The pack's prettiest alpha needs her beauty sleep.

But is it enough to count on? Is it worth quitting her job over?

You duck down low, kissing the same spot Hobi did, your lips touching just a Tae away. a heavy breath wooshes out of her chest. "Yeah why wouldn't we want you to quit? If you're always here then I can always do this."

Your kiss is gentle, and it tastes like belonging more than Tae would ever be able to write, to describe. A love that makes you feel like you belong is a rare thing. And Tae's hand goes up to tangle in your hair, keeping you there for just a shared breath longer.

The next breath tastes a bit like freedom. It's scary to be free.

(But Tae leaves her 2 weeks' notice on her boss’s desk before the end of the next work day, and she doesn't feel bad about it one bit).

~-~

(1 year prior)

Maybe the truth is that the reason why you don’t feel you deserve agency is because you know what your agency looks like. The choices you’re willing to make when it comes down to it.

The secrets you tell and the lies you have buried deep in your pocket like one of Hobi’s found things. Something you can’t get rid of and cast back into the ocean. No matter how hard you try. There is something about murder that sticks, that stays no matter how many times you try to wash your hands of it.

It's not guilt, because you don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

Being backed into a corner can make someone do a whole hell of alot of monstrous things. And back then Life was monotonous. Back then there was Anguish without change.

Your life went like this: Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Meet up with Hyejin. Make poison. Make pastries. Go to the Don’s house. Feed it to them. Listen to Moonbyul tell you to wait. Go home. Get beaten again and again. Get raped every night. On and on and on.

Clean up your blood from the tiles. Clean it from the carpet. Hydrogen peroxide and not bleach. Cover the bruises up with color corrector first before you put concealer over them.

Smile and tell everyone that your husband and you are perfectly happy. There will be a pup on the way soon enough, I'm so lucky to have someone who supports me, and I'm so lucky to have a love like this.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Go to sleep and don't cry because then he'll beat you for keeping him awake.

In the darkness that curls around you. Blood going tacky between your legs, you start to dream of wicked sweet things.

What you've been through would be enough to make anyone go crazy, Enough to make anyone consider drastic action. Enough to make anyone consider murder.

Enough for you to slide a pair of small syringes off of Moonbyul’s night desk and a small packet of arsenic too. You know how to make a simple syrup. You know how to mix in arsenic to it, how to make it liquid soluble without breathing it in.

You make it in the fine china and break it after so that you can throw it out without worrying. You get a beating for it but you hardly feel it when Geumjae drags you across the floor by your hair. It hardly breaks your heart when he steps on your ribcage with the intent to break bones because you know what you have to do.

After, with your own blood on your teeth, you make sure to leave it in the bottom of the trash, and ask the cleaning staff not to take it out yet. They're supposed to find it.

You don't care if you die, you just want to make sure the necessary villains are punished. When it comes to blame the person who is most to blame is you anyway. You are simply numb to pain, numb to your own anguish. Numb to the idea of your own death too. Geumjae's already killed you in every way that matters.

Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite; give a girl an enemy and she'll do dangerous things.

Your meetings with the Don and beta always go the same; gossip, and greetings. Sometimes when you come bearing bruises, they tell you to wait just a little longer.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Just give it time for his temper to settle. Once you're mated it will get better.

Even Moonbyul and Hyejin tell you that planning the perfect crime takes time. That you'll be saved if you only wait. Help is coming.

Bullshit.

You’re tired of waiting for him to kill you, you're tired of waiting to die. You're smarter than all of them because you know exactly how to get everything you want and you're willing to do anything to get it.

The next time Moonbyul and Hyejin take you to the Don and Beta’s house under the guise of afternoon tea, you are prepared for war and dressed with revenge in mind. Your white dress knotted at the shoulders falling in a heavenly sheet, like an avenging angel, neither pious nor sinful.

You are a force of nature and nature does not ask when it takes lives.

What’s worse; the people that enable the abusers or the abusers themselves? Who is more to blame for the pain caused?

You are no longer hiding and you won't let them hide this time. The bruise on your cheek is purple and mottled, the rings of bruises on your wrists from his hands while he held you down.

When you smiled at Geumjae over breakfast this morning, there was only one thought in your mind.

You’re next.

Your agency looks like this; elegantly done hair your skirt a little short for fall. A basket of arsenic-backed goods in a basket as is usual. Fluffy pink cupcakes with the perfect Swiss meringue buttercream in little spirals.

A gentle smile at the beta when she opens her doors for you, letting the monster in, because you’ve been over enough times that she trusts you. You suppose that's your doing too, you've fooled her into thinking you're just another idiot girl who decided to marry rich and didn't bother to consider the strings attached. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, you bare your teeth when you smile.

Hyejin has helped on that front; over the past few months, she has taught you exactly the kind of conversation that the beta likes- the useless conversations about family drama, the small little bits that you let through about your husband’s opinion on which pup is marrying whom, which alpha is good or bad for the packs near dozen omega pups that aren’t mated yet. Which alphas are likely to be a liability? This kind of gossip is all information and strategy.

You might have lied in your call to her and told her you were fearful of one of the younger ones- and a conversation you’d happened to witness on a street corner, a shadowy figure that looked a little too severe not to be the authorities. Of course, these kinds of things have to be handled with discretion and ginseng tea.

The Don does not bother to turn down the TV when you walk in, sitting vulnerable in his recliner with his feet up. It doesn’t appear that he has any sort of inclination or plans to interact with you when you sit here at his kitchen table and talk. Instead, he lounges and watches his sports, loud because his hearing is so bad, nearly deafening.

It’s good. hopefully anyone nearby will not overhear.

You hope that if this goes south before you have a chance to confess that they find the letter you wrote at home; the one that says your husband is the one that put you up to this.

You know that the pack’s retribution will be swift, that any sort of alibi he has will be null and void with the evidence you’ve been leaving. A little trail of breadcrumbs that leads right into a pretty little grave for your husband. Even if you won't be around to see it.

You're already a friend of pain. You already find comfort in it. If they kill you (which they will) then at least it will finally be over.

You wait until the moment you know is coming, when the Don looks over his shoulder at you and comands “Be a dear and bring me one.”

You put one of your artfully created confections on a pretty gold-rimed plate and walk to his side, you lean over to put it in his lap as he indicates. the same way he does every time you come over with sweets.

The lingering hand on your ass is hardly abnormal. behind you the beta's tea cup clinks as she sets her tea down and says nothing. even though you know she notices.

He’s so busy coping a feel he doesn’t notice your other hand, going to the syringe duck taped to your thigh.

It happens quicker than the Don can blink. The most powerful man in the underworld can't be bothered to protect his life for a pretty little piece of ass. You smile down at him, and his hand squeezes the round apple of your behind.

His hand is still on your ass when you whip your arm around with as much force as you can and drive the syringe and plunger into his neck.

You must have hit something in his neck because he barely has a second to splutter before he’s going still and quiet. Mouth falling horrifyingly slack. His breath rattles and his eyes dart as his whole body is paralyzed near instantly, in the time it takes for his blood to circulate.

Two paces, swing, plunge.

The beta barely has a second to scream or stand to attack you. You are so much younger than they are. Your body might be fragile and frail but It’s still stronger than hers. Her brief scream is easily drowned out by the scratch of the TV.

She ends up on the floor, the icing on the cupcakes sticky as she falls into half of them, tossed onto the floor by your brief tussle as you straddle her struggling form. Her pushing gets weaker and weaker and she sobs.

It doesn’t surprise you when you see the black tracery of a dying mating mark itching up her skin.

One thing that the family had always been oh so careful of was to talk only in their mother tongue around you. Secrets are best kept when they’re spoken in foreign tongues. It was a way to isolate you. To make them speak English for you to understand felt like a beholden request. At one point It was a point of insecurity for you, always left out of the loop, always relying on your husband to keep you in the know.

You bend over her as her pushing gets weaker and weaker, the arsenic doing its job, causing numbness and the tingling of extremities before it causes paralysis and then coma and death. Your hair falls in a sheet over the beta’s face.

You’ve studied much over the last few months. Enough that you lean in close over her and speak your words in perfect Korean.

“You look so angry,” you croon softly, dragging a finger down her cheek. Spittle froths at her mouth as she breathes heavily. “You shouldn’t- if you want someone to blame you only need to look in the mirror.”

You lean in close until your lips brush her ear, “it's your fault you see- you're the one who lied" you mimic her voice, making it scratchy, "'just wait a little longer, it will be better for the family if you stay quiet." you laugh, "as if that where true, the only person it benefits is you. You where ready to let him hurt me and kill me if i just stayed quiet."

You wipe away a bit of spit from her lower lip, "You always told me how it was your duty to protect the family- but you only serve yourself. If you'd have done something, if you'd have helped me I wouldn't have had to do this. You just wanted me to shut up and die quietly.”

You switch back to English, “Well now it’s your turn.”

You watch her tongue go numb, paralyzed, but the poison hasn’t advanced far enough for her not to speak.

“Fucking- worthless bitch.”

You laugh and stand brushing some crumbs from your skirt. She’s already too weak to move, to shout, or fight you. You watch the light start to leave her eyes, winking out so slowly, like a dying star. But she still looks so pissed.

“You don’t have a right to be angry, you killed me first. You can’t blame me for fighting back.”

She gives her last breath and the TV plays on. Your shoe ticks her hand, her fingers twitching weakly. You watch as she gasps her last breath, a small smile on your face.

You sit at the table and turn the TV down. You wait a few minutes, but it quickly becomes an hour. You have yourself a nice little treat while you watch, turning the channel to a food network while you eat.

You really are a fantastic cook. The crumb on this batch is so nice you don’t even taste the metallic tang of poison. You eat through one, and then another, until the whole basket is empty.

Before you know it there is a concerned knock at the door. The lock clicks and turns when you answer it.

When Moonbyul opens the door, you laugh at the expression on her face. Licking the frosting from your lips. Even that is delicious.

She takes in their bodies, crumpled on the floor the frosting on your cheeks. The evidence. Both of them dying. A violence you cannot undo.

Her voice is somber. “Oh Pup, what have you done?”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

~-~

Notes:

this chapter is a very classic bily chapter, in the fact that there is a fuck ton of fluff and then bang the mafia bits just take you out. we needed to get back into the mafia bits of the story sooner rather than later though 💀

i felt like i was going a little too over the top with certain bits of puptalk in this chapter, but i really wanted to use it to show that like yeah- the pack has been treating her alot more gently since her breakdown, they've been babbying the fuck out of her, even if we don't get to see it :(

Hobi's texts are so???? Fucking cute?? He's so hopeless my god he wants to make her feel loved without actually saying it and i hope you read them and just go "oh, you're an idiot."

I have this whole elaborate backstory to how wonho's gym works with monthly subscriptions to classes where people can decide how many classes they want to take a week, ie gym dues for facilities and then discounted classes on top if they pay for it before hand, with several tiers.

this chapter almost feels clerical- this is definitely more of a set up chapter- where i needed to check off a lot of boxes, like hobi's courting present- before we go any further into the story. things are going to start amping up in terms of stakes pretty quickly.

That one part, where hobi is kinda malfunctioning after the m/c touches his cheek and everyone teases him feels the most representative of the pack as a whole. like that part where they're all replying- feels very real. i struggle a little to capture a sense of domesticity in concise ways, but i think this part is very tidy.

That little touch with hobi- where he touches her wrist and her finger, that touch has so much weight to it, i personally think the whole pack was tasting the sexual tension on the air, can you guys feel it too or is it all in my head?

idk why yoongi calling tae babygirl makes me so flustered but it does 🥵

i really wanted to work calling tae mommy into the chapter someway but tbh this chapter felt complex enough without it.

there is like- one plot hole in this whole story, and that is in the first chapter of the story when yoongi gets a call the person on the other line says "grandfather is dying." implying that his death wasn't instantaneous like this is shown to be. however, in my mind- the injections don't actually kill the don and beta but plunge them into a coma that they never wake up from- is this an actual possibility with arsenic poisoning- NO IT ISN'T lol, you're just going to have to suspend your disbelief for me.

the m/c has always been the person who killed the don and the beta- i've known this since like...maybe the 4th chapter? it wasn't in the og og plan for the story but almost everything in bily has been hammered out since then. and tbh you already knew she killed them just not that it was this violent! does this count as a secret???? idk! maybe!!!

she's a little murder baby just like minnie <3

406 notes · View notes

laurashapiro-noreally · 1 month

Text

Looking for something to read?

Oh look, it's another recs post! This time I'm featuring two stories per author. These are writers I always make time for, whose work stands out as unusually hot, clever, funny, or smart -- sometimes all of the above.

I'm gonna start you out strong with two by @werpiper: After Hours takes Aziraphale and Crowley to the baths after their oyster supper, and all sorts of interesting pleasures are there for our angel to sample. Piper's Crowley is one of my favorites: always evaluating the situation, not quite aware of what his own heart is doing but feeling it anyway.

Fitting In is a new story, still a WIP, but I am utterly tantalized by Muriel's first taste of love -- and tea. This is already rich in detail, soft and fragrant, and I can hardly wait for the action to get going in earnest. The pairing seems surprising but when you think about it for ten seconds of course it makes sense. Sex workers help the curious, the awkward, and the inexperienced every day, bless them.

If you enjoy these, check out @werpiper's back catalog -- they have done a ton of ineffables-through-the-ages, and their series Miracles and Heresy is worth many delightful hours of your time.

I love what @copperplatebeech has been doing lately:

He's Not My Friend is a T-rated story that explores Aziraphale's constant refusal to acknowledge his relationship with Crowley, and Crowley's mirror of that, and how things glacially shift over time. It is subtle and yet specific, it will make you ache and smile.

All Of The Above, also T-rated, is a warm and fuzzy alternative to that, a hilarious celebration of true friendship that made me laugh out loud and still got me right in the feels.

@copperplatebeech can do everything, from quiet, gentle, and romantic to devastating plotty AUs to extraordinarily horny established relationship to absolutely ridiculous humor. Do dive in if you haven't already.

Next up, @cumaeansibyl, master of kink:

better living through technology manages to shove everything I want in a dirty story into less than three thousand words: uptight Aziraphale reduced to sodden wreck, Crowley gleefully showing him what he's been missing, character-driven erotics, and exceptionally funny dialogue.

indulgentiam peccatorum nostrorum is somehow all that and more, turning the "I was wrong" dance into a kink (something I can't get enough of, recs welcome). This one is post-Bastille so it is extra-juicy. Mind the tags!

@cumaeansibyl has a gift for established relationship one-shots, which readers of mine will know are my entire jam. They also have a mind-meltingly hot inverse!omens AU that features different variations of angelic/demonic Crowleys and Aziraphales for our ineffables to play with.

A new-to-me author, Calico, has me hanging by a thread with their Ineffable Romans series. If you want to remember that your ineffables aren't human, that they are inordinately clever but very stupid, that the feelings they have for each other are truly beyond what anyone alive has ever felt, Calico may be the writer for you. This stuff is deep. Also hot af.

Sub Rosa reads like a nasty shag at Petronius', but there's so much more going on here. It is Extremely Queer, driven by power dynamics, and Crowley is fully demonic here and absolutely in control...or is he?

The Intemperance of Liber Pater continues on this theme, with dialogue-driven smut that reads less like a seduction than an inevitability. There's another story in this series, unfinished, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Last but not least: two short pieces by @ineffabildaddy. I stumbled on their stories just this week and I absolutely love their approach, which I've not seen done quite this way before.

take me as your wife has a tight first-person perspective as Crowley meets Aziraphale for a meal and imagines (or is it his imagination?) that Aziraphale is suggesting Certain Things about how they might occupy themselves later. Indeed, is he suggesting even more? Something about their relationship? Or is it all in Crowley's head?

Only in Dreams is kind of a companion piece, from Aziraphale's point of view -- though hundreds of years later. This one's set after the events of S2 and although just as romantic as take me as your wife, it also offers an ineffable take on the ol' glory hole concept. Just in case you thought I was getting soft. 😏

@ineffabildaddy has a whole series of poems and ficlets like these and I can't wait to explore them all.

#good omens #fic recs #good omens fic recs #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #rare pair #muriel

154 notes · View notes

thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 3 months

Text

Gentleman caller

Sanji x reader. NSFW!!

This fic was inspired by Usopp visiting Kaya at her mansion at night. One Piece of course is not that sort of story, but... what if things were allowed to get a little more spicy?

TAGGING @holymusicalmothman @b7717 @mcereal @aamon47 Thanks for asking!!

*****

"Are you sure you don't want a glass of warm milk before you go to bed, miss?"

"I am sure, Kyla." you answer politely. The truth is you haven't drunk a glass of milk to help you fall asleep since you were ten (that is, almost half your life) but your governess keeps asking, every single night, and every single night you answer no; still, you know she does it out of worry and affection for you, which you sincerely appreciate "I think I'll go now; will you tell my father good-night for me, when he returns?"

Kyla promises she will, and returns to the kitchen to clean up after dinner, while you walk out of the villa's large dining room, cross a long corridor and climb the stairs to the upper floor, finally reaching your bedroom.

Except for Kyla in the kitchen you are alone, since the cook and the gardener, who do not reside in the villa, already left, and your father is as usual busy with a business dinner. You don't feel lonely exactly, since that state of affairs has been going on since your mother died when you were still too young to remember her, but it does feel a little weird to live in such a large place, no less than twelve bedrooms on the first floor alone and at least six other rooms that have been closed for years since you literally don't know how to occupy them, when it's only the two of you... a waste of space, even though you and your father often host parties and receive many guests.

And the most important of those visitors by far is going to arrive soon, a person your father has no idea has already visited so many times before...

You take off your shoes, and spend a few minutes in the en-suite bathroom refreshing yourself before closing the bedroom's door behind you. You sigh, happy and excited, as you let yourself fall on the bed, observing the room you have slept in since you were maybe six and that you will soon leave: the desk cluttered with paper models, scarps of fabric and sewing tools; the two mannequins wearing your latest creations, a green cocktail dress and a simpler but elegant light blue men's shirt; the bookstore full of sewing manuals, fashion catalogs and the biographies of your favourite designers; the large poster on a wall, depicting a famous, elegantly dressed model... and the glass door that, only a few minutes after you have retired to your room, starts being hit by tiny pebbles, picked from the garden below.

Your guest is here. You happily stand from the bed, glance quickly to the full length mirror on the wall to make sure your hair is combed and in order, and reach the glass door to quickly step onto the balcony.

Standing in the garden under you like a suitor ready to serenade you, more handsome than a fairy-tale hero and beaming as if about to see all his dreams come true, is him. The former assistant cook of your family, your best friend in the world, your...

"Sanji!" you call out to him, voice barely rising above a whisper as you wave your hand at him, a greeting he returns in kind, clearly happy to see you, hidden among the trunks of the centuries-old trees; the night is particularly dark, heavy clouds covering the crescent moon and most of the stars, but his smile is brighter than any other source of light.

"Are you alone?" Sanji asks urgently as he glances all around him; no one has reason to visit the garden at this hour and the balcony is oriented towards the back of the villa, far from the main entrance through which your father would come in, but you both know how imperative it is to keep your rendez-vous secrets.

"I am; my dad hasn't returned yet and Kyla is in the kitchen. You can come up."

When you decided you would meet in secret at night, five years ago, you had offered to find a rope for him to climb, but Sanji never needed it. Tonight, as usual, you look on as he nimbly climbs the tree closest to the villa's wall, clinging to the huge trunk and then to the largest branches until he's jumping above the balcony and directly in your arms.

You embrace each other, your profiles standing out against the light filtering from the room, and for a full minute neither feels the need to talk. Sanji's arms hold you close by the waist, his lips pressed against your temple in a chaste kiss; you lose yourself in his scent, the costly perfume you bought for him because you knew he liked but couldn't afford it and and that never fails to make you shiver, as you enjoy the sensation of his slim but strong body pressed against yours.

"Do you have it?" you ask after a while, pulling away just enough to look at him in the eyes; you thought about nothing else for days, more nervous than if it had been your own future career at stake "The answer from the school. Did you receive it?"

"I have."

"... and?!"

Sanji, as usual neatly dressed in one of the dark suits he wears at work, smiles at you, his fingers brushing against your face; a small backpack hangs from his shoulder. "Can we go inside before we talk?" he proposes "I have something for you as well."

Knowing he brought you a treat from the restaurant he works at makes you happy, but nothing beats the simple, pure pleasure of his company. Wordlessly you take his hand to lead him inside, leaving the now empty balcony behind.

*****

Your friendship with Sanji began exactly one decade ago; you were the only daughter of a powerful politician, living alone with him at the villa and whose pathological shyness had left her virtually friendless, him a newly orphaned boy your father had decided to hire as assistant to the cook, so that he could support himself. One afternoon, you visited the kitchen to ask for a snack, since you were starving and dinner was still hours away; the cook told you that he was sorry but your father, already then worried for your weight, had strictly forbidden him from feeding you between meals. You noticed Sanji, busy scrubbing a large pot in the sink, but he seemed so focused on his job you decided not to disturb him to introduce yourself.

You left, disappointed but unwilling to insist, out of respect for both your father and the cook who was just following orders, but a few minutes later, as you studied in the library, he joined you, a nervous smile on his face and a salami sandwich in his hands.

"Please don't tell anyone, especially not your dad." he told you as he put it in your hands "I hope you liked it, I put some mayonnaise on it because I saw the cook used it to prepare your school lunch yesterday."

You did (and still do) like mayonnaise on your sandwiches, and in that moment you were doubly astonished: that he heard your request for a snack even though he had looked so engrossed in the cookware to wash, and that he had decided to risk your father's wrath to help you, less than a week after being hired.

"Thank you, I... thank you so much! That was very kind of you." you told him, for once forgetting your shyness "My name is (name). What's yours?"

"I'm Sanji. And don't worry; I'm sure your dad means well, but no one should starve, especially not at our age. Don't tell anyone, ok? I know he forbade the cook from feeding you snacks, and i'm not supposed to visit the family's wing of the villa without a valid reason."

You obviously kept his secret, and from that day on, you and Sanji quickly became inseparable, spending together all your free time from school and work; he secretly fed you every time your father's concern about your weight made the cook limit your meals, and you used your allowance to buy him cooking books he studied to pursue his dream of becoming a famous chef. Apart from your father, you had never loved anyone like him; Sanji was the other half of your soul, an acerbic but steadfast feeling that made you sure you would never feel alone, as long as he were by your side, and you would not have left him for all the treasures, and the good food, in the world.

Your father, who was happy you had finally made a friend and didn't mind you had chosen the kitchen boy and not one of your school mates, who belonged to the city's most affluent and prominent families, never had anything against it... at least until you were both fourteen, when he suddenly decided it was inappropriate for the two of you to spend so much time together; as a sign of peace, he found Sanji a more prestigious job in a famous restaurant at the other side of the city. That, in your father's opinion, would have meant the end of your friendship, but it obviously didn't: and after all, with all the sandwiches and portions of dessert he had snuck you, hadn't your friendship been based on secrecy since the very beginning?

For five years Sanji has spent with you almost every evening he is free from the restaurant; he climbs the trees next to your balcony and you let him in, and sometimes you spend the whole night talking, or leave together to visit a bar or go dancing. Is it dangerous, should your father discover what you are up to? Undoubtedly so, especially since you know he only worries about you, whether it is about the food you eat or the places you visit in a large and dangerous city; but you are an adult, more than old enough to decide how to live your life, and Sanji is always ready to protect you when someone bothers you in a club, and he would never feed you something that could seriously endanger your health. You don't know why exactly your father has suddenly decided you mustn't be friends with him anymore, but you are determined not to lose him, especially now that your relationship has started evolving beyond mere friendship... and your own dreams risk separating you forever.

*****

"So? What did the school say?" you insist as Sanji closes the glass door behind the two of you; your heart is pounding, wishing with every fiber of your being you could change the decision the commission must have taken days ago "Did you get in?"

For years Sanji has dreamed of attending the most prestigious cooking school in the country, the Baratie Culinary Arts Academy in the capital; this year he has finally reached the required age to enroll, but the entrance examination, that your friend has taken two weeks ago, is notoriously difficult, especially for who, like Sanji, also has to apply for a scholarship. Your friend was meant to receive the results of his exam today, and you had decided you would also share your own secret with him... and then, hopefully, you would both have something to celebrate.

"I'll tell you in a minute."

"Sanji, please... I haven't thought about anything else all day!" you complain, fearing your friend's reticence is due to shame for his failure; Sanji, busy emptying his backpack on your desk, smiles, before rubbing the back of his head.

"The truth is... I haven't opened the letter yet." he admits "I hoped we could do it together... mainly because I don't have the courage to do it by myself."

There is nothing wrong with wanting a friend close when one is both scared and excited for something, but in that moment your heart breaks for Sanji: he has lost his parents, had to take care of himself since he was still a child, and while he has a good job and could try again next year, being refused admission to the Baratie would break his heart.

You wait patiently as Sanji quickly sets the table for the two of you: cutlery, napkins, glasses, a bottle of water and his latest effort in the kitchen: two portions of a delicious chocolate cake, bigger than what your father would allow you to eat but still relatively small, since your friend does care about your health.

"This looks delicious, Sanji!" you exclaim, as always happy to taste your friend's latest creations "But wait..."

You walk to the small fridge next to the door, almost hidden under a pile of scraps of fabric left over from your latest creation and that you will find a use for one day, and retrieve a small but expensive bottle of champagne that you have bought in the afternoon.

"I thought we could use it to celebrate; I have also taken two flutes from the kitchen." you explain.

"I still don't know if I got in, (name)."

"I'm sure you did. And if the chefs at the Baratie can't see, and taste, how extraordinarily talented you are, it's their loss." you point out "You wanna open it?"

A minute later you are sitting face to face at your desk, cake and champagne ready to be enjoyed, the white envelope Sanji took from his backpack in your hands.

"Shall I?" you ask softly; your friend, who has never looked so pale and so young, nods.

"Please."

You both hold your breath as you open the envelope and then unfold the single sheet of paper inside. You make sure Sanji cannot see your face as you read...

"So? What... what does it say?"

"Sanji, I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, God..." your friend, heartbroken, stares at you for a moment before slumping on his chair, face hidden in his hands "I can't believe it... I was so sure..."

"I'm sorry because you have some very difficult years ahead..."

"... what?"

"Of course. Nights spent studying, sharing a room with six other people, waking up extra-early to go to class... Really, I don't envy you..."

Finally you look at him, beaming, while Sanji's eyes grow bigger as he slowly catches the meaning of your words.

"You mean...?"

"You got in! And you got the scholarship as well. Oh, Sanji, I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it!"

You stand and embrace, laughing with shared delight. "I can't believe it." Sanji murmurs, still as he looks at the admission letter, signed by Zeff, a famous chef who is the Baratie's headmaster "There were so many people at the exam, and at one point I was so nervous I spilled a bowl of vinaigrette on my apron..."

"As I said, an important school like the Baratie, with so many experienced chefs, couldn't not recognize your talent." you point out, happier than you remember ever being "Classes start in a month, you'll have to give your notice at the restaurant."

"Yeah..."

Sanji takes your hands in his, kissing them devotedly. "I could have never done it without you." he murmurs, with the sort of gaze and inflection that, years after your first kiss, still makes you shiver "All the books you have bought me... and it was you who convinced me to apply. I owe you so much, (name)."

"You would have done the same for me; and we both know the two of us are beyond this sort of talk. I am so happy for you, truly; I know you will become a great chef."

Sanji smiles, circling your waist with his arm as he uses his free hand to pick one of the flutes from the desk. "Shall we celebrate, then?"

"Actually..."

"Actually?"

"Actually, I also have something to tell you." you admit, a new, excited smile opening on your face "You know that important fashion school in the capital, the one many of my favourite designers attended?"

Fashion has always been your greatest passion; you have designed clothes since you were a child, and thanks to a family friend who owns a large tailor shop you have learnt the basics of the trade, how to cut fabric, sew and tailor an item of clothing. Your father, who approves of your interests, has offered to introduce you to some fashion designers his friends or associates are acquainted to, but you are determined to accept no recommendations and take no shortcuts; just like Sanji, and any person who has to work hard to realize their dreams, you will pursue your education, earn an apprenticeship at a fashion house, and in time, hopefully, open your own and make a name for yourself as a designer. It will take you years and fashion is a famously difficult field to break into, but you are determined to give your all, so that whatever the future may bring you will be free from regret, and live doing what you love.

"Of course; the Nefertari Vivi Fashion Institute." Sanji promptly answers; miss Vivi is one of your idols, a ground-breaking designer who has revolutionized the fashion world and then focused on teaching, establishing one of the best-reputed educational institutions of the field "So what?"

You smile, still excited almost a week after receiving your own letter, that you asked your father to open for you.

Sanji gapes. "You are kidding."

"I am not!"

Your friend laughs. "And you didn't tell me anything!" he exclaims, and you apologize, telling him you didn't want to disappoint both of them in the not unlikely event you were not admitted.

"But you were?"

You still can't believe it yourself. "I was! There was no exam; I only had to send miss Vivi some of my creations, and a few days ago I received the acceptance letter."

"(name), that's amazing!"

"I know! I can't wait to begin. I also apply for a scholarship, but unfortunately I didn't get it."

Sanji asks whether you plan on asking your father to pay for your classes, but you shake your head: you need to learn to take care of yourself, living alone once you'll move to the capital and earning money to support yourself. To this end, you have contacted a friend who lives in the capital and owns a bookstore: she has accepted to hire you, and you have sold your jewels to pay your tuition fees.

"(name), you didn't!" Sanji exclaims, flabbergasted "Those were your mom's things..."

"I know." you sigh, still feeling saddened and a bit guilty even though you know you did the right thing "But this is my future we are talking about, the opportunity to build a career, and a life for myself, without my father taking care of me or using my family's money to buy whatever I need or want. I want to earn my keep, Sanji; I want to prove I can take care of myself, and that I am more than a spoiled little girl."

Sanji softly points out that no one who knows you could ever think that; he smiles, his handsome face expressing a joy too great and deep for words, as he takes you in his arms once more. "So we are both moving to the capital to study." he mentions "And pursue our dreams. Which means we'll both be very busy..."

"... but we won't have to hide our relationship anymore." you happily finish for him, having already reflected on the matter; you plan on living in a student residence, since their rooms are cheaper than other types of accommodation, and guests are usually not admitted, but at least you will be able to meet in the open, having dates like any other couple instead of having to hide like a married man with his mistress, lest your father learns about your relationship "I can't wait! In a month we'll both be living in the capital, studying with the best in our fields, and nothing will stop us from being together. I... I don't think I've ever been so happy!"

"Me neither." Sanji agrees, one of the flutes in his hand once more "Shall we drink to our future? And then enjoy the cake?"

You agree, but you barely have had the time to clink your glasses together when a sudden noise reaches your ears: an unexpected, but otherwise innocuous noise, at least for who, unlike the two of you, has nothing to hide...

A soft but firm knocking on the door.

Sanji looks at you, suddenly tense; you turn your eyes to the door, wishing to be able to see beyond it. "Yes?"

"(name), it's dad. May I come in?"

The flute almost slips from Sanji's fingers; terrified as if a whole army were standing at the other side of the door, ready to barge in and tear both to pieces, you both nonetheless act quickly, having prepared for such an occurrence since your first nocturnal meeting. Your friend quickly retrieves the flutes and the champagne bottle, while you do the same with the cake plates and the other things placed on your desk; a moment later, Sanji has slipped under your bed, a dusty and uncomfortable hiding spot where nonetheless he'll be safe from your father.

I hope.

"(name)? Is everything all right?"

"Just a moment, dad! I'm coming!" you answer, hoping you sound less nervous, almost terrified, than you feel; you quickly glance all around you, making sure no trace of Sanji's presence is visible, and finally go open the door.

"Hello, dad. How was dinner?" you ask, approaching to kiss him on the cheek; even though he interrupted you and Sanji, you're happy he came to say good-night to you before retiring to his own bedroom.

"Pretty good, even though the lemon cake was not up the restaurant's usual standard. Are you ok?"

"Yes, of course; I was... preparing to go to bed." you answer vaguely, before something in your peripheral vision makes you tense; it is Sanji's backpack, placed where your friend had left it less than half an hour ago: on the bed, perfectly visible.

Shit. SHIT. Shitshitshitshit...

You move a step to the right, so as to prevent your father from noticing the backpack; it is not as compromising as if he had found Sanji's tie, or his shoes, but he could notice the backpack is a men's model, and inside he could find your friend's personal documents, five years after he had forbidden you from having further contact with him. Don't look at it. Don't see it. Please please please...!

Thank God your father, a clever and perceptive man, seems unconcerned with out-of-place objects in your room. "I was thinking tomorrow we could go buy a new suitcase for you; you need a large one, since you'll have to bring most of your things when you'll move to the capital. I hope you'll allow me to pay for that at least."

You smile, grateful for the offer and even more for the intention. "Of course, dad. Thank you."

He smiles, taking your hands in his. "I am so proud of you." he murmurs "I have always known you had a great talent for fashion, but being admitted to such a prestigious school... You'll become the greatest designer of your generation, I'm sure."

"Dad..."

"Please, let me be happy for you. You know I'm always there if you need something, right? I know you have found a job, and you are smart and mature enough to take care of yourself, but if you ever need money, or you want to come home, you can do it; no judgement. Oh, I wish your mom could see you..."

You bite your lip, suddenly unable to talk; a lump of emotion blocks your throat. You are happy, and grateful, that your father supports your desire to move to the capital and attend the Nefertari Institute, especially since he's so protective and you know he wished you would one day follow his footsteps and go into politics, and while you can't wait to start your classes and enjoy life in a big city, the thought of leaving him, and the house where you were born, fills you with sadness... and guilt.

"I... I will never thank you enough for everything you have done for me." you murmur, stepping closer to him to hug your father "And I'm sorry if... if I ever made it hard for you, especially after mom died. I love you very much, dad. I'll be back often to visit, I promise; and I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too, my darling girl." your father answers; he's moved as well, but better than you at hiding it "But I'm so proud you're beginning your life in the world. And I hope you'll let me visit you as well."

"Of course! Every time you can."

"Good. Now, we should both go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He kisses you on the forehead, and soon after he's closing the room's door behind him. You are still staring at it when, a minute later, Sanji joins you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

"Are you all right?" he asks softly; he has known you long enough to perceive what you are feeling, the love for your father and the guilt for the relationship you are carrying out behind his back, the efforts you are making to build a life for yourself away from his protective but constrictive influence and the way you'll miss him terribly and feel guilty for leaving as soon as you could.

"Yeah, just... I was just thinking."

You sigh, turning to face Sanji, desperately trying to return to the carefree joy of five minutes ago, and drive away the melancholia filling your heart. After all, it is normal for children to find their way in life away from their family, and your father is still young, dedicated to his job and career, and has many friends and a new partner he is very close to; he'll be all right, and whatever loneliness and melancholy he will feel, you know he will accept it.

"Your father is a good man." Sanji points out as you both retrieve your drinks and plates from the wardrobe you had hidden them in "He didn't even know me, but he gave me a job when I was alone in the world, and then he found me an even more prestigious one at the restaurant; every berry I ever earned I owe it to him. I'll never forget all the help he gave me."

You smile, happy to hear your friend talk well about your father. "You still have a good opinion of him even if he forbade us from being friends?"

"Well, I shouldn't resent him for that, since we never stopped seeing each other. And he only wanted to protect you, which I can understand."

You blink. "... sorry? What are you talking about?"

"Right, I... I never told you, did I?"

Sanji rubs the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. "You never wondered why your dad was suddenly against us being friends?"

You had. "Well... I thought it was because we weren't children anymore... and you a boy and I a girl..."

"Exactly, but... there was something else. When I was fourteen, I... I wrote you a letter; there was something important I needed to tell you, but I couldn't find the courage to do it in person. I left it on your pillow one day while you were in school, but your father found it... and read it."

You wait for Sanji to elaborate, but he seems focused on staring at the floor, avoiding your gaze. "It was... something inappropriate for a father to read...?"

"Nothing vulgar, if that is what you are wondering; but... it did say I wanted us to be more than friends, and this is what your father opposed, not that I was an orphan without money and prospectives, but because he thought you were too young for that sort of relationship. So... so he asked me to leave things between us as they were, and when I refused, he decided it was better to separate us, and he found me a job at the other side of town, forbidding me from contacting you again, at least until you were of age."

He looks at you, tense since he has no idea how you could react, but the truth is you don't know either. "He sent you away because he didn't want us to date?" you recapitulate in the end, flabbergasted "What would have been so wrong about that? Lots of girls get a boyfriend at fourteen, and he knew you, he knew you would treat me well..."

"Well, he's always been protective of you. Sorry, maybe I should have told you before..."

"It's ok." you reassure him, even though you are not completely sure of it yourself; you understand your father's reasons, and appreciate he didn't simply kick Sanji out in the street, but at the same time you can't believe all of it was to stop your best friend, a boy he knew posed no danger, from confessing his feelings "I... I'm so sorry, Sanji..."

"Well, it wasn't so bad; and as I said, I really don't have a reason to complain, since we did end up becoming more than friends. I felt guilty lying to your dad... but I couldn't give up on you."

He smiles, as he picks one of the flutes up from your desk again. "Now, can we please have a toast to our future?"

You do, happily enjoying your late-night snack; you delicately clink your glasses together before taking a sip, and then feed each other cake, your knees touching under the desk.

Silence has fallen on the room, and on the two of you, as usual when you are with Sanji a comfortable, peaceful silence that you don't feel the need to fill with small talk; you smile at each other, both happy and excited at the future opening in front of you... a future that you will face together as you have always done, finding strength and support in each other.

"Does chef Zeff teaches any class at the Baratie?" you ask after a while; you know the extent of Sanji's admiration for the principal of the cooking school, and it would be amazing for him to learn personally from his idol.

"Not for first-year students; but I heard that he sometimes gives one-on-one classes, if he finds a particularly talented pupil."

"... which means he'll leave all his other classes to tutor you exclusively, as soon as he tastes your True Bluefin sauté... or your salami sandwich."

Sanji smiles; he knows how much faith you have in his cooking abilities, and he never stops being grateful for it. "You're exagerrating."

"I'm not." you very seriously protest, as you clean your dish from any crumble of cake; you know watching your diet means taking care of your health, but you would happily eat three more! "A month and he'll let you skip a year or two, I promise."

"Well, if you are so sure..."

A few minutes later Sanji is putting the dirty plates and cutlery away in his backpack, while you observe the sky out of the glass door, leaning with one shoulder against the wall.

"Once we both live in the capital we won't have to hide anymore, but we'll be so busy with school..." you consider "I'm afraid we won't have a lot of time to spend together."

"Still, it will be an improvement from what we have now. And all the city's school dormitories are in the same campus, which means we can visit each other every time we want."

You nod, still pensive, and a moment later Sanji's arms are circling your waist, his chest pressed against your back.

"It's going to be all right." he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in a way that makes you shiver in such a pleasant way "We are going to be all right, I promise, no matter how busy we are."

"Oh, I know; believe me, I'm not doubting my feelings, or yours. We have waited for so long to be able to live our relationship in the open, and I can't wait to be able to see you every day, even for five minutes between classes or to cram together at night. It's just..."

You turn in his embrace, almost apologetic as you smile at him. "I feel so happy, as if all my dreams were coming true: attending a great school, not having to hide what we share. It is almost too good to be true; and I'm almost afraid to wake up and find out it really was just a dream."

Sanji is too kind to make fun of your fears; he considers them as he holds you close, equally aware that no matter how steadfast your feelings for each other are and even though both of you have rightfully earned admission in the schools of your dreams, you are both beginning a new chapter in life, and neither knows what future may have in store for you.

Still, it is pointless to worry about tomorrow, and Sanji decides that more than reassure you, he wants to make you forget your fears, even if just for a minute. "You know what I'm thinking about?" he asks after a minute, his tone pensive "That I've been here for at least thirty minutes, and I haven't kissed, or been kissed by, you, even once."

"Ah, that won't do."

"It really won't. So..."

He grins, happy to see you smile as well, and when he lifts your chin with his fingers you obediently close your eyes and offer him your mouth to kiss.

Almost three years have passed since your first time, in this very room, and kissing Sanji still makes your heart tremble; he is sweet but passionate, not aggressive but intense enough to leave no doubt about his feelings, and his intentions. You enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours for a moment before kissing him back, Sanji's lips hot against yours; you feel him smile, his hands now holding you by the waist while yours gently caress his hair and neck.

"Gods, you taste so good..."

"It's the cake, Sanji."

"No, it's not. You are delicious, (name); absolutely... mesmerizing..."

You keep kissing for a while, as your hands start moving on each other's body; Sanji whispers your name, suddenly breathless, as your mouth descends towards his neck, at first gently pecking at the delicate skin of his throat, and then sucking hard enough to make him moan.

"(name)..." he murmurs again, and you smile, circling his hips with your arms; you nuzzle at his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt so familiar and comforting against your skin, and wish you could stay like this forever.

You feel Sanji's hands move on your hips and back, his fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt.

"I like this one." he murmurs in your ear; he is aware of the effect he has on you and exploits it mercilessly "Is it new?"

"Made it myself." you answer proudly; you had seen the skirt on a fashion magazine, and rather than buying it you had decided to see whether you could recreate it "Does it look good on me?"

"You look absolutely ravishing, my darling..."

And ravish is exactly what Sanji seems intent on doing; a minute later your back is pressed against the wall, with a very handsome, very amorous young chef intent on making you forget your very name.

Sanji's back and shoulder muscles are taut under your hands as they run all over his body, like a beautiful clay statue molded by your touch; you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, the tenseness in his body as he tries to restrain himself in order not to unsettle you, not to take more than what you would be ready to offer. Dear Sanji, you think fondly as you arch your back to press your chest against his and finally, finally feel his hands grab at your buttocks, don't you know at this point you don't even have to ask?

Sanji's jacket is the first item of clothing to go, falling on the closest chair after you helped him take it off; he returns the courtesy freeing you from the heavy sweater you wear, leaving you with a tight camisole, the different colour of your bra visible under it. He smiles, clearly appreciating the view, but a moment later his expression turns serious, almost reverent, as he gazes at you, almost as if he couldn't believe he's really holding you in his arms.

"I love you so much, you know that?" he murmurs, and no matter how many times he has already uttered those words, you know how deeply he means them, how utterly and hopelessly devoted he is to you and to what you hope to build together. To be the object of such an intense ardor is... humbling, since you're not quite sure you deserve it, and you could even feel guilty for it, if your feelings for Sanji were not equally deep and strong. You don't remember a day in which you didn't love him, ever since he risked your father's ire (and, consequently, the job he had just gotten) to feed you, there has always been a special place for him in your heart, a place no one else could ever occupy; Sanji is the other half of you, someone who you don't need in order to live but who you want to share your life with. Without him you could go on; but you know you'll never feel complete ever again.

And to express everything you feel -all the love, the joy that fills your heart when he's by your side and the hopes you cherish for your future together- you are unable to say more than...

"I love you too, Sanji."

... and that is more than a little frustrating.

You know what you share goes beyond physical attraction, but you can't deny it is flattering, and exciting, to know you can have that sort of effect on Sanji, a man attractive and charming enough he would have no troubles attracting a date; you sometimes think about the girls he meets at work, or the clients he could easily flirt with when he has to cover for a waiter at the restaurant, but you know he is being sincere when he swears you're the only one he cares about, and that he has never betrayed your trust. On the other hand, you are not good with words and Sanji doesn't care for expensive gifts, which makes you fear, sometimes, you could do more to prove how much you care for him, and how committed you are to your relationship; the truth is, you love him so much, a feeling deeper and more encompassing than anything you thought you would be able to feel, that you lack the words to express it, and any declaration, no matter how grandiose or romantic, would fall short of your actual feelings.

Then, you suddenly realize, maybe you shouldn't tell him; after all, like your father always says, actions do speak louder than words...

Sanji's stares, eyes wide open, as he sees you take off your camisole. A moment later, he hurries to unbutton your shirt, and you move to help him, and somehow, maybe because you're in a hurry or because your hands are shaking, you tear off a button.

"Oh, Gods..." you stutter, embarrassment filling you "I'm so sorry, I... I'll sew it back on, I promise..."

Sanji shakes his head, as if to say you needn't worry; he is a sight to behold, short of breath, his usually pale complexion turned pink with excitement - with lust. He looks at you, he looks at your hands still holding the two panels of his shirt, and orders:

"Tear it off."

"... what?"

"Rip it off me. (name), please, I want you to undress me."

"Are... are you sure?" you ask again; the idea is more than a little exciting, but the experienced seamstress and future fashion designer in you hesitates at the thought of ruining a perfectly serviceable item of clothing.

Sanji grins, desire and affection filling his brown eyes. "Yeah, sure; it's an old one. Please, darling..."

"As you wish..."

A sound of tearing and ripping fills the room, and a moment later Sanji's shirt, now missing every single of its buttons and irreparably damaged, lies on the floor, while he's naked from the waist up - and Gods, just looking at him is enough to make you forget any hesitancy you may have... including the ones regarding the presence of your father, in his bedroom at the other hand of the corridor.

He smiles, more than aware of the effect he's having on you, as he shamelessly stares back at your body. "Come here, my beauty." he invites you, and a moment later he has taken you in his arms once again, your hands moving on each other's newly exposed skin.

"Let's move to the bed." you propose in a whisper between kisses, and laugh softly as Sanji hurriedly picks you up, bridal style, to carry you and delicately lay you down on the light blue sheets of your bed. A minute to take off your shoes, and he has joined you; you are kissing again as he makes quick work of your bra's clasp, but Sanji stops to admire you, lying under him, and for a moment he seems unable to speak.

"You are so beautiful." he murmurs; he looks you in the eyes, to gauge your reaction and make sure he's not overstepping, before letting his hand brush against and then close around your breast "My (name)... I've waited for this moment since I was maybe twelve, you know?"

"You could have told me before."

"A gentleman never asks, he waits for the lady to offer."

You smile, shamelessly enjoying the sensuality of his touch, the delicious sensation of Sanji's warm hands caressing and stimulating and gently squeezing the warm flesh of your chest; he sees you jolt when the pad of his thumb finds your nipple, and smiles, and you smile with him.

"Well, this lady is offering." you point out a moment later; you want there to be no doubt or ambiguity about what you want "I want you, Sanji. Will you make love to me?"

Unexpectedly, and while you can see the desire in his eyes as he looks at you, he hesitates. "You know we don't have to do it." he softly points out "You don't... owe me anything; I don't want you to think this is something we need to do in order to make our relationship last, or since we have been together for a while..."

"I know. I... I just want to live this with you; I want you to be my first, as well the last. I want you, and I'm tired of hiding it."

"(name), I..."

"Sanji, please."

That last word, as well as the tone you utter it in, being begged to take you in his arms and make you scream, would make even the most dispassionate man forget himself, and Sanji is far from that. In a whisper, he asks you to lift your hips, and takes both your skirt and panties off; he licks his lips as he looks at you, as if anticipating what he is going to do to you, and delicately lifts your foot in his hands. His first kiss is placed on your ankle, and then the second at the bottom at your calf, and the third a bit above it, and then on your knee and on your thigh until Sanji is lying on the bed between your open legs, and the sensation of his tongue and hips doing magic on the most hidden part of you is so delicious, so lurid and at the same time heavenly, you have to press your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from screaming. You can feel the wave mounting inside you, and you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to, and a minute later your first real orgasm hits you, and you are shaking in Sanji's grasp as he licks you like a man starved, proud and excited by the pleasure he was able to give you.

Your eyes meet above your heaving chest; you are both smiling, breathless. "That was... amazing." you whisper, and Sanji grins as he reaches to kiss you once more, neither bothering about the taste.

"We have just started." he assures you "Will you help me with my clothes, darling?"

He stands from the bed to let you take his trousers off, smiling softly as he sees how your hands shake; a moment later he's finally naked, and you can't help gulping as you gently take his erection in your hand, heavy and hard. You swallow, and instinctively lower your face to it to lick the tip.

Sanji jumps. "Shit..."

"I'm sorry, I thought... that was ok..." you stammer, suddenly alarmed "Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt?" he repeats, completely breathless, as if he had never heard that word before "Quite... quite the opposite. I... (name), I..."

He can't find the words to describe what he wants, but thank God you know it already, and this is miles beyond what you had already experience in, but you must be naturally talented, or perhaps this is one of those things you simply know how to do. You keep Sanji's eyes in yours as you take his erection in your mouth, swallowing it almost to the base and using your lips, your tongue and even (cautiously) your teeth to give him pleasure; he moans, bucking his hips, his hands caressing your hair.

"God... you're so good, baby... you take me so well..."

Emboldened, you wish you could make him climax with your mouth, but Sanji asks you to stop after a while, smiling as he sees you pout. "As much as I love the feeling of your mouth, there is somewhere else I'd rather come." he tell you as he cleans your lips with his fingers "Let me take care of you."

A silent nod is the only answer you feel able to give, and the only one Sanji needed; your hand guides him back on the bed where, a slight and natural awkwardness covered by your kisses, Sanji lies above you, gently caressing your hair as he lifts your leg above his hips.

"I love you." you murmur; you feel barely able to breathe, but those words easily leave your lips, as natural as a breath "Sanji, let me be with you forever."

He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours; he isn't inside you yet, but the intimacy of that moment goes beyond what you could describe in words, the marvelous feeling of being one, a closeness born from love and passion and trust and empathy. You doubt you will ever feel anyone as close as Sanji is in that moment, and that makes you happy.

"Nothing and no one will ever come between us." he murmurs "I promise."

*****

You spend what feels like hours locked in an embrace, exchanging lazy but hot kisses as your hands explore each other's body. Your fondling makes Sanji grow turgid once more, and he has to use your pillow to suffocate his screaming (yes, screaming) as you do get to make him come in your mouth; he gets even a minute later when you both find out that you really enjoy your chest being sucked, which Sanji does until you are a moaning mess, begging for mercy, and he has to gift you your third orgasm, this time using his fingers, to make you calm down.

This night is perfect; this night feels as if it would never end. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and an hour before dawn, after he risked for the second time to fall asleep with his cheek pressed against your chest and your fingers in his hair, Sanji reluctantly abandons the warmth of your bed, and of your body, to get dressed. You both know it can't be helped; if your father discovered him in your bed, even now that you are an adult and about to go live on your own, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"Things will be different once we have moved to the capital." you reassure him as you pick up what is left of his shirt to throw it away "I want my dad to visit, but we can tell him we met again on campus and decided to date; he does like you, and he'll accept I am old enough to have a boyfriend."

"I hope he will." Sanji considers, as he ties his shoes; he hesitates for a moment, and then: "What if I wanted to tell him the truth?"

"You mean...?"

"About us, yes. I could have never given up on you, (name), but I didn't like lying to your father; I owe him so much, and I'd like give his blessing to our relationship. Don't you?"

Nothing would make you happier, even though, you must admit, the prospect of having to confess you have deliberately disobeyed him for five years is not pleasant; you love your father, and the last thing you have ever wanted was to disappoint him, even though there is no price you wouldn't have paid if it meant being with Sanji. You admire the fact your boyfriend wants to be honest with his benefactor, and you need - no, you want to be as brave as he is.

"Then we will tell him."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. It's not going to be pretty, and I know he'll be very angry, but he deserves the truth. We all do." you point out with a sigh; then, seeing Sanji is almost done getting dressed: "Wait..."

You stand as well, and walk to the mannequin wearing the men's shirt, an elegant light blue model with white collar and cuffs. You return to Sanji to offer him the shirt. "Here, wear this."

"... are you sure?"

"Of course, I had planned to give it to you to celebrate your admission to the Baratie. Try it on, let me see how it looks on you."

It looks great, even though it is perhaps more because of Sanji's good looks and physique than anything else; he carefully buttons it, and happily looks at himself in the full-length mirror. "My favourite tie will go perfectly with this."

"I know, why do you think I chose this colour?"

Naked as you are, you don't feel cold, especially as you feel Sanji's gaze lingering on your body as his brown eyes admire the flesh he has lost himself in just two hours ago, but that he's not yet sated by.

Soon, your smile tells him as you return the gaze, committing the beauty of his lithe but strong body to memory, as soon as we have moved to our dormitories, or as soon as my father has to leave for one of his work trips. I want you again too; I think I'll never stop wanting you.

As usual Sanji seems to understand you without the need for words, because he smiles once more and, as soon as he is done admiring himself in the mirror (which you cannot blame him for; the shirt does look amazing on him!) he takes your face in his hands to kiss you once more. "I am so happy." he murmurs "Happy we got to share this moment. I... I do want to be with you forever, but..."

"... but you are happy I was your first, and you mine. I know, Sanji; I feel the same."

You spend a precious minute like this, your foreheads touching, your fingers intertwined, as you breathe in each other's air and savour that new form of intimacy. In this moment, you are not afraid Sanji can doubt your feelings anymore; but in any case, you promise yourself, you'll still make sure he knows how much you love him, every day from now to eternity.

In the end, it's time for your boyfriend to go. He takes his backpack and insists you put your nightgown on, in case one of the neighbours looks out of their windows, before you accompany him on the balcony, where a last kiss sees him climb over the parapet and cautiously reach the tree's closest branches.

"Thanks for the cake! It was really delicious."

Sanji winks at you, mischievousness dancing in his eyes. "I think you thanked me enough already."

"Oh, you are so vulgar..."

Your laugh follows him as Sanji quickly climbs down the tree, finally reaching the ground safe and sound; he looks up at you and waves, and you wave back, and "I'll be back soon; I promise." he says, and you nod as he starts walking away, and remain where you are until Sanji has disappeared, hidden in the murmuring darkness surrounding the villa.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Sanji #Vinsmoke Sanji #Black Leg Sanji x reader l #Black Leg Sanji #Sanji x reader #Vinsmoke Sanji x reader #Black Leg Sanji x reader #Taz Skylar #Bellona's stuff

178 notes · View notes