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carmyboobear · 1 month

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Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets.

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful.

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low.

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume.

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked.

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer.

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore.

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop.

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger.

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead.

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on.

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though.

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing.

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back.

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question.

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign.

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen.

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in.

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think.

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest.

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence.

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie.

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front.

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out.

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you.

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway.

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them.

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong.

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture.

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to.

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions.

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide.

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container.

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter.

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh. He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour.

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off.

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list.

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift.

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline.

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice.

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself.

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there.

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep.

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something.

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her.

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break.

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen.

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth.

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.”

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles.

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments.

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm.

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you.

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose.

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place.

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses.

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard.

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment.

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling.

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges.

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time.

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends.

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination.

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked. We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so.

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?”

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you.

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is.

You don't really care, though.

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him.

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important.

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now.

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is.

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away.

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want.

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive.

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?”

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm.

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.”

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled. Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead.

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth.

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway.

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden.

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head.

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you.

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice.

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that.

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at.

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door.

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

@zorrasucia

250 notes · View notes

sugawarassoulmate · 2 years

Text

and i can be needy, way too damn needy

“oh, didn’t like what i had to say?” she must have noticed your reaction, feeding off your palpable anxiety. “both of them feel that way, you know. they only really hang out with you because your mothers are good friends. you think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?”

atsumu too? no, that couldn’t be true. he’s always been your best friend. yeah, your moms were close and it was easy to go to their house after school while your parents were working, but atsumu’s smile always grew wide whenever you walked through the door. surely all of that had been genuine?

“that’s a lie…” you mumble, wishing for once you could find the strength to stick up for yourself. this doesn’t feel the same as when osamu teases you, that’s something you can navigate. this is uncharted territory. never has anyone else been so callous towards you. usually because one of the boys was there to step in—atsumu to offer a kind word and osamu to throw a punch or two.

but maybe that was the problem. maybe they didn’t want to waste their time saving you anymore.

this really wasn't meant to turn into anything! i've had this doc sitting on my computer for months thinking nothing was gonna come from it, but you guys really liked the snippet i shared so here it is.

if you were expecting a big confrontation between osamu's girlfriend and reader, sorry! my crybaby doesn't play that way but she does get her comeuppance 👀

also there wasn't going to be any smut in this fic but.......osamu's hot LOL

words: 3.8k

cw: fem!reader, insecurity, name-calling, fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity mention, minors dni

disclaimer: on this blog, we discuss and explore toxic relationships/situations/ just because i write about these themes does not mean i condone/support these types of relationships nor do i do them in my own personal life.

these are fictional characters in fictional scenarios and nobody should be taking real-life advice or mirror the actions of the characters in these stories!

You walked into the kitchen expecting to see Osamu with his head in the fridge as usual. Instead, you found something worse, his girlfriend leaning on the counter. A scowl on her face as soon as she locks eyes with you. It’s the first time you’ve ever been alone with her, without Osamu there to make a mean comment at your expense that makes her laugh sweetly, “Baby, you’re being so rude!” she’d say in her shrill voice.

But there’s none of that in her face at the moment. She crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed as she gets a good look at you. “Of course, you’re here too,” she says, attempting to grumble under her breath but it’s definitely loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t really want to know what she meant, mumbling an apology in her direction before trying to shuffle past her to the stairs. She’s quicker than you, though, blocking your path and almost tripping you in the process. “What the hell are you doing here?” She gets in your face, demanding an answer. It’s only when she’s so close that you take in how pretty she actually is: full, pouty lips, a high arch in her eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, a straight nose.

She didn’t look like the kind of girl Osamu dated, but you figured that wasn’t a fair assumption for you to make. You didn’t really know what kind of girls Osamu liked. Whenever his brother brought the topic up, it usually ended with a punch to the gut.

“Atsumu and I have plans,” you said, hoping she’d leave you alone. She purses her lips, seemingly not satisfied with your response. “Could you—”

“Do you not have friends of your own? You’re always tagging along with the twins, aren’t you embarrassed?” her features twist into a smile, one of ridicule. You’re not sure how to respond, mouth clamping up as you hope for someone to come downstairs and save you. But you’re not that lucky and your silence only pisses her off even more. “Not even going to defend yourself? Samu’s right, you’re hopeless!”

Hopeless? Had Osamu said that about you? He’s said worse things to your face, sure, but never once did you think he spoke about you behind your back. Did he talk about you to her? Complain about you? Of course, you weren’t his favorite person in the world but did he actually feel that way?

You could feel your stomach churning, a bitter taste bubbling in the back of your throat. You had to get out of there, but your legs wouldn’t move. “Oh, didn’t like what I had to say?” she must have noticed your reaction, feeding off your palpable anxiety. “Both of them feel that way, you know. They only really hang out with you because your mothers are good friends. You think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?”

Atsumu too? No, that couldn’t be true. He’s always been your best friend. Yeah, your moms were close and it was easy to go to their house after school while your parents were working, but Atsumu’s smile always grew wide whenever you walked through the door. Surely all of that had been genuine?

“That’s a lie…” you mumble, wishing for once you could find the strength to stick up for yourself. This doesn’t feel the same as when Osamu teases you, that’s something you can navigate. This is uncharted territory. Never has anyone else been so callous towards you. Usually because one of the boys was there to step in—Atsumu to offer a kind word and Osamu to throw a punch or two.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe they didn’t want to waste their time saving you anymore.

“Please, do you think they’d say it to your face? To the crybaby that lives next door? They don’t want to hurt your feelings but someone needs to give you a reality check.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snap back, feeling the tightness in your chest. Even when Osamu was giving you his worst, he never made you feel so small.

She laughs humorlessly, taking a step forward into your personal space and leaning down. It feels so humiliating. “I know enough,” she claims. “Every time I’m with my boyfriend, he never shuts up about you. What makes you so damn special? Maybe he wouldn’t bitch about you so much if you just fucked off and found friends of your own.”

You wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. That you knew more about the twins than she did, but all the energy you had left disappeared. And, in turn, her words started playing in your head over and over. Maybe it was true. Maybe your friendship with the twins had run its course—or rather your friendship with one of them did. Osamu had never been your friend before, had he?

Right on cue, the tears started running down your face. You could imagine how red and distorted your face had become, your nose becoming runny and mouth growing dry. You’re rushing out of the room before she could say anything else, running towards your house and slamming the door behind you.

It’s only when you’re finally alone that you allow your sobs to get loud, to feel all your insecurities pouring out into the open. And it’s just so pitiful that your first reaction is to run to Atsumu and point out the person who made you feel this way. What’s most surprising is that, for once, it wasn’t his brother who was at fault. Not even Osamu could make you cry this much.

Your phone starts buzzing every few seconds and through tears, you read out the notifications on the screen.

From: ☀️tsumu☀️: did ya get here yet?

From: ☀️tsumu☀️: thought i heard the front door..

You want to reach out to him, to both of them. But you can’t even bother with a reply. Instead, you turn your phone off, and let your tears flow some more.

You’ve never avoided both of the twins before, but you couldn’t face them after that conversation. It was hard at first, having both of the boys blow up your phone for most of the day was pretty normal. The three of you were always together, whether at each other’s houses, going out, or running errands together. If that wasn’t the case, you’d be on the phone with one of them, usually Atsumu, for hours.

But for the first time, you haven’t been giving either of them your attention—you turned off notifications on your phone, started waking up an hour earlier so you wouldn’t have to walk with them, and you told your parents not to answer their calls.

“Did you get into a fight?” your mother had said. “What did Osamu do this time?” But you didn’t really have an explanation, the real story being far more embarrassing than anything else.

At school, it was harder to steer clear of them. You didn’t share many classes but you ended up moving your seat in the few you did, ducking out of the room as soon as the bell rang to avoid having to talk to them. Thankfully, volleyball kept them busy and limited your interactions.

There was one incident in the cafeteria where you nearly broke your-self isolation.

It was easy for Atsumu to find you in a crowded room, locking eyes with you across the cafeteria. The boys were there with Suna and Ginjima talking amongst themselves and being rowdy as usual. Atsumu waved in your direction, beckoning for you to sit with them and you nearly did. Until you saw her cuddled up to Osamu’s side, a disapproving look on her face.

Osamu’s face didn’t look that pleasant either. “Maybe he wouldn’t bitch about you so much if you just fucked off and found friends of your own…”

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you turned your back on the table. Grabbing your food, you make your way towards the roof and eat there. You could usually be alone up there, without being a bother to anyone else.

“Did Osamu do something to you?” Suna asked one day when you were in the library. It was safe to study there—the boys had been banned in their first year after one too many fights. Suna sat across from you, an unreadable look on his face as he watched you take notes. “You haven’t come to practice in a week.”

You figured there was no use in avoiding him and continued to keep doing work. “Why does everyone think he did something?”

“Something had to have happened. Tweedledee and Tweedledum said you haven’t spoken to them in a while,” he leans back in his chair with his feet up on the table. Even during the worst moments with Osamu, you’d still end up getting dragged to practice somehow. “They’ve been fighting a lot more than usual. Kinda annoying, honestly…”

That didn’t do much to quell your anxiety. It was always nasty when the boys fought but the idea of sitting in the bleachers with her after what she said made you queasy. Maybe it had nothing to do with you. The twins fighting wasn’t out of the ordinary, what made you so special?

“I’m really busy with school, okay?” you motion towards the mess of papers on the table you’re working at. But Suna looks unconvinced, probably thinking back to all the times you’ve either done homework or studied while watching the team practice. “Just don’t tell them that you spoke to me, please?”

One thing you love about Suna is that he doesn’t pry. If you’re not ready to talk about something, he’ll hold off on asking questions. “Fine,” he sighs, getting up. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve got it figured out. But do something quick, ‘cause I don’t know how much patience Kita has left.”

You can’t explain the uneasiness in your gut while watching Suna leave the room. He was wrong, you didn’t have it figured out. There wasn’t a plan or an end goal in mind. But you couldn’t face the boys just yet. And, honestly, whatever was going on would figure itself out with or without you.

“No, no, no, no…” you groan to yourself fishing through your backpack for the tenth time, hoping your keys would somehow magically appear. There was a torrential downpour outside and your parents weren’t home or answering their phones. Like an idiot, you forgot your keys and certainly didn’t have an umbrella, your soaked uniform sticking to you, your body freezing and shivering.

The only people who had spare keys were the twins and their mother. “For emergencies,” said your own mother so long ago but they were never actually used for emergencies. All too often, the boys would barge into your home for snacks or drinks, but mostly for you. They’d pluck you from your bedroom—it didn’t matter if you were studying or sleeping, really—and drag you back to their house to watch a movie or settle an argument.

You asked your mother to tell them you weren't home or hid out in the library until it was too late for them to show up at your front door. But now, you were royally fucked and were running out of options. “Please be here…” you cried, wishing for your keys to end up in your hand.

“Are ya stupid? Yer gonna catch yer fuckin’ death out here!” It wasn’t hard to figure out who the voice belonged to. Osamu stormed to the front of your house, pissed off as he shoved you under his umbrella. “The fuck ya standin’ here for? Yer practically blue!”

You didn’t have the energy to argue or come up with some excuse to distance yourself from him. Not when your crybaby tears were threatening to come back again. “I don’t have my keys,” you sobbed, feeling cold and pathetic.

Osamu grabs you by the sleeve and hauled you next door to his house, cursing with every wet stomp of his feet. You’re pushed through the front entrance, already forming a puddle on the floor. The shoes by the door let you know their mother isn’t home either.

“Dude! Ya were right behind me, what took ya so long—” Atsumu stops dead in his tracks when he spots you, an unreadable emotion on his face but he’s quick to go into protective mode, running towards you and his brother. “What—”

“She forgot her fuckin’ keys,” Osamu grouches, sticking the umbrella in a stand near the door. He turns to you, looking as if he wants to bite your head off. “Go upstairs and take a hot shower. We’ll get ya clean clothes.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” her words are in your head again. The twins need to take care of you yet again because you’re too stupid to remember to carry a fucking key. “I just need my—”

“I don’t remember askin’ ya,” Osamu says, pushing you in the direction of their bathroom. “Go.” Your eyes flick to Atsumu but he’s in agreement with his twin. Embarrassed, you start heading upstairs, wishing for all of this to be over.

The boys left clean clothes for you outside the bathroom door after your shower. As expected, the shirt and pajama bottoms were much bigger, completely drowning you. Your wet clothes were thrown in the laundry room to be washed and dried. You’re too nervous to go into the living room and face them, but hiding upstairs would only make the situation worse.

You decide to just rip the band-aid.

Wringing the rest of the water with your towel, you walk in to see the boys talking amongst themselves. They stop when you enter the room, Atsumu looking apologetic as he leaves room on the couch for you to sit. A cup of tea sits on the coffee table, likely made by Osamu and you’re certain his anger would only get worse if you refuse.

It doesn’t take very long for Osamu to start interrogating you as soon as you sit down. “Why the fuck didn’t ya come here sooner?” he stands in front of you and his brother, grey eyes shooting daggers at yours.

“I thought I had them,” you lied, letting the cup warm your still cold hands. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“But why would ya think yer a bother?” This time Atsumu spoke, his hand reaching out to rub your shoulder. You appreciated the extra warmth. “Better yet, where have ya been lately? Ya stopped talkin’ to us out of nowhere.” You don’t miss the way his eyes glance over at Osamu. He probably thinks it’s his fault too.

“You think they would give you the time of day if they had a choice?” You’re so fed up at this point that her name falls from your mouth before you could stop yourself. Osamu quirks his brow, probably wondering what she has to do with any of this.

So you tell them—You mention all the nasty things she said to you, the cruel looks she’d shoot your way at school, and how you felt too stupid to tell them because a part of you really wondered if it was true. By the time you’re done, there are a few stray tears running down your face that you didn’t notice at first. A frustrated crybaby to the very end, you’re nothing if not consistent.

They’re both angry now, eyes locked with one another. “Did ya know about this?” Atsumu’s tone was accusatory.

“Of course I fuckin’ didn’t, why didn’t ya tell me?” Osamu asked, looking at you, but his brother is quick to come to your defense.

“It doesn’t matter when she told us, what matters is that it was yer girlfriend that said that shit to her.” He snaps, pulling you closer to his frame to soothe you. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Osamu, tongue poking his cheek. “What’re ya gonna do about it, Samu?”

The younger twin rolls his eyes takes a deep breath and walks out the room, choosing not to start a yelling match for once. Once you are alone, Atsumu wraps you in his arms for a hug. “Please don’t disappear like that on us again,” he says, refusing to let go. “I won’t be so nice next time.” You can hear the dumb grin on his face. You’ve missed him, both of them. Atsumu makes sure you finish the rest of your tea before walking off to set up the futon for you—he suggested you spend the night and didn’t take no for an answer.

You’re folding your uniform a few hours later after taking it out of the dryer. It should probably be ironed before you could wear it again but, thankfully, there’s no school tomorrow. While you’re there, you decide to fold the rest of the clean clothes there as well, knowing the boys’ mother would appreciate it.

The sweet silence was broken with Osamu’s heavy steps coming downstairs, screaming into his phone, unaware that you’re also in the room. “I don’t wanna hear it and don’t even think about comin’ here and gettin’ yer shit,” From all the years of knowing him, you’ve never heard his voice get like that. Even when he and Atsumu were fighting and he’s certainly never yelled at you like that.

“Get one of yer stupid friends to pick it up from Atsumu or Suna or I’m throwin’ it the fuck out. I’m blockin’ yer ass after that. Fuck off.” He hangs up without another word and that’s when he catches you kneeling in front of the dryer with piles of folded clothes. His face doesn’t soften as he gets down on your level, eyes scanning your form. “That’s Tsumu’s shirt…”

Staring down at the much too big shirt, you now realize that he’s right. You hadn’t really considered which of their shirts the boys gave since you were more concerned with having warm clothes than anything else. “I just grabbed whatever was there—” Osamu’s quick movements take you by surprise. Next thing you know, he has you pinned to the floor, hovering over you. It rattles you at first, but Osamu’s always been known to push you around whenever he felt like it. “Samu—”

“Don’t keep secrets from me. Ya should’ve told me as soon as she said that shit.” His knee is between your legs and you wonder if his intentions are pure. All of your clothes were soaked from the storm and all Osamu had to do to get to your more intimate parts was wander his hands just slightly underneath your shirt. It had been a while since he did anything like that. Osamu was loyal to the girls he dated. At least you think. So many times he’s trapped you for a quick kiss when nobody else was in the room, it’s possible that you had overlapped with his relationships a few times.

Maybe that’s why she hated you so much.

“If any of that bullshit was true,” Osamu continues, noticing the apprehension on your face. “I wouldn’t put up with yer sensitive ass.”

“I’m sorry…�� you mumbled, fingers twisting between the fabric of your shirt. You felt stupid, letting your own insecurities and her words get to your head when you know none of them to be true. With all the years you’ve known them, you should have given the boys more credit. “I missed you.”

Finally, Osamu’s face relaxes. At this point, you wonder if he was actually upset with you this whole time, or with himself since it was his ex-girlfriend who had said caused all this. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It’s overwhelming, like all his kisses and it feels wrong to be so close just moments after he broke up with her, but it doesn’t stop you from deepening it.

“Such a pretty little crybaby, don’t know why I even bother with anyone else,” his voice is thick while his hands tug at your clothes. “Take this off. I’ll give ya my shirt in a bit, just lemme see ya.”

The sensation of your breasts being exposed to the cold laundry room to Osamu’s warm mouth wrapping itself around your nipple. A sharp whine leaves your lips but you stifle it, remembering that Atsumu is still upstairs. Osamu bites down on the sensitive bud, as one of his hands reaches past the sweats you had on, groaning when he realizes you aren’t wearing underwear.

Two of Osamu’s fingers plunge into your cunt without warning. It gets harder and harder to muffle your noises, eyes welling up with tears. “Wanna hear yer pretty noises, dummy. Been hidin’ from me too fuckin’ long. I deserve ‘em,” he growls, biting down hard on your breast just to force a high-pitched cry from you.

You pray that Atsumu is in his room. The thought of anyone seeing you in such a compromising position—half-naked and humping against Osamu’s hand—would be so humiliating but it has you whining and moaning even more.

“Can feel yer pussy clenchin’ around my fingers. Gonna make ya cum on the fuckin’ floor like a slut,” You can hear how wet you are, juices flowing down Osamu’s hand and it’s becoming too much. His thumb circles your clit as his fingers speed up. You pull him in for a kiss, burying your cries into his mouth. “Cum fer me, stupid girl. Missed this pretty pussy, need ya to cum.”

By the time he adds a third finger, you’re already too far gone. With a final, exasperated sob, you cum around Osamu’s hand. He stares, mesmerized by how sensitive your cunt is when he pulls his fingers out, your essence catching the light.

Your brain is too fuzzy to notice Osamu wiping his hand with Atsumu’s shirt, too busy trying to stop your legs from twitching. “Samu…”

“Don’t start yer whinin’, I’ll clean ya up,” he warns, grabbing a clean t-shirt to put on you. It’s one of his, of course. “Much better.”

“Don’t mind her, y/n,” Suna says after following your line of vision. The two of you were sitting at your regular lunch table a few days later when you felt someone staring daggers at you. Sure enough, there was Osamu’s ex looking back. Her usually pretty face now red and puffy. As horrible as she was, you still feel bad.

“Don’t mind who?” Atsumu asks as he and his brother join you after getting their food. Osamu feels your body tense up and is swift to see the reason why. Watching his eyes meet with hers brings back that unpleasant sinking feeling in your stomach for some reason.

But Osamu is quick to look away, an arm wrapping around his waist as he offers you some of his food. You sneak a brief glance back at her, just in time to see her storm out of the cafeteria.

It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #osamu smut #osamu #osamu x reader #osamu miya smut #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #miya osamu smut #miya osamu x reader #miya twins #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #✨#✨osamu #bully!osamu

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chloeangelic · 4 months

Text

I’ve spent the past week getting slandered in this community with not a shred of evidence, proof, or receipts of me being a mean girl, “Wish Regina George”, a bully, an asshole, someone who spends more time answering anons than I do writing, or any of the other things I’ve seen people say about me out of absolutely fucking nowhere, seemingly because people have grievances towards Gracie that I know nothing about. I appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and asked how I’m doing.

ETA: I have spoken to one of the people who posted statements and anons about me and we have squashed the beef. The statements made about me have been debunked and they have deleted their posts. Please leave me and my friends alone - I've gotten harassed directly and indirectly by anons and posts for two months and I'm tired. I'm not gonna prostrate myself and try to convince the internet that I'm a good person when I know I've done my best to always be kind and respectful in this community. My words will inevitably be twisted and I feel paralyzed. The damage to my reputation has already been done.

This is the only time I’ll address this, and my anons will not be turned back on because this is literally slander and a waste of everyone’s time. I’ve seen multiple vague posts about me as well and I’ve chosen to ignore it all, but it gets to a point where it feels like bullying and I’m done with it. When someone goes on tumblr live to rehash the same shallow shit talking post about me (i.e. talking shit about people they’re accusing of talking shit), that’s when I feel like my limit has been crossed, and since that same live devolved into an advertisement for the host’s own writing… This no longer reads like vigilante justice.

Let me get one thing straight: I am here to write about dick, cock and that old man. I am extremely grateful for the friends I’ve made along the way, and I am beyond appreciative for my readers who support me and who like what I come up with. I am 27 years old, I have a fulltime job, and this is one of my hobbies. If you think I’m going to spend my time in a fandom spamming group chats and being catty, I literally don’t know what to tell you. The few uncomfortable situations I’ve had on here have been addressed and squashed very quickly, whether that’s misunderstandings, accusations or anything else. In a creative space, you are bound to butt heads with people occasionally, or have people who dislike you, and that is fine. I know I have an aloof persona on here, I don’t expect everyone to like me.

I didn’t block anyone up until two days ago when this tumblr live host posted three anon asks in a row about me, and I decided to block the people who seemingly agreed with anons insisting I’m a mean girl, asshole etc. cause why the fuck wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t anyone? I don’t understand why on earth they’re so mad about me blocking them if they dislike me so much already. My shit is still on ao3 if they want to read it.

I don’t know what my mutuals do in their own DM’s, or group chats they’re in that I don’t participate in, because I stay in my lane and I spend my time writing. Of course I don’t condone bad behavior but how am I supposed to know what happens in GCs and servers I’m literally not in? Or conversations in servers where I’m not active? I have not witnessed any of my mutuals talking shit in any GCs, period. That’s all I can say. Additionally, this whole big/elite writers discord people were talking about a while ago - if that exists, I wasn’t even invited lmfao how’s that for being a big writer?

One anon said I was an asshole when they tried to have a conversation with me months back, and I assume this was my Rendezvous anon who I was snarky to cause they were snarky to me. I make it very clear that I have limited patience for anons, and when people in my comments respond back to them, they are responding to a statement that is separate from the person who sent it.

I am not entertaining this insanity any further than this. I will continue to post my old man porn and interact with my mutuals and reblog gif sets of that same old man cause that’s what I’m on here for. If you don’t like me, you are well within your rights, I assume you have your reasons, and that is ultimately none of my business. Everyone has the right to curate their own experience on a website like this.

Love,

Daddy

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lostheretics · 3 months

Text

PLOT TWIST (6)

▸ chapter 6; bonnie, clyde, and the others on the side

pt. 1 || pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5 || pt. 6

✵ cast : jung wooyoung x fem!reader, kim hongjoong, lee juyeon, kim younghoon, ateez, mentioned oc and many kpop artists name or group

✵ genre : romance, marriage life, eventual angst, smut, mafia!au, non idol!au

✵ summary : there's you, and me, and us, and oh wait. perhaps there's more.

in which marriage is not always a paradise, honeymoon avenue somehow is far behind as you look through the rearview mirror. and beware of the road ahead, for accidents might happen. road work, traffic jam,

or some stranger trying to get a lift, perhaps for a permanent front seat.

✵ notes : 6k-ish. thanks for waiting, to those whoever awaits i guess. PLS REBLOG (i will appreciate this sm) AND GIVE SOME THOUGHTS IF U HAVE THEM. ENJOY

WARNINGS BELOW CUT

☒ warnings: bad words here and there (it's life, but still minors dni) but do remind me if i missed something.

☒ i do not condone mafia acts nor any acts that goes against the law at all. everything mentioned are just purely fiction, made to entertain myself and fellow readers in this particular platforms.

☒ do not repost this on any other platform without my permission!

✓ reblogging, liking, and commenting this post in tumblr (through comment or askbox) are very much appreciated.

i don’t know how exactly to start this one.

but it’s about younghoon, the crown prince of seoul, the heir of the seoul kim family and the huge problem he’s facing right now. he’s in a deep shit. the shit being the problem that could swallow him whole. the huge problem being falling in love.

how is it a problem? one might ask.

well, he fell in love with a woman he’s not supposed to fall in love with. for god’s sake, it was supposed to be just a one night job. a good friendship, a good business partner if it goes for more. but he overstepped. he couldn’t help it. not to mention the woman he fell in love with is already tied down to another man.

simply put, he somehow fell in love with jung y/n.

and most of all, over a single fucking ice cream night.

as he laid on his bed, his mind could only go back on repeating the moment, on and on again.

you were such a good dancer.

you’re a really good dancer.

younghoon’s brain kept on saying so as each of his hand held your waist and hand, guiding you through a dance in one of mrs. han’s party that you got yourself into.

he still couldn’t believe how easy it is for you to get an invitation over a single lunch and conversation with mrs. han.

safe to say you had charmed the lady.

and not long into the party, you had once again charmed your way into her heart. and her daughter’s heart more importantly, with the talk of younghoon’s brother, the main target of the whole operation. you charmed them so much to the point that mrs. han had set a formal date to meet both the families up. of course, with the thoughts of marital proposal and possible mergers of the two powers.

the outcome of it might still change, but you still got the two families to meet up with each other and that alone is impressive enough to him.

that’s why you and younghoon spend the rest of the evening dancing and chatting. the job is practically finished, and what’s left was easing up to each other.

“i owe you for this one. a promise and more, i think. you’ve landed my whole family a new ally, and my brother a possible wife. in less than a month, i might add.” he had said while leading you on a dance.

you’ve found that younghoon, more than just a charming man, is also a good and down earthed one.

you smiled at him, “it’s a possible outcome, but not yet certain, mr. kim.”

“younghoon.”

“huh?”

“younghoon. it’s kinda too fast, but we’ve come this far and i think it’s safe to say we can certainly be on first name basis now, y/n.” he said, “only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“…if you say so, younghoon.”

younghoon smiled back. it might sound awkward still, but for that, time can be the cure. not everything can be done instantly anyways.

the dance stopped after a while. younghoon and you had several rounds of conversations around the room, keeping the couple act up. his hand would be guiding you by your back, fixing your dress or holding your drink or handbag whenever you need the help, including you in every conversation.

he truly is a gentleman.

mrs. han, as the socialite she is, invited many important guests. though filled with other socialite wives, there are some prominent figures like deputy chief of the police, in which younghoon is close to, several high ranked people from ministry of health, or even other well-known and successful businessmen and businesswomen from all around the country. everything fell like a domino effect to you, just by knowing younghoon alone.

after a while, you and younghoon came to the realization that you both were not a fan of the crowd. hence, you both decided to shy away from the crowd and opting to sit by the empty gardens, a bowl of ice cream in on one hand and your champagne glasses on the other.

quietness filled you both as you enjoy the way the star shone that night, while munching on the vanilla ice cream you got from the ice cream bar inside.

“this reminds me of the first time i met you, you know.” younghoon broke the silence. you turned to him with a raised eyebrow, telling him to elaborate.

“i was getting away from the crowd in juyeon’s party so i went to the gardens. instead of watching the sky, i had to watch this lady fainting in the middle of the garden in a party—“

“ugh.” you groaned.

“—and i had no choice but to help her, because i’m such a gentleman.” he jested.

you closed your eyes. “that’s the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in my entire life.”

“imagine the shock when i learned this lady who fainted would soon become my business partner? and great one at that?”

“great one? i’m flattered, younghoon.”

“and you should be. with the amount of achievement? so many in so little time.” younghoon said.

you chuckled lightly. you looked at the hem of your dress, playing with it to satisfy your fidgety urge.

“i had to. you know, for the family. for my husband, given the state we were in.” you murmured, “i only want stability, if not with peace.”

it wasn’t the first time you mentioned your husband’s name to him. some people in the mafia know that you are jung wooyoung’s wife, and he your husband. younghoon knew that too. but most of the times you were with younghoon, you never failed to mention your husband’s name. him being a great caporegime, good strategist, good husband who took you to meetings, et cetera. and always with a smile on your face. it never failed to amaze younghoon just how much love you have for him.

“how does it feel like?” he blurted out suddenly.

“huh?”

“to be married. to be in love in this… society of ours.” he said. “you seemed to be in love with your husband, which isn’t an everyday thing that happen here, you know? ‘cause most relationships are… benefit based. arranged marriage, forced ones… so how?”

“oh, that.” you smiled. “because there isn’t any benefit. we’re just… in love with each other. i didn’t came from any mafia group or family, it just happen that i worked for one without knowing they’re one, and i just met wooyoung. just like that. it’s unlikely in the mafia world, and the ways are also unlikely to happen in a normal world. but we dated, we fell harder, and decided to settle down.”

“and to me, at least, it feels great. i don’t think i’ll ever feel this way again. not before him, not after him.” you had mouthed in the end, unconsciously pouring up some of you heart contents.

younghood sighed. “must be beautiful.”

“you could’ve got all of it, you know. just now.”

“how so?”

“the arrangement with the han’s daughter. might be an arrangement, but a good and stable one at that. i mean, you’re the crown prince of your family. you have power. just treat her right, and tell her to treat you right, then you wait for the love to bloom. might take time, might not be the same as mine, but a win win solution still.” you expressed. “why giving it all away for your brother? no offense, he looks like a great guy like you, but why?”

younghoon chuckled. the usual question. after all, who in their right mind would give away all powers like just that?

“hm, where do i start?” he murmured to himself, then continued.

“to put it easily, i’m here, but i don’t wanna be here. my heart isn’t fully in this. despite my rank, birth and responsibilities, my brother is more suited for this job. that's why he's always around me, i might hand him this job. hence, the arrangement and all."

“what is it then, the thing you want to do the most?”

he leaned back a bit. eyes looking up, seemingly thinking and lost in his thoughts. you stared at him, stared at the way his eyes mirror the twinkling of the stars, and the way he tugged his lips up.

“a doctor.” he quietly said, after a while. “a real one. not for my family’s business. going all around the world as a volunteer, and actually helping actual people in need.”

“when i was in uni, i wanted to pursue a med career. but my dad didn’t really approve of it— of my future career choices in med as a volunteer. and med field are most held by my uncle and his children. so my dad offered me a chance for a med career, just not in the actual med field, but more on the business site. so i took law as my major and business as my minor and took over one of our hospitals.” he explained, before continuing, “but, i still make the best out of it. i volunteered a lot in uni, and my hospital is one of the best hospital in seoul in its practices, and we have a lot charity events to help people.”

you stared at him, awed. there was no words that could describe how amazed you are.

“wow.” was all you could say.

silence filled the both of you for quite some time. each of you let the conversation sink in deep, trying to understand each character, though perhaps in a light that’s slightly different from the usual one in the underworld. there were no hostility, no walls kept up too high, no tactics.

just two people in a mellow moment, enjoying each other’s company and in harmony.

following your own question, he then asked.

“what about you, y/n? what kind of life do you want to live?”

now, it was your time to be the one deep in thoughts. the one who stare at the stars, humming to yourself, thinking of the right answer.

“not a mafia one, to be honest.” you murmured, “but… ever since i met wooyoung, i feel like… i’ve lived my life. that i’m living in the life that i want,”

”with the one that i love most.”

somehow your words seemed so sincere to younghoon’s ears. so pure, so innocent, and so dreamy. something that he once dreamed of, something, or dare he say, someone that he wished for.

and somehow, you left younghoon star struck.

how will he ever move on? how will he ever find someone if he set such standard for his love life? a fairytale like love life, in this kind of environment.

he wondered about the life that you have with wooyoung, wondered if he ever will have those life. he wondered what if he was the one you met instead of wooyoung.

wishful thinking, eh?

but that’s all they are; thoughts. his gentlemanly self wouldn’t have it in his heart to steal like that. to take someone else away just for his own. no, he’s not that kind of man, and he stood by that.

yet it didn’t do anything to erase your pictures from his mind. at least for the night. it doesn’t lessen the warmth bubbling in his gut as he type his message to you in his phone; the eagerness to see you as soon as possible.

me: evening y/n. is tomorrow’s plan still up?

younghoon put his hand down, tapping his phone against his bedsheet as he anxiously wait for a reply; if any would come. the clock on his bedside table showed the time. 1:47 am. you must’ve fallen asleep, right?

right.

ding.

jung y/n: wouldn’t miss it. see u soon, hoon

younghoon think he might need to see a doctor now. his heart’s beating way too fast.

you: woo you: i dont think i can send lunch today cause im visiting the kims at their house. im sorry :(((((( you: pls dont miss lunch ok i asked the butler to send u some food. ilysm you: also idk when i’ll be home, so pls sleep early. i promise u’ll see me in ur dreams xo

you sighed, just after your thumb clicked on the send button for the last message.

sending lunch for wooyoung is one of your sacred daily routine ever since marriage, and this would be the first time for you not to do so. you sighed again, trying to get the uneasiness to subside so you can focus on your job today.

but it’s still there. prickling you slightly from the inside, initiating the thoughts and realization that you haven’t met wooyoung that much these past few days.

waking up today, you could only share a quick peck as wooyoung was in a hurry for a mission, so he said. last few days you could only drop his lunch and left as quick to continue your own job. suddenly everyone everywhere needed you.

you miss him.

last night you were together, you remember as if it was just yesterday, you recalled how you were talking about this exact problem, this exact thing. it fears you of how fast it came true to life. and you fear even more if it ever will go even further.

ding

woo: im gonna cry woo: jk but it’s ok babe i’ll be on a mission anw today, i dont know when i’ll be done. but i’ll be home tonight woo: come back fast if u can, ok? i love you too

just as you finished reading his replies, a sound of horn blasted as a black shiny car pulled up in front of you. the door to the driver side opened up, and you were gifted with the sight of younghoon emerging from the car, offering you a bright smile.

“ready?” was all he said while opening the passenger door, inviting you into his car.

you nod and said a small yes, entering his car. you stare at your screen for a little while, before typing a quick response.

wifey: i’ll try my best.

a sigh escaped through his lips after your last message to him. putting his phone back to the slot beside him, wooyoung could only stare far into the dark alleys in front of him. his mind filled with you it made his heart heavy.

it was never a problem before, when he had to go far or for a while on missions away from you. you’d miss him, he’d miss you, but right then he knew that whatever the circumstances, when he came back home you’ll always be there.

it’s not the case now.

he’s away for missions, and you’re away for business. when you’re home, he might not be home, and when he’s home, you might not be.

for that, he feels the subtle ache in his chest.

his fingers mindlessly tapped against the wheel of his car, before he was pulled back to his senses. the passenger door opened, showing jiwoo and her smile.

and her tight red dress.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” her snickers made him clear his throat, looking somewhere else to avoid jiwoo’s playful glint. he mentally slapped himself for even staring at jiwoo, but as a man, how could he not?

her neck is on display, as were her long legs. the dress short, but long enough to keep the gun and some knives hidden away. and with her features, anyone would be swooned by her presence.

maybe that’s why she got assigned for this mission, and again, with wooyoung.

what the fuck am i thinking? i have a wife.

“what takes you so long?”

“chill, i was getting some snacks for us. you said we’ll be spying and tailing a lot, so i figured we’ll be staying in the car quite a lot.”

“nah, change of plans.”

“what?”

“san called. seonghwa said we should go undercover into the club and get the stuff ourselves. so i’ll go as a gambler and you,” he eyed her up and down, “you, conveniently, will be enough as a distraction. did you knew we’re doing this for the mission?”

“nope, i was just feeling myself with the dress.” she shrugged. wooyoung raised a brow, but found nothing came up into his mind nor out of his mind, so he just started driving, wanting nothing more than to finish the mission.

“so what’s the stuff we’re getting?” jiwoo asked as they parked a few buildings before the club. the car came to a halt, the sight of the dimly lit club welcomed their eyes.

“san said it’s a ledger.” he got himself ready, “hongjoong needs something in there. it’s a proof, list of government officers getting involved in the human trafficking ring.”

“that’s terrible.”

“there are better words to describe how disgusting that is, but sure. now,” he turned to jiwoo, “i’ll go in, act kinda drunk and gamble some money for the ledger. you’ll be the distraction and a plan b; should i fail in getting the ledger, you should be the one getting it. okay?”

“okay.”

parting there, wooyoung got out of the car and walked to the club.

so here’s the thing about missions. they can be safe, they can be risky. zero to two means safe, something like spying or just plain investigating. on the other hand, field missions can have more risks, depending on the type of job. whether you have to stay low, or to kill as little as possible, or to not be seen yet has to be there on the spot. it depends.

and on a scale from one to ten, wooyoung is absolutely fucked.

it was supposed to be a ‘get in, get out’ type of job and without being seen. yet he managed to make a group of 10 people running after him in the club, after he tried to trick the dealer, a.k.a the owner of the club —the stupidest thing he's ever done in a mission.

“stop right there!”

a gunshot was heard, luckily not hitting wooyoung anywhere. but guns are out, which means his had to, whether he liked it or not.

he ran in between the crowd of people dancing and getting high, staying as low and as unseen as possible —which, he kinda failed in the first place, but he did his absolute best—, and he took out his glock from his hidden holster, shooting enemies in his sight. thankfully the music is loud enough to cover the sound of his gun. the ledger is safe in the bag, but if he’s not, then there’s no point in doing the mission any longer. but he had to hold on.

all while he ran and shoot, he cursed jiwoo for not holding them for long. she should’ve been a distraction, but perhaps not distracting enough.

“fuck!” he shouted.

and right after, the power went out in the whole club.

all the lights, all the music suddenly died, and the party goers could only ah-ed in unison clearly disappointed at the outcome. wooyoung couldn’t see anything in the dark, and had to stop for a while. he looked around, and found the group of men running after him starting to turn on their flashlights. he was about to run when suddenly someone grabbed his hand.

“it’s me, jiwoo!” the voice whispered loudly. wooyoung looked up and found jiwoo holding him, pulling him away from the crowd. she handed him a shirt and a new hat, rushing to cover him with it.

“let’s get out.”

jiwoo guided him out, away from the prying eyes in the darkness, before the power went back on. the backdoor was empty, leaving only wooyoung and jiwoo. jiwoo kept holding onto wooyoung, pulling him as they ran for their car a few blocks down. wooyoung almost threw himself into the car, sighed loudly when he felt the leather seat touched his back.

“what the fuck was that?” he spat out to jiwoo.

“you tell me! how’d you get chased by those guys? i thought we’re doing this quietly?” she spat back.

“that was the plan, but you failed to hold them back.”

jiwoo rolled her eyes. “no, you failed to realize that they have more security than what you think.”

“the fuck was that supposed to mean? i had mingi and san check everything before we go in. and they're doing a bidding for the ledgers anyways.” wooyoung hit back, making her sigh before explaining.

“you were already far into the club when i found out that the bidding is for tomorrow, so the ledger being there was still a top secret until tonight. reaching out would be risky, and i couldn’t explain it that fast, so i had to do plan c.”

“plan c?”

“i broke into their cctvs and jammed the whole thing so there’s no track of you, then cut out the power to get you out of there.”

he contemplated her answers for a while. sighing again, wooyoung laid back to his chair, trying to ease his breathing.

“thank you.” he said defeatedly.

“we’re partners. i protect you, and you protect me woo,” she shrugged. “now move your ass and let me drive. you’re hurt.”

“huh?”

he glanced towards his body trying to find the hurting part. he reached behind his shoulder, wincing when felt a cut wound along his upper shoulder blade. blood was evident on his fingertips when he pulled them back. it must be enemies’ knife cutting through when they fought, and didn’t realize up until jiwoo point it out.

“just a scratch.”

“yeah well that scratch probably needs a few stitches. c’mon.”

jiwoo moved into the driver’s seat, then drove the car away from the chaotic club. for a while, no one said a word, except wooyoung when he gave a call to san about the mission. the sight of endless trees and dark road made him drowsy, and soon he fell into his slumber.

“hey, wake up.”

wooyoung jolted awake, blinking his sleepiness away after jiwoo woke him up. he looked around in confusion, realizing they’re not back at their base.

“where are we?”

“other town nearby. let’s be safe and make sure they lost our tracks completely,” she pushed his seat back to create more space before shimmying herself into the tight spot. “take your shirt off.”

“w-what?”

the comical look in his eyes made jiwoo laughed as she reached for his shirt.

“yo! yes you’re hot–“

“i’m hot?” she chuckled.

“yes, no– shit– i got a wife ji–“

“’m not trying to fuck, silly. i’m trying to fix your wound. now take the damn shirt off.”

with jiwoo's determination, he had no choice but to take off his shirt hesitantly, glancing back to jiwoo, “look away.”

“shut the fuck up i've literally seen your body when we spar.”

off his shirt goes, showing his skin that glows under the yellow lights. jiwoo handed him a soju to distract him from the pain as she stitch his wound up. he winced a couple of times when the needle poked through his skin, but he held on.

jiwoo’s fingertips are cold, soothing to his hot wounded skin. despite the harsh words, she’s light with her hands. the sound of his and her quiet breathing filled the air.

“the pharmacist said there’s a motel just down the road, maybe we should crash there for the night.”

maybe it’s the soju he downed to the last drop. maybe he lost too much blood because of that wound. maybe it’s the fact that he’s half naked, tipsy, and jiwoo is wearing a red, absolutely sexy dress, but holy fuck, did jung wooyoung just glitched in the brain at the mention of a motel and staying the night out with another woman.

“why?”

“it’s almost 2 in the morning.” she murmured. “the drive to the base would take 2 to 3 hours, and honestly i’m tired. you’re wounded and no doubt tipsy, i’m not about to let us crash somewhere down the road.”

that makes sense. but he had other ideas, as he reached out to the console, trying to find his phone. maybe someone could fetch them up, wooyoung thought. he tapped on the screen a couple of times, clicking on the power button but to no avail. the screen stayed dark.

“shit, my phone’s dead.” he glanced towards jiwoo who just shrugged.

“mine’s dead too.”

and no one thought of bringing a charger with them.

he groaned, leaning back to his seat. after a few beat of silence, he just nodded. “well, i guess we have no choice.”

somewhere in him, it feels wrong. like something is poking through his chest as jiwoo drove down the road, right to the said motel and parked the car. like there’s an unseen stop sign in him, reminding him to not to do it as jiwoo pulled him to the motel room.

but what could go wrong? wooyoung doesn’t like jiwoo in that way.

not even the way she took her dress off carelessly in front of him, opting to change into a bathrobe that’s not even tied properly. not the way he clearly saw her pair of underwear.

shit.

but no, he doesn’t like her like that. and he’s sure of that. yet, the blaring sound of siren kept playing in his mind, reminding him that this isn’t right.

but perhaps it’s the soju that calmed the siren down, as he doze off into his slumber once again.

jung wooyoung woke up that morning, with a headache and pain on his shoulder. and that dull thing poking through his chest, and the same siren blasted again in his head when he saw himself; splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

nothing happened last night, he's damn sure of it and remembered every single second that passed before he fell asleep.

yet, still, he doesn’t like this feeling.

“are you okay?”

younghoon nudged you, who immediately woke up from the empty daydream you had just now.

“huh?”

“you’ve been out of it for like, a solid 5 minutes. are you okay? did my father say something to offend you?”

“no. nothing important.”

yes. it was something that could change her whole life.

you sighed, “it’s just… i forgot to tell wooyoung that i’m staying out last night. he hates sleeping alone.” she lied. though, not entirely. she did forgot to tell wooyoung about the whole staying out for the night last night. wooyoung would absolutely gone batshit, but judging from the lack of his messages on your phone, he might not have known it yet. which is strange.

guilt bubbled up in younghoon, easily seen through his eyes. “i’m really sorry about last night. my father… tend to get too friendly and would sometimes step over the boundaries, like insisting for you to stay the night. i should’ve said no and took you home. god, he even made you stay up late.” he grumbled.

“it’s okay, he meant well. i just forgot to tell wooyoung, that’s all.”

“when i drop you off, i’ll explain everything to wooyoung and hongjoong, so they won’t have any weird ideas about it.” younghoon said, “you’re a married woman after all. we don’t want any trouble.”

you smiled and nodded, “thank you for the offer. i’d be thankful.”

younghoon smiled back, and continued driving towards ateez mansion, as you fall back to yet another set of daydreaming, or, more specifically contemplating your whole existence after the talk with younghoon’s father last night.

over some of his words.

01.59 am

a sigh almost left your mouth, along with a yawn, but you held back as best as you could. after all, you’re presented before kim younghoon’s father, the senior in kim’s family and not to mention one of the prominent figure in the business.

but you have no regrets, all the time passed wasn’t for nothing. and he’s a pleasant man.

“you work diligently, younghoon have said this a lot. he’s not easy to get close with,” the man chuckled, “well, it’s a shame that you’re married. i would’ve offered my son to you, he seemed intrigued.”

“you flatter me, sir. and more often than not, younghoon is the one who helped me a lot since i got into the business.”

he smiled, putting down his cup of tea. “so i’ve heard. ah, didn’t you meet younghoon through the lees?”

you nodded, “yes. lee juyeon, to be precise. though, i don’t know what younghoon has told you about it…”

“he told me everything. of why juyeon gave you to us, what you want and what he wanted. that boy,” he shook his head, tsk-ing, “ruthless as his father was. the whole people in the business had to tip toe around him if they want to be alive. jiyoung would never do that.” then he proceeded to say something that made you raise a brow.

“her child would never.”

“i thought that was just a rumor?”

the man smiled knowingly. “well, sweet lady, this old man here has a reason for supporting lee jiyoung when the sibling war happened, and still is, until now. i know a secret or two, things that others don’t know.” mr. kim explained with a longing gaze. “she’s my best friend, after all.”

“like, a secret marriage?”

you shoot your shot.

“i was one of the few to witness her marriage. she loved seo rim well, despite the fast that he’s just a bodyguard. going against his elder’s wishes of marrying someone more prominent in the business to secure her safety and her throne, me being one of them.”

“and now for that, she had to lose everything. but whatever people say, it was a lawful marriage.”

“seo rim?”

mr. kim laughed, “oh, oops. the name’s out i guess.”

you pressed him again, shooting your shot one more time. “but, what about the child? was it a girl or a boy? where are they?”

but to that question, mr. kim just shrugged. he downed his tea before filling his cup again. “dunno. but if i do, i’d protect them with all i have.”

you closed your mouth, only nodding to his answer. you laid back to your chair. the new information filled your head so it all circled your mind. secret marriage, possible offspring of lee jiyoung. seo rim. the name echoed in your mind. a name you never know before,

but now you do.

mr. kim hummed, staring into the fire in front of him, seemingly in his own mind. you stared at the old man, a few white strands of hair on his head, several lines on his face, and you wonder, what does it feels like to witness a war and survived. he lived long, enough to know the lee jiyoung, to witness things that others don’t. long enough to know people, wise enough to know what to do and what not.

hence the question.

“why me?”

“hm?”

“why did you tell me this? we just met today. and even if you do know me, it’s only from younghoon and that’s not even enough.” you murmured, “so why are you telling me this?”

the man hummed again. “because i know,” he said, making you raise a brow. he continued, “i know i can trust you.”

“where have you been?!”

san’s screeching voice was the first to greet wooyoung when he stepped out of his car with jiwoo. the said man had his hands on his hips, eagle eyes staring down judgingly at the two partners.

“bed’s empty, no note, car gone! you could’ve died!”

wooyoung massaged his temples. “now’s not the time to quote some harry potter line, san.” he groaned.

san shrugged. “it was a moment. and seriously, where have you been? you two! not even a text or a call, we were about to hunt you down!” he accusingly said. “you and y/n both, woo. thankfully y/n told us her whereabouts just this morning. but you? radio silent.”

“my phone died, and so did jiwoo’s.” wooyoung lifted his head when he realized san mentioned your name. “y/n did what?”

slowly, san lowered his hands from his hips. his eyes starting to grow wide with confusion in it. “she didn’t tell you?”

“tell me what?” wooyoung pressed.

“she’s staying out last night as well. at the kim’s.”

his brain short circuited, trying to process san’s words a couple of times. when he finally processed the whole sentences, it left him utterly dumbfounded.

“what?!”

just after he screamed, a black car stopped behind them. the sight of kim younghoon getting out of the car greeted them, along with you, whose door was held open by younghoon.

“speak of the devil.” san blurted.

wooyoung ignored his remarks, opting to trot his way to you. he threw a look on younghoon, before pulling you away from him.

“you didn’t come home last night? why? why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, his hand still circling your wrist.

you quickly felt guilty. “i’m sorry love, it was younghoon’s father sudden invitation. i couldn’t really get my phone, that was my fault.” you ran your free hand over his bicep, trying to soothe the anger away. “won’t happen again. what time did you get home last night?”

“he stayed out as well.” san replied from behind you. your eyes widened, while he freezed.

“what? you didn’t tell me anything about it. what happened? wha-“ your palm acidentally touched to his shoulder blades, feeling the rough bandage underneath it, “were you hurt?”

but wooyoung turned away, pushing your hand lightly. “just a scratch, it doesn’t matter.” he turned his gaze back to you, once again giving you a questioning look. “why didn’t you come home? why would you stay at someone else’s place? baby, you’re my wife. what would other people say?”

younghoon slotted himself between the two of you. clearing his throat, he explained, “mr. jung, that was my fault. my father can be quite pushy, he insisted that mrs. jung must stay the night because he wanted her company and to talk. i’m sorry, i should’ve insisted on taking her home.”

“damn right you should’ve.” wooyoung spat, earning a slap on his chest from you.

“wooyoung!”

younghoon bowed slightly. “i’m sorry. i’ll make sure no one knows about this, and i’ll explain everything to hongjoong. if these words ever comes out i won’t hesitate to straighten things up and i certainly won’t let this ruin your or y/n’s reputations. once again, i’m sorry.” the man doesn’t even lift his head, bowing once again. “i’m sorry. excuse me.”

“hoon–“ you tried to call him but to no avail, as the man quickly got into his car and drove away. you watched in guilt as his black car went further. throwing a side eye at wooyoung, you detached yourself from him, grumbling as you walked away. he followed right behind you.

“i can’t believe you just did that!”

wooyoung scoffed. “am i not allowed to do that? you’re my wife, and your husband is questioning why were you staying the night at some other man’s house!”

stopping in your tracks, you turned back to glare at him. “i did nothing with younghoon, heck i even stayed at a different wing in his mansion!” you point your finger, “you were staying out last night as well! with your partner who, by the way is also a woman! did you see me complaining or accusing you of anything? no text no nothing, who knows what you did out there?”

…splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

“how could you accuse me of cheating?we didn't do anything!”

“i didn’t even say the word. you put those in your own mouth.”

“i got injured, she was tired, both of our phones are dead, we had no choice but to stay out!”

“that’s exactly what happened to me! younghoon’s father wanted to speak, yes he’s a fucking pushover and that’s kinda annoying so i had no choice but to do as he says because he’s that important, but i did nothing other than talking.” you half shouted. “kim younghoon is an ally, woo. an important one right now. i’m not doing this for me, this whole thing is a business, but then you shouted at him, being completely unprofessional and irrational, i—“

you bit your lip, trying to held your emotions back. “if something goes wrong, hongjoong’s gonna be mad. i’m trying my best right now to gain his trust, to gain something for us, but y—“ you choked back your tears out of frustration, trying your best not to let out a single drop of it.

seeing how you almost broke down lessen his anger.

“baby….”

“you two, enough.”

hongjoong’s voice blared through the whole hallway, making you both turned your heads. you quickly wiped a single tear, trying to compose yourself.

hongjoong had his hands on his pocket, eyes icy as he stared down at the both of you.

“how many times do i have to tell you to keep your goddamn professionalism first in the business?” he gritted through his teeth. you and wooyoung could only stare at the floor beneath you. you heard a sigh coming out of hongjoong’s mouth.

“younghoon explained everything to me, even gave me a proof of y/n’s room. i know you’re angry, but you shouldn’t have shouted at him, woo. and y/n you should’ve known better than to stay at someone else’s place. the fuck is wrong with you two? i'm not even married but i at least know this.”

you and wooyoung could only turn away from hongjoong's gaze, clearly lost your faces.

he shook his head, opting to leave the problem behind. “make up later, however it is. now, you both clean after yourselves, especially you, y/n.” he pointed at you, “you have a lunch reservation with lee juyeon. i approved it for you. i’ll pick you up after for a meeting with stray kids.”

“she just came back from younghoon, now she has to go out with another man again?”

hongjoong only stared at him. “i said stay professional.” he said, before he turned back and walked away.

there’s something sour left in his tongue.

he’s fully aware of the cause, he just couldn’t say it out loud. so he just sat there on the edge of the bed, watching as you prepare yourself.

the both of you talked and sort things out, explaining each problems while you changed his bandage for a fresher one. both of you talked about how it was unavoidable, things you’ve said before, just with cool heads.

but it still left something unpleasant.

you were stepping into a nice green dress, zipping it up. you strapped your heels, then fixed your makeup. a little blush here and there, your hand danced oh so delicately across your face, it would’ve make him all giddy if it wasn’t for the fact that you were about to go out with some other man.

you caught him staring at you from the vanity mirror, the hardness on his face was unmistakable. you sighed as you turned around, walking towards him. wooyoung turned his gaze to the floor, so you reached for his hands, cradling in it your own.

bringing his knuckles to your lips, you kissed it. “i know you’re upset.” you murmured. he stayed quiet, so you continued.

“i don’t know when will all of this stop. but remember the promise we made? hm?” you cradled his face. “i’ll do anything to keep us together and safe. because i love you, and i need you to understand that there’ll be no one other than you.” you pressed.

“others don’t matter. just you.”

you looked at his lips, crouched down to give him a soft kiss. though a little unresponsive, he gave into the kiss.

“i love you too.” he murmured into your lips.

the same words came from the both of your lips. the both of you truly are each other’s halves, in one heart, in one mind, in one act.

even when the same unpleasant feelings resides in both of your hearts, and you both refused to address it.

kim younghoon: i’m sorry about this morning. y/n: it’s alright. i’m sorry my husband shouted at you. we’ve talked abt it tho kim younghoon: it’s okay. he did the right thing. (typing…) (typing…) (typing…) kim younghoon: he’s ur husband, i understand y/n: thank you kim younghoon: y/n y/n: yes? (typing…) (typing…) kim younghoon: we’re still up for tomorrow? y/n: yes. i’ll see u soon.

“ah! if it’s not the rising star of ateez.”

juyeon gleamed as soon as he saw you, smile so wide his eyes smiled with him. and to your surprise, he quickly reached for your hand, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

your husband, who escorted you there was right behind you with hongjoong. both of them were stunned at the sight.

but before anyone could say anything, juyeon excused himself, “i’m sorry mr. jung, i don’t mean anything bad. it’s just, i’m really happy to see y/n. i’ve never been so connected in conversations other than with her.” he grinned, “though, if she was available i’d definitely try my luck.”

he laughed, forcing everyone to laugh with him.

hongjoong spoke, “well, we understand. she’s pleasant to be with, perhaps that’s why our wooyoung loves her so.” he nudged wooyoung, “isn’t that right, woo?”

“yes.” he replied dryly, earning a glare and a squeeze on his shoulder. but he couldn't care less.

“well,” juyeon clasped his hand together, “we should go in. i’m starving, and i wish to have a good conversation today with y/n. if i may?”

juyeon offered his hand to you. glancing between juyeon and wooyoung, you have no choice but to take juyeon’s hand, careful in not looking too eager. you threw a guilty look at him.

while walking inside, you typed a quick text.

y/n: i’m sorry. i had no idea he’d do that, he never does y/n: i’m so sorry baby y/n: it doesn’t mean a thing to me

ding

woo: it’s ok. (typing…) (typing…) woo: come home whenever ur done.

23.47 pm.

you glanced at your watch, sighing defeatedly. you definitely won’t be home as quick as you wanted today.

you already miss wooyoung. but you have to do this.

the alleyway was dark. the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement echoed in the air. the small restaurant was about to close, the light about to go off altogether. you lightly knocked on the door. “excuse me.” you called.

a buffed looking man came out from the kitchen, a knife on his hand. “we’re closing. what do you want?” he gruffly said.

“uhm, sorry,” you stuttered, “is mr. kim’s soju… no,” you quickly regained yourself.

“i want to talk to the soju maker himself, mr. kim. there’s this… old soju i’m looking for, which i don’t know the brand is.”

the big man stood there for a while, processing your words. he went back to the kitchen, and you heard some murmurs before he came back outside, now smiling. “mr. kim is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

the man escorted you inside, through the messy wet kitchen up until a door. he knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. “come in.” a baritone voice responded. he opened the door, ushering you to come in, before closing the door.

an old man sat on his study, his white hair tousled and a pair of glasses sat on top of his nose. his weary eyes studied your form.

“it’s been a while since someone used that code. soju maker…” he chuckled. “people usually looks for fresher soju, something done, but now you’re looking for something older. tell me, what are you looking for miss?”

he pointed the chair across him, signaling you to take a seat. putting aside your handbag, you took a seat. there’s a beat of silence, before you let your voice out.

“it’s a who, sir.” you said, before continuing.

“i’m looking for seo rim.”

(to be continued)

—

damnnnn 8 months. i have no words for myself fr😩🤚

i hope y guys still enjoy this. i feel like i should add more things, but i’m afraid it’ll make the whole thing stale ykwim

but we’re getting CLOSER and CLOSER to the main problem, aka the timeline when y/n got shot (mafia!woo y/n caught in the crossfire), which is the very first fic that started this all

anyways. TOODLES. enjoy

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pennyellee · 8 months

Text

preview of chapter IV

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, blood, incision wound, fictive mafia clan traditions, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, threats, intimate encounter, kissing

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 744

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: and scene! chapter four is coming soon :))) meanwhile thirst over Kkangpae Min and his soon to be Buin...more will be yours at the end of this month ♥

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV

“—and?” Yoongi asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, a sight she had seen far too often for her liking. He was not shy with her; he could easily undress before her without a second thought. His attempts to walk in on her while she was changing didn't go unnoticed either, though she made sure to show her displeasure by throwing vases at him to keep him out.

Only now did Y/N remember the glass of alcoholic beverage that Namjoon had offered her, remaining untouched in her hands. She decided to take a sip, trying to ease her nerves before the conversation she was dreading.

“—and everything went well, as expected,” said Namjoon observing her as she downed the burning soju.

“Send telegraph to Wang and other families. We’re leaving for Chosen in two hours.” Y/N straightened herself, eyes wide open in disbelief.

“W-what do you mean in two hours?” She stammered. It was just past eight when she gazed at the clock on the wall. That would mean they'd depart at ten and arrive in Seoul around midnight.

"—I thought they just cleared the way. Why are we—" Yoongi cut her off abruptly. "I am waiting no more," he said firmly, locking his gaze with hers, leaving her in shock once again.

"On your way, please inform the maids to pack, and I want the cabin ready," Yoongi instructed Namjoon, who memorized every task with a sense of responsibility, seemingly disregarding Y/N's shattered spirit in the wake of this sudden rush.

“Can we at least talk about it?!” she raised her voice, causing the two men to stop in their tracks. They exchanged knowing looks, making it clear that this was non-negotiable. Yoongi clicked his tongue, biting his cheeks from inside, then turned to face his fiancée with a deceptive sweetness in his tone.

"Of course, my love," he said.

He nodded to Namjoon, who immediately took off, glancing at Y/N with a silent reminder to behave.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked nonchalantly as if this were a perfectly normal scenario.

“I don’t know, do you think this is right?” Y/N kept her tone tense, signalling her discontent.

“Nothing is more right than this,” he answered, pouring himself a drink while taking her empty glass and refilling it with soju.

"Yoongi—" she began to protest, but he didn't let her speak further, having heard her excuses countless times.

“No Y/N. I’m not negotiating this time. We’re getting married tomorrow afternoon and that’s final,” he stated sternly.

"You could at least wait a day! Do you think everyone will just jump because you said it's happening right now? And more importantly, let me mentally prepare for it?!” Her frustration grew, and she gestured wildly, almost knocking over the refilled glass that Yoongi handed her.

“They are already in town. The telegraph is just a confirmation that it will happen tomorrow.” Her distress and panic were understandable; she had believed she had more time than a few hours.

“And you didn’t think of telling me first?!” she raised her voice even higher. That she was in distress and panic was very understandable. Y/N thought she had more time than a few hours.

“No, because you were finally letting me in—” said he, downing the contents of his glass in one go.

“You knew this would happen for a month, and you would have had more time to prepare yourself if running away fifteen hundred times a day wouldn’t be on your mind,” he fired back, raising his voice at her, and immediately asserting dominance.

"I'm getting very tired of this. One step forward and ten million miles back, damn it!" he cursed, slamming the glass down on his desk in frustration. The tension in the room was palpable, and Y/N felt her heart sinking as she realized that her hopes of a slower pace for their relationship had been shattered.

“I have a very easy solution to that—” she said, raising herself to stand up to him.

“—Let me go,” she emphasized every single word, her frustration boiling over, and momentarily forgetting about her deal with Namjoon.

Her emotions were running high, and she went to pull the ring off to prove her point, but he forcefully grabbed her right hand, stopping her in her tracks. Anger filled his eyes as he crossed his other hand, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and crashed his lips onto hers, pressing their bodies against the nearest wall.

coming soon

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 10 months

Note

Many many unhealthy dark thoughts about Tangerine’s yandere tendencies. 100% do not condone this behaviour. Get out or get help if you find yourself in a similar situation!!

My thoughts:

Tangerine’s housewife kink is out of control. Put his Darling in an apron and the man can barely function; all he would think about is taking her to bed.

He would be the type of man who would get turned on by his Darling doing the most mundane chores around the house - ironing his shirts, baking, crocheting a soft toy for one of their children - activities he considers feminine and which feed into his housewife kink.

His expectations of his Darling are unhealthy and unrealistic.

Once she was living with him Tangerine got rid of any clothing he deemed “inappropriate”. Now his Darling’s wardrobe consists mainly of dresses and skirts and he expects his Darling to adhere to this dress code.

He gets angry when his Darling makes independent decisions as he wants them to be utterly dependant on him. His Darling doesn’t have access to their own money and instead is given an allowance. Tangerine would also insist that his Darling pay via card so he can see all transactions they have made.

Gradually Tangerine would isolate his Darling from anyone he thinks are bad influences. Initially he would constantly phone and text his Darling and would become very angry if they didn’t reply immediately and would subsequently punish them (in the bedroom) for their “neglect”. He then realised it was easier to put a tracker on their phone and cameras inside their house so he knows where they are at all times. In his mind this isn’t an invasion of privacy. Instead it’s a way to protect his Darling because she is innocent and naive and unable to make informed decisions.

He definitely chips away at their self confidence as he wants them to be completely reliant on him.

He is rarely gentle in bed with his Darling. He would never beat his Darling, but he is fascinated with the physical, mental and emotional limitations of his Darling.

100% uses their children as a way to punish his Darling by limiting contact or accusing her of being a bad mother. The latter is never true as he would never have children with someone he would deem “unworthy”, but he has found that such accusations are a good way to punish his Darling. Of course their children know nothing of these punishments.

Tangerine absolutely adores their children and thinks they can do no wrong. They are perfect because they are hers and they are his. Anyone who insults his children or his Darling have basically signed their own death warrant.

It is incredibly twisted and abusive, but Tangerine is madly in love with his Darling and wouldn’t be able to survive without her. He needs her more than she needs him, and he knows this hence his suffocating clingyness. He wants to be the centre of their world like she is the centre of his.

To outsiders their relationship looks normal. Just very very traditional. And even when their children are grown up their kids don’t see anything wrong with their parent’s marriage. And Tangerine deludes himself that his Darling is happy with their marriage. Whether she is or not is something she only knows…

Sorry for this long and dark rambling about yandere!Tangerine. But after reading your fic I have been unable to think of anything else. Again I do not condone Tangerine’s actions!!!

I absolutely loved this, such an interesting perspective on dark Tangerine.

Totally agree on the kids. Tangerine seems like he'd dote on his kids, especially if it is a little girl, and he'd be the best dad for them, teaching them how to stand up for themselves and also self-defense so they know how to protect themselves. Just imagine Tangerine losing his patience at the PTA meeting 😂

Feel like he'd really enjoy the whole idea of having the perfect marriage with reader but at the same time, he ruins it with his toxic controlling atittudes.

(also don't worry, we know that all of these dark fics and thoughts are NOT supported irl. This is just FICTION, so no one should take this seriously, please).

#ask #loved this

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m0rbidm3rcy · 4 months

Text

Since yall wanna be on that high school drama bs n call us supporters of rape and incest lets get some things straight:

All of you are taking Max’s post out of context. Instead of commenting on shit blindly, please know your facts beforehand. This user named miumiya (her account is now taken down RIGHTFULLY SO) was coming for our friend irrationally because of the dark content contained in her fics. It was dumb and petty unnecessary drama, and everyone was basically responding with the same thing, which was: If it bothers you so much, block and move on. Separate fiction from reality, and so forth.

Anyways, unfortunately things did not die down, and Miu only escalated the situation childishly. She girl called our friend a rapist, a pedo, sent her death threats and told us to unalive ourselves (which we didn’t take seriously, because if you’re that mad it’s just embarrassing like lmao be for real). Not to mention, others sent our friend death threats and RACIAL SLURS. Our friend is a literal victim and is being told all this ON TOP OF being told she’s lying about being a victim. Like, do you know how awful that is? If you have to go so far as to pull made-up shit out of your ass to make a point, it’s ridiculous.

Our friend makes various fics with dark themes. The issues, according to Miu and others, lies mostly within the rape and incest part. Now, let me say this loud for those in the back, WE DO NOT CONDONE IRL RAPE AND INCEST, since you are all so convinced that we do. Our point is that people are allowed to write about whatever the fuck they want as long as it doesn’t hurt them or others. And before anyone starts on that ‘you’re sexualizing/fetishizing’ it shit, no we are not, and those claims alone lead me to believe that you all just saw the words ‘rape’ and ‘incest’ in Max’s post and ran with it. We’re not going to argue any further, because all of this happened days ago, and it was regarding the resident evil fandom, so I don’t know how other people even found it. LMAO Max’s post was not for you.

Also, regarding the replies on Max’s post, everything can be taken out of context because Miu got her blog taken down. Trust, she was saying considerably more awful things than us. We can reclaim literally everything we said, and if it bothers you, block because we’re not gonna change the way we speak just because some strangers on the internet got triggered by it. Miu was sending death threats, was being borderline racist, and invalidating victims. I don’t know about you, but at that point we were not gonna take any of her shit seriously, hence our replies. Because if you’re going to be childish talking about a serious topic, so are we.

In conclusion? It’s not that serious, we don’t care. Stop lying and assuming the stupidest shit. It’s like y'all say some bs and run with it without thinking. ALSO, Max isn’t trans, so being transphobic towards him in his replies is BAFFLING and gross. Like atp, you’re a weirdo. You don’t have a free pass to be a freak because you think you’re in the right. We’re going to keep posting, regardless of whatever accusations are out there. But if you all want to keep yapping about it, go ahead babes. <3

Screenshots of some of the things Miu said:

Already invalidating victims (Resident Evil does have rape btw. LMAO)

Admitting that she herself is NOT a victim. Max is a victim himself, so because he writes about dark topics, that invalidates him as a victim? Are you all going to call victims sick and twisted because they like to cope in different ways from the norm? That’s gross.

Death threats. Like, imagine being that mad? LMAO. And the pedo accusations are ridiculous. False allegations can get you into legal trouble, especially ones as serious as this.

More death threats! The awareness she was spreading was just calling victims pedos and freaks.

“Timeskips”. If you’re going to call a person a pedo for writing fics with of age characters, you should follow your own advice. (blocking out my friend’s user because she’s been through enough already. We don’t need more brainless freaks harassing others)

Also if you want more evidence check out this blog post ->

#discorse #dark content #fan fic related

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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okay, so i’ve just finished your Just Friends fic, and now i’ve just been analyzing every aspect of this story because it’s that fucking good. and so personally, after all the psychoanalysis and interpretative symbolize i feel were very subtly connected with each other, i think that könig and engel… AND BARE WITH ME… are perfect for each other, i would even go as far as to say that they were probably meant for each other, and i mean, like, probably soulmates.

and before i get into this, i just want to say, as a disclaimer, i’m not romanticizing anything of this and i don’t condone any of this. this my own analysis on i what interpreted in your fic and why i feel this way.

anyway, their relationship is a great example of a twisted, dark, semi-toxic relationship, and i say semi-toxic because although these two are absolutely insane separately, könig’s sociopathic and personality tendencies and engels morbid curiosity and possible anti social tendencies of her own, together they compliment each other to the T. it’s no wonder why engel keeps going back to him, it’s not a matter of her not knowing any better or being naive, in fact it’s the complete opposite, she knows what she’s getting into, she loves it and she thrives off of it. engel revels in the forbidden realm of her fantasies that she tends to escape from, and now with könig, who so openly offers it to her, she is clearly driven by desire and lust of her own and will engage with it as much as possible so instinctively. at this point, she’s aware of everything könig can do for her, to her, and more, and i feel, after our conclusion of what we know, engel will definitely use that to her advantage, not necessarily to use him but to explore for herself and what he can continue for her. sure, it‘a possibly, definitely self-indulgent, and probably selfish of her, but she’s happy, and when she’s happy könig’s happy, and as long as she doesn’t cross a line that i’m pretty she’s knows könig have repeatedly emphasized, they will continue there escapades happily. and i would continue on to explain my own little theories about könig’s psyche and his future with her but this is getting too long.

i truly think that what they feel for each other is genuine, it may not be love, it may be obsession, but whatever it is, it’s there and they both aware of it. no matter how toxic it may be to the normal eye, no one can’t deny that when they’re together they’ve truly become one. i’m sure after everything they been through, they will be inseparable, they will become each other in their own right. i think they depend on each other more than ever, and in a way, that is poetically beautiful in the most fucked up of ways. i love it, i love you, i love what you created. thank you for reading my essay~

i would love to offer up some headcanons of my own in the future, but im not sure. o.o

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I'm fine! Everything's fine ❤️

First of all. I had to take the longest moment to cry sit and stare at a wall after reading your message. I will try and not make a fool of myself when I answer this, but... (I know I'm about to sound as crazy as König & Engel)

You don't even know how much this means to me 💕 because this is IT. This is exactly what this story is about. Your analysis is better, more profound and more nuanced than anything I could ever have written myself. *cries*

Reader explores her suppressed fantasies, the dark side of her soul through and with König, yes.

Just like we do here on tumblr when we're indulging ourselves in these silly little imagines...? I'm sorry if this makes people uncomfortable but that's just how I see it and as I've said before it's only healthy to have an outlet (and not forget humor while we're at it 🤍)

And so does König explore his light, angelic side with Engel! She represents everything he has cast outside of himself and wants to reclaim: innocence, kindness, softness, vulnerability, life, normality, even safety.

Sure, he also projects his mother wound (or whatever you wish to call it) onto her and seeks in her the nurturer he never had, the comfort and appreciation he never had. Engel on the other hand seeks a powerful protector and wants to let go of the stifling need to be sane and kind and conventional. She has agency: in the end, everything in this story happens as a result of her actions and decisions.

It's not healthy, it's not safe or sane, but it's genuine and it's a true attempt to live more honestly. They're both crazy, but I still believe that under the obsession and madness blooms a strange but strong love. They belong together!

And this is also the reason why she is special and König absolutely adores her – I haven't been succesful, perhaps, in trying to convince people of it because toxic König sorta has a life of its own nowadays but your analysis proved it all so beautifully that I can only say THANK YOU and also would you marry me please you're awesome I love you 🩷💖💋

And I'd LOVE to hear more of your headcanons! Feel free to ramble in my inbox anytime or if you feel comfortable enough I wish to remind (everyone) that my dms are always open too 💕

Thank you anon for your essay, it was the most delightful read and I think I'm going to go and cry a bit more now...!

#answered #yandere könig #just friends fic #i'm emotional #I loved this essay #this is like a writers wet dream #someone analyzing my fic like this i'm not okay #i'm coming apart at the seams in the most lovely way #good day bye bye #*flops*

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bringthekaos · 1 month

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Honestly how do you think Zaun sees the Machine Herald? I don't think his short story with Naph is one off instance of him being kind towards Zaunites or of him showing hate towards the chem-barons. I mean what does he even do on his free time besides being a lab-rat? Does he help others in need? Is he wizard Batman? Does he just rob banks and goes home?

Ppfftttt wizard Batman had me cackling.

In all seriousness though, I think the Machine Herald has sort of been set up as the Boo Radley character trope—a kind and altruistic person who has been misjudged by his community purely on the basis of “we fear what we don’t understand.” Now granted it’s not that simple, given that Viktor has definitely done some shady and questionable things as the Machine Herald that would merit such suspicion. But I think in general, those few stories have been warped and twisted to the point that the monstrous tales surrounding the Machine Herald are waaaay over exaggerated, but they’ve become the pervasive narrative throughout Zaun.

And the crazed cult certainly doesn’t help his image, especially when he kind of ignores them—it comes off looking like he’s allowing/condoning their actions when in reality he just doesn’t see the point of expending the energy to quash them when another extremist will just crop right up in their place. And I think Viktor probably has a love-hate relationship with his reputation—he doesn’t mind the peace it provides, the ability to do his work largely unimpeded. But deep down, I’m sure being viewed as a monster when all he ever wanted to do was help people hurts—yes, even a supposedly emotionless cyborg.

But I’d like to think that, like Naph, there are a few who are brave enough to see past the stories, to see past the mask. In Pulse of the Machine, I sort of suggested that he operates a kind of clinic for augmented persons—repairing and altering augmentations for the less fortunate at a discounted rate from the monopoly of the Chem-Barons (who I definitely don’t think he likes. Like… he hated the corrupt bureaucracy of Piltover, why would the corrupt bureaucracy of Zaun be any different?) And I think that option is actually highly likely, him running a clinic of sorts. He enjoys working on augments, he gets fulfillment from constantly working to enhance them.

^That was the serious answer to “what does he do with his free time?”

The unserious answer?

Jayce.

#arcane #league of legends #Viktor #machine herald viktor #Viktor the machine herald #the glorious evolution #the glorious evolved #asks #ace answers

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kissitbttr · 4 months

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have you ever considered that maybe people add in a rape scene in their stories, because it might be crucial for a characters development or downfall, it could a major or minor event for the plot, could be showing the environment/setting etc.

Im not condoning it, it can be a trigger. It is a world issue that sickos are taboo about. I steer away from stories containing that as much as I can.. because it can be icky

Also you can't really blame movie directors either whoever said that.... Have you ever seen A Time to Kill? Ever seen For Coloured Girls? Ever watched the Revenant?

People should be aware of the catastrophic events that people have faced throughout history to modern world, that shit ain't ever fiction. Plus, imagine the things that they do not put in movies....

Unfortunately many women(and men too!) face and have faced these things.. if it's a trigger baby, please keep on fucking scrolling. I do.

yes. like i said before, when you see a r*pe scene in a movie, it’s never about screening a dark twisted fantasy that gets your panties wet. it is to show us that it’s real. and it’s a matter that needs to be taken seriously because men, women, and even children sadly experience that. as we speak.

but when people on this app try to justify their disgusting kink as a form of fun and being it simply fiction, it’s a different thing. it’s gross, it’s fucked up and will never be okay. telling us to ‘just scroll if you don’t like it’ is just ignorant. that’s exactly what you do when you try to downplay any SA victim. what, you think that their traumatic experience doesn’t fucking matter? that r*pe is a pleasurable thing that needs to be normalized and romanticized?? the fuck is wrong with you?!

but hey, once again, big congrats to all of you who think that shit is sexy. good job on being a grade A cunt.

#this is not a jab towards u anon i hope there’s no misunderstanding

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stellarcollisionfic · 8 hours

Note

tell me about Jade. I love her I want to know More

🥹 thank you for letting me rant about my girl 💕

Jade Walker: Character Info/HC’s

- Jade is 28 at the start of Stellar Collision. This is important because Jade is very personal to me and I feel like I don’t know what’s going on (in my 20’s as well 🥲). She’s old enough for there to be an expectation that she knows what she wants out of life, but she is hopelessly lost prior to finding Constellation. (Get it? A “Constellation”helping her find her way??? …I’ll see myself out)

-On the subject, she’s definitely more morally gray than Sarah (but who isn’t?). She made bad choices in her youth. It was important to me that she actually had a relatively happy and comfortable home life, because that kind of adds to her dilemma- she’s not forced into this life of crime that she lived before Sarah. She chose it, and has regrets. She lives in fear of the fact that it’s too late for redemption, or for her to be a productive member of society, despite how young she truly is. A lot of the times we have the orphaned protagonist, or the one with bad familial relations- but Jade is solely responsible for taking the easy way out plenty of times in her past, and now it’s coming back to haunt her. Originally, I considered having her father be a potentially injured vet in the colony war- to give her a motivation to have made all these egregious decisions for financial comfort, but I decided against it.

-Still, Jade does send the majority of her credits to her parents because, in some twisted sense, she wants to be good. She simply doesn’t know how, with her particular skillset, until Sarah and Constellation come along. Now, she has a greater purpose. Unfortunately, it’s far greater than she ever could have imagined. But hey…be careful what you wish for, right?

Personality

-Jade is seemingly confident, perhaps a little arrogant at times. She’s young enough still to have that carefree, somewhat reckless sense about her. She’s very playful and wry with her sense of humor. She’s a flirt through and through, and of course, attracted to older women- or women in authority, at any rate- (though she does seem to resent any kind of authority. Take that as you will). She’s definitely my coolest OC. She thinks Constellation is a very lovable collection of nerds (Andreja being the exception!) Though, she does manage to act like a nervous bumbling idiot in front of Sarah a few times, anyway.

-Jade is definitely an athlete, and her favorite way to work out is to fuck Sarah silly train with Andreja. 😊

- Her style has always been classic cool- black, leather, jeans, the works. Her hair is definitely longer than in the pfp- but that’s as close as we’re getting in-game. I think Rosamund and Eiza (from I care a a lot) are decently close to how I’d envision them.

-She may appear morally ambiguous, but she’s kind. Understanding, given her past. She’s Andreja’s best friend for a reason- she clocks constellation’s micro-aggressions towards Andreja or the Va’Ruun from time to time, and she lets them hear it. She’s good with Sona- even stopping to buy her clothes of her own while she was still injured from Cassiopeia. She is ambiguous regarding the law, justice, deeper topics- though she doesn’t condone harming innocent people or going a murder spree or anything atrocious like that.

-Jade’s fears are as follows:

1. She fears she’s irredeemable. That she’s already wasted her life and accomplished nothing, lying to her parents about how she’s been supporting them prior to Constellation and carrying great shame.

2. She’s afraid of dying. Self explanatory, and obviously due to the powers eating away at her. She’s young. She’s terrified. She doesn’t want to show it.

3. She’s afraid of losing Sarah. She chose Sarah over Sam, point blank. She’d do frightening things for Sarah- things Sarah herself would not approve of.

4. She doesn’t want to die without marrying Sarah properly 🥺💔 it’s the only thing she desperately needs before her time runs out. Those pesky Starborn and the damn UC seem intent on letting her do so, I’m afraid. She’s already made arrangements for her parents, already offered Sarah her galacticat plushie. All that’s left is tying the knot. She wants to be Jade Morgan very fucking badly.

Jade and Sarah

-At first, the attraction is simple: Jade hates authority, Sarah infuriates Jade, Jade is turned on by her intensity but yells right back, Sarah is turned on by her intensity (and insolence 😭)

Rinse and repeat.

-As their relationship progresses, Jade looks up to Sarah. She starts to burn for Sarah’s approval, willing to change her stubborn approach to life because this woman believes in her. This woman knows of her wrong-doing and still wants to give her a chance. She spends more time with Sarah. Starts teasing her more, they become friendly. It is then that Jade realizes she wants more than Sarah’s approval as a boss. She wants Sarah. Badly.

-On the topic of sex: they switch, obviously. I think Sarah’s more experienced, given her age- but Jade isn’t too far behind. Jade is a naturally jealous person- especially for Sarah’s affections. So this talk of “Aja” makes her so sour at the beginning 😭. She’s had a few prior relationships of note- mainly Capt. Marquez (who turned out to be a real one!!!) (Sarah does not love that). I think Jade talks a big game but Sarah is absolutely wearing the pants in the bedroom (and maybe their relationship, to an extent). Jade is something of a service top- but that’s not entirely accurate because Sarah has her way with her a lot, too. Just depends on the occasion 😏

-Jade’s dream bedroom fantasy involves Sarah in nothing but her jacket and an entire floor of a building to themselves so she can put her powers to use on the one thing that matters: Pleasuring Sarah Morgan.

-I think Sarah is everything Jade isn’t, and that’s why they work so well together. Sarah is neat, meticulous, everything she does is calculated, formal, rooted in logic. She NEEDS to believe in the law, needs to believe in order. Jade doesn’t. Jade acts with her heart, never her damn head 😭💀 she’s impulsive, reckless, and disregards facts that don’t serve her cause. She also challenges Sarah and Walter on many things, initially. But she has SUCH a capacity for love, for affection, for doing the right thing. And Sarah just…can’t stop thinking about her 🥹💕

-They give each other a second chance. They give each other unconditional love, guidance, laughter, and yes- sometimes anger 😅 but it only fuels their ever-growing attraction to one another. Jade thinks Sarah is the catch of a lifetime- and she is. Sarah thinks Jade is a brilliant, beautiful, stubborn, sexy idiot whom she absolutely cannot live without. She relies on Jade so much- the idea of having to raise Sona alone scares the shit out of her.

-From Sarah, Jade learns that she has so much to offer. She can be good. She can contribute and have a family of her own. The price, unfortunately, is staggering. Jade learns from Sarah that the true joy lies not in the destination, but the journey. She’s terrified, but…making peace with her inevitable ending. She got to live, to love, she protected Sarah…she’s come a long way. She can die happy, if it means Sarah’s going to be okay. She finally feels as if she has a path in front of her…though it’s not the one she expected.

-Sarah, on the other hand? She’d rather die before she lets go of Jade. Without Jade, she is a shell of herself- reduced to whoever she was before she ever returned to Cassiopeia and put that to rest. She’s learned so much from Jade- being skeptical of her formerly beloved UC, for instance. Sarah is all that stands between the UC and the FC in what is sure to be another full-scale war.

Without Jade by her side…the task is near impossible.

Sarah is NOT going to let her fiancée slip away into nothingness. Though it seems she won’t be afforded a choice.

However this ends, it sure is going to go out with a *bang*!!! 🫠

Here is Jade in the enhance lounge (but we pretend it’s her getting her diagnosis at the clinic instead lol 🥺💔)

And some obligatory gallery shots if you made it this far ☺️

#oc: Jade Walker #starfield #ask #order-of-the-eye #thank you for letting me rant about my baby 🥹❤️#she just wants to do good and be loved

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apathetic-dry-rot · 4 months

Text

Wilting Nerium- Chapter 3: Sex, Drugs, Ect.

Lawrence Oleander x AFAB!GN!Reader

CW/TW: Mild smut, drug consumption, panic attack, wlw-coded, hallucinations, mentions of marijuana and alcohol consumption (Not by reader)

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the content in this fanfic or game in real life!

Lawrence Oleander belongs to Gatobob

NOW PLAYING: Sex, Drugs, Ect. by Beach Weather

The only bad thing about working at a nature reserve is once you’ve been left to die in the woods, you kinda get a bit anxious when in a forest. However, I knew these woods. These were my woods. I don’t have anything to fear at work.

Work is the one place where I’m truly safe.

The readjustment was a bit difficult, but I needed to get back to my job, for both the money, and the fact that if I didn’t, I was gonna go fucking crazy.

It was a relatively simple job, but I’d been doing it for years, so of course it’d be simple to me. I was in charge of checking up on all of our tagged wildlife and making sure that none had gotten killed by hunters or poachers.

It was a soothing routine, but as per usual in my life nowadays, there was something different.

One of our stags had been attacked. By something much larger than anything we had on the premises, and it’s highly unlikely that any predator from outside the reserve wandered in and went for the stag itself.

“Something got Milo?”

Milo was one of the four stags we had at the reserve, and the most docile, which makes the whole situation even more weird.

“Yeah. Uh, whatever it was was pretty big. Bigger than anything that uh, we’ve got here.”

Lola was a nice coworker, on the shorter side with short, poofy auburn curls- almost like an afro, and had wide, light brown doe eyes. Also her smile was entirely too bright and she had a short temper, but she loved the animals and never pressured me into talking or anything, so she was good in my book.

She let out a melancholy sigh, running a thin hand through her boingy curls.

He’d never go after someone like her, she’s far too intimidating for him, and-

Stop. You’re at work. This is the only safe space left.

“Down to three, then, I guess. How unfortunate.”

The frown wrinkled her face in all the wrong ways. It looked unnatural on her.

Luckily, she quickly ‘turned that frown upside down’ and grinned at me, not much different than a cheshire cat.

That smile was almost as unsettling as her frowning.

My name slid off her tongue slyly, she was planning something. She wanted something from me.

“Hey, I’m throwing a party this weekend, if you’re interested.”

I must’ve not been hiding my emotions that well on my face because she scrambled to convince me.

“It’s gonna be super small, just a few coworkers and some of my friends, no more than like, I don’t know, thirty people, maximum. If that, even, I swear. Just stop by for like, half an hour and you can leave whenever you want, I just…”

She sighed softly, her face filling with concern. I know where this is going.

“I was hoping to get you some fresh air, in a more societal setting after, y’know,” she gestured slightly at me, her eyes trailing the visible scars on my neck, face, and arms; “Everything you’ve been through.”

I exhaled deeply, rubbing my wrists.

“I’m not sure, Lola.”

I don’t know what she was thinking, I couldn’t look straight at her, like she was the sun, it was hard to look anywhere near her general direction.

“Please, just for a little while, you don’t have to stay for long, I swear to you.”

Awkward silence filled the air as I discreetly shuffled towards the door and shifted my weight back and forth on my legs. My hand held the doorknob tightly, knuckles white and twisting the cold metal.

“I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

She beamed, I didn’t even have to look at her to know it, I could feel her overjoyed grin radiating sunlight throughout the room.

“Yes! Sounds great!”

I furrowed my brows and glared slightly at her tiny button nose, not looking her in the eye.

“No promises, though, okay?” She practically pirouetted past me, giving my shoulder a light pat as she went by.

“I’ll be looking forward to it!”

At least Lola was right about the size of the house party being small, but this place absolutely reeked.

Of weed. And other drugs.

I’d worn simple clothes: a black tanktop, light blue high waisted jeans, my old black Doc Martins, a green flannel. Enough to not look like a hobo, not too much so I’d look like an overachiever.

It wasn’t too loud inside either, just some 80’s rock playlist playing for ambience in the background, humming of chatter in different rooms as people mingled with one another.

And here I was, alone.

I knew this was a horrible idea. I should’ve just stayed home.

I sort of just stood there for a few minutes before making my way into the kitchen, where I walked through an almost heavenly cloud of marujuana smoke lingering in the air.

“Hey there, stranger!”

I nearly jumped all the way out of my skin as a hand clasped around my left shoulder and tugged me into the side of a girl a bit taller than me.

Her physique was lean and slightly muscular, with a strong jaw and sharp nose, her eyes mismatched colors of olive green and honey brown, with a light dusting of freckles adorning her cheeks, and long golden blonde hair reaching to her waist.

Aka, REALLY FUCKING PRETTY.

Oh, shit I’m staring-

“Oh, uh, hi. Sorry.”

She laughed, soft and sweet and I could feel the heat rising to my face because ohhhh myyyyy god, she’s so gorgeous and her laugh is perfect and adorable and-

Her hand landed on my shoulder giving it a small squeeze.

“My name’s Aiden.”

I cleared my throat and held my hand out in greeting.

Do people even do handshakes anymore? I mean like, it’s 2023-

She shook my hand gently, and I wanted to collapse.

Oh fuck, my name. Dumbass you’re introducing yourself, you need to tell her your fucking name.

“Uh, I’m-”

I could hear my name being called from the living room, causing me to freeze in my spot, Aiden and I both turning to the source- Lola- her strong and lightly calloused hand not leaving mine.

I repeated my name slowly, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah, that's… that's me.”

Lola looked between the two of us as she approached, gasping excitedly and gesturing at Aiden and I in a wild fashion.

“Oh my goshhhh! You guys are getting alongggg! That's so totally fucking awesome, my besties are befriending each otherrr!”

She's high as shit. Probably drunk, too. I mean, it is her house, she has every right to get crossfaded if she wants.

Aiden let out a noise of realization, squeezing my hand and patting it lightly with her other hand, grinning wider before releasing my- probably sweaty- palm from her grip.

“So you're the coworker from the reservation that I've heard so much about? It's so good to finally put a face to a name!”

I let out a nervous laugh before nodding with a small ‘yeah.’

Lola dragged us off, parading us around the house, encouraging me to open up to a few people, and no one was sober enough to recognize me.

Which was actually a huge relief that helped me talk to them. They couldn't pity me if they didn't even know who I was.

Intoxicated people are funny.

At some point I had been offered a sort of gray-brown, shriveled up lump, causing me to turn to Lola, who was next to me on her sofa, Aiden resting her legs on my lap lazily.

“What… is this?”

Lola giggled slightly.

“It’s shrooms, y’know?”

I hummed, rolling it around on my hand while debating.

“If you don’t wanna like, eat it, you could brew it into a tea, I think.”

A shiver crawled along my spine, the scar on my neck tingling, and I shot the brunette an uneasy smile.

“I’ll just eat it the normal way, thanks.”

She laughed, lightly hitting my shoulder as I put the mass in my mouth, my face scrunching up at the odd taste, making Aiden chuckle in amusement.

I coughed after it went down, the blonde reaching onto the floor next to her, handing me her water bottle for me to take, my name falling from her mouth like a small blessing.

“Here, to wash it down.”

I took it from her, our fingers brushing slightly, making me melt inside at the smoothness of her hand against mine, finally taking a gulp from the plastic Dasani bottle.

It tasted oddly familiar.

I shook the thought away, this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about him.

I’m at a party, not a therapy session.

I turned to Aiden, my hands absentmindedly rubbing her shins.

“How long does this shit typically take to kick in?”

She shrugged, her perfect face serene, hair falling over her shoulders.

“Dunno, usually ‘bout half an hour. Varies from person to person.”

I let out a hum and nodded, zoning out at the sound of her voice.

Closing my eyes and leaning back, I sighed and picked off the loose hairs I felt on her pants.

After a while, things felt, wobbly.

It felt laggy, like a video game.

I opened my eyes slowly, looking around at my surroundings.

Everything was in slow motion. Lola was gone.

It was just me and Aiden in the room.

Alone.

She mumbled as she sat up and tucked her legs underneath her, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Huh…?”

She leaned towards me, I could see all the freckles dusting her cheekbones and nose.

“I said you look confused. You okay?”

My eyelids drooped, her soft breath against my ear warming up my neck and face.

“I… think so.”

She feels so soft, like velvet.

“Your hands are pretty, y’know.”

She giggled, and I felt my temperature rise a few degrees.

“Yeah, well your face is pretty.”

My eyes snapped up to meet hers, her face only inches from mine.

“All of you is pretty, actually.”

I let out a small noise, akin to a whine, as her lips hit mine slowly, my eyes closing while I leaned into her, my hand tracing her jawline.

Oh, fucking god-

Her hands gripped my hips, moving me to straddle her lap as she moaned into the kiss, my lips parting slightly, her warm tongue darting to move against mine in response.

Aiden began stroking my stomach with her thumbs, filling me with butterflies and making me shiver against her, heat flooding my body as I whimpered into her, her hands squeezing the plush of my hips, holding me down.

Her lips left mine, trailing down my cheek to my jawline and neck, my small noises louder without the muffling of our frantic kissing.

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

I groaned at her words, my fingers moving to grip her shoulders.

“Can’t help it… been a while, and you’re too perfect.”

She chuckled against my jugular, nipping at my throat softly, causing me to groan, one of my hands coming to grip the hair at the back of her neck, a moan escaping her lips.

I grinned, pulling her hair back slightly, testing the waters, her gasp on egging me on to return the favor and attack her neck with little nips and open-mouthed kissing, her small noises of pleasure fueling the fire in my abdomen.

“Fuuck, sweetpea-”

She cut herself off with a soft moan as I hummed against her throat while sucking hard at her skin. I dragged my tongue over the forming bruise in my wake, causing her hips to buck up into mine.

I leaned back to admire the red and purple blotches on her skin, sliding my hands under the hem of her shirt, looking into her eyes, silently begging for permission to take it off, her shivers and frantic nodding of her head prompting me to ease the fabric over her shoulders and head before tossing it to the side.

“Perfect, so beautiful.”

I latched my lips onto hers once more, moving my hands to palm at her bra-covered breasts. She moaned against me, her hands finding my hips again, grinding me down against her, controlling my movements while my fingers tangled themselves into her hair and tugging. She slid her hands up the back of my shirt, scratching at my lower back with need. I pulled away from her again to shrug off my flannel and tug my shirt off, the two articles of clothing join hers on the hardwood floor before moving to kiss the skin of her chest, sucking bruises into the soft plushness of her tits, taking care to bite softer than on her neck, her hand finding my hair as she threw her head back in pleasure, her figure looking divine, my head swimming from the drugs, the only thing I could think of was how perfect she felt against me. I moved back up to her lips slowly, moving my hips against hers as she continued digging her nails into my back, a groan leaving me with a shiver. The hand in my hair slid down my neck, tracing the car there making me squirm at the feeling, my brain trying not to scream at the negative memories associated with it. I leaned back and opened my eyes, only to find that her eyes weren’t the green and golden brown from before, but now a steely shade of gray-blue, her hair lightening to a straw-colored blonde. My breath hitched as my body flung me onto my back on instinct, my body colliding with the floorboards with a very loud thump, my eyes flooding with tears that began streaming down my face.

“Oh, fuck I-”

I struggled to breath, wiping at my eyes, blinking at Aiden, who had moved to the floor, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder, my skin crawling as I flinched at the contact.

She looked like herself again. Oh god, I fucked everything up again.

“I-I’m sor-sorry, I can’t, I-”

She shushed me, brushing hair out of my face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

I sobbed, hiding my head in my hands.

I fucked up, I ruined it, everything was going so well, fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

“I- I need to go home, I’m so sorry.”

She helped me put my shirt back on, handing my jacket, reassuring me that it was okay and that she wasn’t mad.

Liar, I ruined everything, just like always.

She had Lola call me a cab before giving me her number as I apologized profusely.

The ride home was quiet and uncomfortable, the lights blending together unnaturally, trailing behind each other.

My apartment was dead silent when I finally got home.

Good. I’d probably cry if I heard noise right now.

My body and mind cried, aching to lay down in my warm bed as I changed out of my clothes, slipping into green flannel sweats and a black t-shirt.

After finishing my nighttime routine, I flopped into my bed, cocooning myself under my blankets, sighing as the warmth and exhaustion caught up to me, dragging me under the surface of the dark slumber that awaited me.

Word Count: 2546

#btd #lawrence oleander #boyfriend to death #lawrence x reader #btd2 lawrence #lawrence btd #lawrence oleander x gn!reader #btd fanfic

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