#and is even worse in men twice that age
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I hope it's okay to vent here for a second.
I was just watching the clip of him and JDM where they were talking about what they want to accomplish this year or whatever. And Jensen talks about wanting to do films, something outside the box. JDM makes the joke that he doesn't care what Jensen is in as long as he's sexy, Jensen responds with "Yeah, I don't think I'm going to do, like, The Whale. Well done, Brendan, but man, I don't think that's for me." JDM says no way and Jensen laughs and agrees, saying "No way!" Then he tries to soften it by saying he put his body through enough getting ready for Soldier Boy and he doesn't know how people Christian Bale can lose all of that weight and Brendan Fraser can gain all of that weight, it's so hard. JDM says yeah it's hard on your body as you get older and then Jensen makes a joke about how hard it is for him to fit into his jeans now.
Is he serious? That is not what you were thinking of, Jensen, and you realized you said something you shouldn't have because you immediately went about to explain (really justify) it. A lot of people are unhappy with the film, calling it fatphobic, but regardless it's still about someone who suffers from obesity and an eating disorder. Why the fuck would that be the first thing you would say when JDM made that joke about you being sexy?
This right here tells me all I need to know about him. How many people does he meet at these cons or see on the streets that are obese? Or who may be suffering from an eating disorder, obese or not? Everyone talks about how Jensen might have felt seeing that sign Alyssa made him hold up in her photo op, but people should be talking about how fucked up this "joke" was. If the film was about an obese woman with an eating disorder, I wonder if his fans would still laugh as hard as they did? If JDM would still laugh?
It's one thing to make a joke but when the film you're referencing (which earned Brendan an Academy Award for Best Actor by the way, something Jensen should respect if he can't scrounge up any ounce of compassion or empathy) is about something serious like this, don't be an asshole and don't make that joke. He's said some questionable things this past year and a half but wow, this takes the cake.
I got so disgusted after that and his "explanation" that I immediately closed out the clip. All I kept saying to myself is "what a fucking asshole". Like dude, while it's your body and you do whatever you want, no shame, you're getting botox and possibly fillers in your face. You're drinking alcohol nonstop and it's showing in your face. And you make that kind of comment? To impress JDM and your fans? All you did was make yourself look like an asshole. He and Danneel deserve each other and no wonder he and Misha get along so well. Let all three of them continue to work on whatever this alleged project is so it can crash and burn that much faster. Bullies, all of them. And they think they're better than everyone else and apparently better looking than everyone else, too. Newsflash...not so much. JDM is more attractive to me and he's older and not my type at all lol.
Jensen really shouldn't do cons without Jared anymore. Something tells me that joke wouldn't have been made if Jared was there or Jared would have somehow made it better because he always provides the compassion and empathy when it comes to the two of them, gold panel or main panel. And Jensen, JDM didn't laugh that hard, either. Even if he thought it was beyond hysterical, he knows not to show that publicly. Perhaps you should take some tips from him before you say something way worse at these cons to impress your fans who see you as nothing more than a sex object and get yourself cancelled. Stop being an asshole.
Thank you for letting me get that out. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.
For reference, this happens in the Gold Panel starting at about 11:20.
Vent away, anon. It sounds like Jensen immediately thought of the most unsexy role he could think of, and came up with the Whale. And this is where Jensen will always fall short of the excellence that AAs expect from him. He's not willing to go the extra mile for a role. In fact, he even mentioned his ideal job would be a half-hour multi-cam because you only work about 8 hours a week with three weeks on, one week off because it's easy money. At least JDM mentioned his ideal jobs are anything with great writing.
In looking for this clip, I saw parts of the main panel, and then the Gold panel, and it just felt like a bunch of frat boy behavior from guys who are old enough to be past all that, from talking about what you mentioned, to laughing about how Jensen and Danneel got together (by cheating on their SO's), how it's best they stay away from home, their joking about drugs, and just the general vibe of the panels. It wasn't entertaining, it was watching grown men revel in being assholes.
Jensen tends to mirror whoever it is he has a panel with, which is why panels with Jared are so much more entertaining and heartwarming. Jared elevates the people around him, whereas Jensen, without Jared, tends to devolve.
#ask box#anti jensen#jeffrey dean morgan critical#frat boy behavior is never attractive#and is even worse in men twice that age#ce nj 2023
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COMPASS
bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW
A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.
This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.
Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.
CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst
I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡
There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.
The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.
Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.
And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.
This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.
The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.
Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.
And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.
Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.
But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.
Life debts.
In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.
Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.
But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.
He will never be able to wash them clean.
But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.
The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).
And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.
This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.
For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.
But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.
They were late.
The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.
He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.
The stupid, greasy fuck.
By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.
And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.
Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.
Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.
Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.
Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.
Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.
Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.
He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.
One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —
A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.
The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.
The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.
“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”
“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.
He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.
Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.
So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.
He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.
He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.
The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.
Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —
A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.
No good.
“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.
Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.
Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.
It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.
He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.
But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.
He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.
Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.
It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.
“You got someplace I can hide?”
——-
You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.
His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.
Sanemi Shinazugawa.
You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.
You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.
But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.
It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.
Hence, its presence in the Silo.
So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.
You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.
If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.
But you owed him.
Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.
But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.
Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.
But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.
You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.
His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.
You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.
Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.
There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.
A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.
One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”
The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”
You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”
The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.
Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.
But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.
“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.
There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.
In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.
That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.
However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.
But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.
He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.
You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.
He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.
A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.
“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“
“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”
Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”
He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.
“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.
You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“
But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.
—-
By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.
As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.
Right in front of two, marked cop cars.
One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.
There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.
He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.
He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.
Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.
Take your trouble somewhere else.
Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.
You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.
Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.
What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.
Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.
The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.
The Kizuki.
In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.
Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.
Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.
There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.
Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.
But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.
Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.
Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.
He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.
Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.
—
His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.
You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.
Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.
Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.
Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.
Or so he tells himself.
The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.
He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.
The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.
And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.
He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.
Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.
With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.
He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.
Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.
But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.
And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.
—
Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.
Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.
The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.
That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.
So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.
His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.
He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.
Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.
Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.
At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.
And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.
“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.
He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”
—-
Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.
He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.
He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.
The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.
Step.
A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.
Step.
The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.
Step.
The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.
Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.
Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.
For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.
The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.
He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.
His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.
That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.
“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”
It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”
“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”
That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”
His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”
You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”
Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.
You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.
But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.
He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.
“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.
He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.
Your restlessness boils over. “What?”
“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”
Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”
He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.
“This can’t be your dream life.”
You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.
Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.
Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”
“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”
His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.
You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”
His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”
You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.
He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“
“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.
Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.
—
His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.
You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.
You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.
“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”
You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.
Return-exchange only. No refunds.
“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”
“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”
You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”
“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”
You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”
“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”
“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”
His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”
The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.
Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.
You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.
Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).
Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.
But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.
Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.
“Read that.”
His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”
“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”
His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.
Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.
His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”
You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”
His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”
He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”
“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”
Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.
Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.
But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.
“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”
“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”
Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.
It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.
You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”
You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.
——-
Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).
Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.
And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.
Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.
Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.
That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.
That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.
You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.
Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.
It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.
You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.
—
“You look like shit.”
You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.
You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.
Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.
“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”
Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”
It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.
Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.
The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.
But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”
He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”
Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.
Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”
You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”
“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”
The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”
The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”
You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”
“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”
It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.
You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.
Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.
You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.
And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”
Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.
And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.
—-
In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.
His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.
But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.
It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.
Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.
He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.
It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.
You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.
Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.
He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.
And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.
The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.
For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.
And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.
He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.
You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.
A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.
Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.
It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.
But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.
Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.
The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.
The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.
Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.
It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.
With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.
He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.
He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.
In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.
Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.
He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.
Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.
It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.
So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.
With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.
And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.
As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.
—
“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.
“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.
He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”
You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Dunno. Curious.”
“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”
Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”
Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”
“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”
“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”
And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.
His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.
“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”
Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.
Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“
“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”
You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.
Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”
—
Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.
By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.
You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”
“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”
You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.
Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.
Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.
He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.
Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.
He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.
You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”
Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”
You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.
Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”
It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.
“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.
You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.
“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”
He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.
That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.
As long as it was more than this.
But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”
———
Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.
To wake up in the morning, Princess.
He’s full of shit and you know it.
Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.
You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.
He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.
More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”
Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.
Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.
It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.
But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:
He wants out. Dreams of it, even.
This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.
It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.
Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.
Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.
That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.
A cop-out, is what it is.
But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.
The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.
He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.
But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.
You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.
You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.
Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.
True love.
And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.
And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.
He wants out.
He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.
And, above all, he dreams of love.
—
If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.
It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.
Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.
You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.
You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.
There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.
The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.
Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.
“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”
“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.
You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.
You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).
Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.
Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.
He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.
But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.
And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.
Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.
“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”
You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.
You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.
Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.
“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”
“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”
“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.
“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”
You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.
“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”
He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”
You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.
You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.
You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.
A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.
Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.
“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”
Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.
But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.
A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.
Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”
There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.
Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.
“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.
But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.
He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.
You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.
But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.
Intimate.
Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.
But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.
You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.
Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.
Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.
You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.
Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”
You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”
A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.
“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”
For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.
His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.
And then he turns and leaves.
You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.
And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.
An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.
The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.
Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.
You’re in love with Sanemi.
It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.
It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.
You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.
You won’t.
—
Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.
Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.
It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.
Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.
Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.
Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.
He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.
But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.
Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.
As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.
So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”
You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”
You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.
If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.
You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.
Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.
As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.
Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.
So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.
And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.
He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.
The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.
One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.
They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.
Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.
Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.
Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.
He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.
The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.
He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —
His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.
Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.
Safe; you were safe.
Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.
You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”
“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.
He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.
You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.
And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.
His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.
That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.
But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.
Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.
He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.
He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.
So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.
No matter how much he wanted to.
And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.
“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”
Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.
“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.
A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“
“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”
The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”
He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.
Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.
Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.
More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.
But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.
He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.
He will rot you from the inside, out.
His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.
You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.
Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.
Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.
In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.
He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.
You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.
Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.
You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.
And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.
(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)
But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.
He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.
A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.
He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.
Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.
He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.
“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.
You shouldn’t; you can’t.
But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.
His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“
Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“
But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”
“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”
You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.
“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”
Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“
Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”
Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.
Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —
“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”
All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.
It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.
It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.
Fuck, you just did.
And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.
You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.
He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.
Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.
He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.
But this is worse. He has frightened you.
He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.
He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“
Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”
“You don’t owe me anything —“
“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”
You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.
“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”
But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”
Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.
You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.
He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.
But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.
Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.
This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.
The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.
Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.
But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.
Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.
You want more, and he needs you, too.
His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.
One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.
He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.
“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”
Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.
Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.
But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?
“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.
Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.
Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”
He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.
More. He needs more.
He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.
Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.
Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.
The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.
As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.
He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.
But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.
“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.
He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.
He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.
His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.
He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.
Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.
He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.
With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”
“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.
“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”
“I am ready -“
“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.
“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.
He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.
You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.
A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”
He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.
One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.
A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.
The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.
He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.
His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.
You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.
Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.
“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.
He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.
“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.
Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.
“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.
“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”
His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“
It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.
Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.
It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.
He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.
The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.
But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”
His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.
“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”
The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.
Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.
But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.
Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.
He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.
Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.
“Are you sure?”
You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.
He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.
Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.
But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.
“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”
You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”
You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.
But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.
He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.
The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.
Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”
His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.
The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.
The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.
Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.
Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.
With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.
His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.
Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.
“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”
Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.
He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.
“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.
There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.
Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.
You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”
With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.
You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.
But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.
Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.
It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.
Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.
Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.
With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.
You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.
He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.
He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.
When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.
His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.
And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.
He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.
Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.
Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.
One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.
His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.
“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”
Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.
And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.
His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”
You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.
The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.
“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”
He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.
Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”
You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.
He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.
So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.
The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.
Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.
It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.
Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.
Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.
You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.
But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.
“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.
“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”
Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.
With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.
You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“
“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”
Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.
A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.
And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.
“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”
A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.
“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”
His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.
You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.
The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.
Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.
But he needs to see you, first.
“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”
Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.
“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.
Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.
“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“
He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.
But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.
He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.
Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.
He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.
He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.
One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”
You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —
“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”
It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.
Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.
Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.
He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.
It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.
All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.
He doesn’t deserve any of it.
Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.
He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.
He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”
You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.
A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”
For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.
His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”
Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”
Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.
But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.
“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.
Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.
He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.
What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.
His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.
But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.
His eyes widen. There’s his answer.
Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.
Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.
He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.
But he can try.
He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.
And he’ll get there, maybe.
In time.
LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!
#demon slayer#sanemi shinazugawa#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#kny fic#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer smut#kny smut#shinazugawa sanemi#sanemi x you#sanemi smut#demon slayer sanemi#kimetsu no yaiba sanemi#sanemi x y/n
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Men behave worse when they outnumber women. Put a woman alone in a meeting with four men, and 70 per cent of the interruptions she receives from men are negative. Turn it round so that you have four women and one man in the room: just 20 per cent of the interruptions women receive from men are negative. As the study says, when women predominate, 'Men undergo a drastic change. They become far less aggressive.'
Even very small boys - aged between three and a half and five - interrupt girls twice as often as the little girls interrupt them. Parents also interrupt daughters more often than sons, creating a pattern of behaviour in their children: the boys see that it is legitimate to interrupt girls and girls learn to expect it. This is setting children the example of the authority gap at such an impressionable age. It is iniquitous, but parents probably don't even realize they are doing it.
– Mary Ann Sieghart (2021) The Authority Gap: Why Women are Still Taken Less Seriously Than Men and What We Can Do About It, p. 63.
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synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else.
includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage
notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷
there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”
it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.
your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.
he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.
unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.
you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.
at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze.
“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”
you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”
riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”
you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”
his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”
“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”
“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.
“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”
“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”
“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”
“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.
“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”
“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.
“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“
“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.
“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.
he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”
“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”
“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”
“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.
there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”
the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“
“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“
he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm.
“—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“
his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.
you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years.
the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.
he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”
the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”
“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that.
“that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”
“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”
“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”
riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.”
“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“
“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”
he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”
©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.
#enhypen#nishimura riki#nishimura riki x reader#niki x reader#ni-ki#niki x y/n#bridgerton au#historical au#friends to implied lovers#ni-ki enhypen#niki drabbles#enhypen drabbles#enhypen x reader#enhypen x y/n#niki bridgerton au#romance#bridgerton#riki 🩷
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I want you, I love you (SimonxF!reader)
Here’s one for @glitterypirateduck’s challenge for our big boy Simon! I used 7.”Accidental confession” and 25.”Ghost and reader have to dress up for an event”.
Warning: Language.
Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He didn’t want to go. He hated going to Galas or really any event where money and politics were being discussed, the big spenders and supporters of the military with their almost carbon copy wives. He hated having to pretend that he cared about what the old men were talking to him about, asking always how many men he’s killed for “the greater good”. Ignoring their salacious wives’ advances to simply walk off to the bar or track down Johnny.
That was before you though. You, who somehow wormed your way into his head and his heart, long since thought cold and dead.
You’d been with the team for 2 years now, seamlessly integrating yourself into their everyday. Formed a fast friendship with Gaz and Johnny, looked to Price for guidance, and never shied away from talking to Ghost himself like you’d known him for ages.
He approved of your snarky attitude and the way you operated on the field, watching his back (and saving his ass a couple times), being able to hold your own in a fight. He still goes back to the day he watched you take down Price, a man twice your size and weight, he’d never been hotter under the collar.
Now as he gazes blankly into the abyss thinking of you, ignoring the droning of the old man and his idiotically annoying wife, he catches sight of deep, sparkling blue fabric. His eyes trailed the fabric up to strings of black pearls clinging to curvy, plush hips. Up higher to more pearls hanging and clinging to a soft stomach and ample breasts, shoulders bare save for a black fur coat.
A low whistle came from his left, Johnny showing up from the corner of his eye. ”Well, never thought I’d see the day we got to see Bonnie all dressed up.” “Don’t even think about it Mactavish.” Johnny chuckled, “Aye not looking to die tonight L.T. Would nae make a move on your woman.”
”Oh are we giving Simon shit about his crush?” “Fuck off Garrick.” Gaz chuckled and patted Simon’s shoulder, “Aw Simon, give it a rest. You’ve been drooling over the bloody woman for the whole 2 years she’s been with us.” Simon looked down before following your figure again, glaring at any man that even dared to approach you, let alone try to flirt with you. You were popular among the male recruits unfortunately.
”Are ye gonna tell ‘er?” “No. Best not to.” The three men shook their heads and rolled their eyes, “Simon, I’m gonna give it to you straight.” “I expect nothing less.” “Stop being a bloody fucking muppet and go talk to that poor woman before you actually lose her to a worse muppet.” He turned to stare at Price in disbelief.
He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Migraine?” He looked up to find you holding out a glass of bourbon to him as you take a sip of your own and sit. He gladly takes the glass, moving his mask to take a sip. “Always luv. Never stops when you’re around idiots all day.” You laughed and shook your head, “Aw Johnny’s not that bad L.T.” “Not talkin ‘bout Johnny sweetheart.” “Mmm, the recruits giving you a hard time?” “Bloody infants. Every single one of ‘em.”
His heart sang with joy at the sound of your full laugh, he tried his hardest not to stare but he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful. “Hahaha tell me about it. They complain so much about literally everything. Gets annoying havin to hear it day in and day out.” He nods in agreement. The silence stretched on for a bit as you both took sips of your drinks. “Care to dance? You’re the only one I haven’t danced with yet.”
”Don’t dance luv.” “Can’t be any worse than Johnny. He tried to dip me and I almost fell.” Simon chuckled at the image of Johnny doing just that, the image making him grin under the mask. “We don’t have to. Just wanted to dance with someone that didn’t wanna stare at my chest or comment on my body.” “Shameless pigs. You deserve a proper dance then.” He watches you excitedly put your drink down and link your arm with him.
It was then he got a whiff of your perfume, light and delicious with a touch of cinnamon and vanilla. Your arm and hands were warm wrapped around his arm and he puffed up when you subconsciously groped his bicep and laid your head on it.
The two of you danced for a few songs, you leading him slowly. As the last song ended he found your face flushed and hair a bit disheveled. Eyes bright and lovely, smile radiant against your glowing skin. “You’re so beautiful luv. I want you.” ‘Fuck’. Your eyes widened as you looked up into his. “W-what?” Simon sighs, he’s done it now.
”I want you, lovie. I want your body, your smiles, your laughter. Want all your love for myself everyday. I love you.” He watched your face, anxiously waiting for your answer. A smile spread across your features and you giggled, “Took you long enough Simon.” “That mean I can kiss you now?” You nodded, smile wide as he lifted his mask slightly, arm sliding around your waist, a hand at the back of your head.
The kiss was passionate, all consuming, and delicious. Ghost never wanted to part from your lips, but the look of love shining in your eyes made him happy he did. “Wanna get out of here?” “Fuck yes. Tired of these pompous assholes.” Somewhere close by Gaz, Price, and Johnny look on, happy for Simon.
#ghostchallenge#call of duty#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#cod#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader
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Lap of Luxury | Sugar Daddy!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: As a young woman without much income, a joke of a job, and an unfortunately expensive taste, your curiosity one evening leads to a string of events far out of your control.
Warnings: Age gap (reader is 23, Bradley is 40), suggestive themes (no smut), fluff
Word Count: 4,635
“Babe,” your best friend slurred. “You need to get on Seeking Arrangements! These guys- they just buy you stuff! And give you money!”
Another conversation about your not-so-much of an income, splitting a bottle of wine with your best friend, and her insistence on helping you has devolved into this. Discussing a sugar daddy arrangement from a site for older folks. You couldn't imagine a worse way to spend your night.
“Aren't they, like, old?” You ask with a sneer. Your friend just laughs it off.
“And rich!” She squeals. “You’d never have to work another shitty job again! C’mon just try it!” She grabbed your phone from you and fumbled with it to download the app.
“Ugh, what’s your password?” She showed you the screen where the app store was asking. You hesitate before typing it in and allowing her to do the rest.
“Okay first thing’s first,” she places her hand on your knee, mostly to steady herself. “Never use your real name. So you're going to be…”
She starts typing on the phone, probably using her galaxy brain to come up with something truly brilliant. And by brilliant, that means ridiculous.
“Genevieve,” she states finally. You don't hate the name, but it's not yours. You made a mental note to change it when you're sober. “Everything else will be the same. And…”
She starts scrolling through your camera roll. You'd have freaked out but really, there wasn't anything there she hasn't seen already. She taps on a photo of you she took a week ago at a vineyard the two of you had visited (on her dime) and handed your phone back to you,
“Voilà! Welcome yo Seeking Arrangements,” she grinned at you. You looked down at your profile and sighed.
“Now what?” You ask flatly.
“Find someone!”
“How? I don't know how to use this!”
“Ugh, you're so boring sometimes…”
Thus began a hunt for the “perfect man” to fund your broke self’s habits. It was all a drunken blur from there, and you passed out on your couch after about two hours of playing around on the app. You had no idea there were so many men willing to give their money away to young women with no regard. But it was working out in your favor.
-
You woke up the next day with a pounding hangover, cottonmouth and your phone on 5% battery. Your friend was nowhere to be found - as usual after drinking binges like that. You mentally kicked yourself for allowing it to go this far but, realistically, you didn't care to go into work today anyway.
A quick text to your boss and a shaky walk to your bedroom to plug your phone in preceded your chug-fest in the kitchen. Drinking straight from the tap wasn't fast enough, but it would suffice. You groaned as you finished gorging yourself on your borderline acceptable tap water, went to the cabinet, and pulled out your bottle of painkillers. You popped two extra strength tablets and washed them down with yet another healthy gulp of water.
You walked back to your bedroom and laid in the quiet dark on your bed. Just as you closed your eyes, your phone buzzed. Once, then twice. You pick it up to see you have missed messages from men on that confounded Seeking Arrangements app. You groan and set the phone down again, remembering just how horribly drunk you got last night. Drunk and stupid, it seemed. You hear another buzz and pick up the phone in frustration, unlocking it and then scrolling through the messages and threads you'd started last night.
Genevieve. What a stupid name. You quickly changed it to your name and kept scrolling through. You deleted many of the threads, only stopping on a few men who were even remotely close to your age bracket. All tech startup guys with nothing better to do than wine and dine young women into their panties. Typical.
You’re about to delete the app when you see one face in particular that doesn't piss you off like the rest. You open your conversation from the night before to find it was pleasant, not sexually charged, and genuine. You smile briefly before clicking his profile picture. He’s handsome, too handsome. What’s the catch?
You open his profile to see his age, what he does, and where he is. He’s forty, lives nearby in San Diego, and is an aviator for the Navy. The military thing would have been a turn off if the conversation you’d had didn't look so… refreshing. You scroll to see his net worth - nearly one million. Unheard of among these other men. He must be well-off.
You scroll more and see he’s very close by. A block away. You excitedly - but cautiously - type a message to him.
You: So sorry, I fell asleep. I think it's wild you’re still single at your age. How doesn't that mustache pull women nowadays?
You bite your lip and quickly turn the brightness down on your phone, the blue light making your migraine worse. You see him typing and your heart flutters.
You can't believe this is happening. How did you let your friend talk you into this? Were you crazy? Desperate? Or just lonely? You watched the bubbles on screen appear and disappear as the man on the other side of the screen typed his response to you.
The self-loathing part of your brain told you he was figuring out how to turn you down gently. Tell you you're too young for this, to go find someone your own age, chase your dreams, and whatever other sentiments he could think of. You wanted to hear it, but you also didn't. This was all too much.
Until it wasn't.
Bradley Bradshaw: No worries, sweetheart. I see you're nearby - let me come get you and treat you to brunch. Mimosas?
-
You stood outside your apartment with your cutest outfit on, though to someone like Bradley, it could be considered… revealing. You didn’t have much, hence the entire reason your friend had convinced you to join that stupid app in the first place. Regardless, you stood waiting for Bradley to come pick you up for your impromptu brunch date.
Could you even call it a date?
Your mind swam as you stared down at the photo of him on the app. He was handsome, yes. You just weren’t sure if this made you one of those gold-digging, shallow women who you were sure were all over this app. He looked as though he’d spent a lifetime laughing, living. The wrinkles you could see that weren’t airbrushed out of this photo seemed deeply set. A good sign that he wasn’t as stuffy as some of the other guys you’d apparently spoken to.
Was this just a giant ass mistake?
What if he was just another one of these guys looking to fuck a younger woman and then give her some hush money? Or even expensive gifts in lieu of hush money? You didn’t want to be the dumb trophy on some older man’s arm. And that was when it hit you - you actually liked Bradley. It was just a small crush, of course, you’d hardly known him. Hardly even spoken to him. But from the little interaction you’d had he seemed like the genuine article.
Before you could psych yourself out any more, you heard the low rumble of a classic car getting closer. You popped your head up to see a bright blue classic Ford Bronco headed your way. Your eyes lit up - having an affinity for classic cars - and you simply prayed that this was Bradley coming to get you.
The car came to a stop right in front of you, and the aforementioned Bradley was looking out the window at you with a grin. He pulled his aviators down the bridge of his nose and looked you in the eyes. A genuine kind of look on his face that had you melting inside.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said kindly. “Are you ready to go?”
You nodded wordlessly and shoved your phone into your small purse. Bradley jumped out of the Bronco and approached you. He was incredibly tall, compared to you, and he didn’t have this dominating presence that you kept thinking he would have. No, he was like a giant teddy bear - someone you could imagine curling up with at the end of the day and getting nothing but hugs and kisses from.
“You’re even more adorable than that picture on the app, you know,” he tilted his head sweetly to one side. Your cheeks flushed a bright red, though you weren’t sure if he would notice.
���I-I’m happy I’ve surpassed expectations,” you croaked. “God, I’m sorry-” He chuckled and shook his head.
“I’m nervous, too, sweetheart,” he admitted kindly. “Let’s get to where we’re going and we can be nervous together.” He took your hand and led you to the passenger side of the Bronco. He opened the door for you and helped you get up into the seat. He waited until you were situated before closing the door and walking coolly to the other side and getting into the driver’s seat.
“I hope you don’t mind. I chose a more secluded spot than I normally would,” Bradley admitted as he pulled away from the curb. “Not because I’m embarrassed, but just because I’d hate to have people I know giving me shit.”
“I completely understand,” you say softly. “I would die if someone I knew saw me doing this… Whatever this is.”
“I’d say we can put off putting a label on it until we’re sure, yeah?” Bradley looked over at you with a smile. “No pressure, no fakery, no stress.”
“I love the sound of that,” you said sweetly, looking at him with a smile.
Soon, you arrived at a small brunch joint on the outskirts of the city. Bradley had assured you he’d never seen his buddies here, and you assured him that your friends are too broke to afford this kind of place. Sharing a laugh, Bradley cuts the engine and gets out of the Bronco. He walks to your side and helps you out before linking your arm with his.
“I’ll treat you right, okay?” He said sweetly as he walked you in. You only smiled in response and allowed him to lead you inside. He gave his last name coolly to the hostess and she ushered the two of you to a more private booth at the back of the restaurant. Bradley pulled your chair out for you and let you sit first. What a gentleman. He took his seat across from you and removed his aviators.
Those eyes were mesmerizing. Beautiful brown that you swore had little flecks of gold in them. You could get lost in those eyes if you weren’t careful, so you quickly picked up the small menu and looked it over. Yikes. You for sure wouldn’t be able to afford this.
“So, I can tell this is not something you usually do,” Bradley said softly. “Me neither, if I’m honest.”
“Honestly? My friend made me do it. We were… Drinking last night. And she convinced me this would be a good idea.” You admitted candidly. “I didn’t know what to expect.
“Hah! Sounds exactly like what my friend did to me,” he admitted right back. “I forgot the app even existed until you messaged me last night. Then, I just got this… feeling. Like, if I let this slip by, I’d regret it the rest of my life.”
“Hence, why we’re sitting here having brunch together,” you finish for him. “I have to admit, Bradley, you don’t seem like the type to go for… younger women. You’re mature, put together, and seem like a zero-bullshit guy.”
“Yeah, well, the Navy sort of beats that into you,” he laughs softly. “Women are usually deterred by the military thing. They automatically think you’re looking to get married, or they think you’re active duty and are going to lose you. So they don’t even bother trying.” He looks up at you. “I’m just trying to find someone to spoil. Someone to care for, and someone to care for me right back.”
You appreciated his honesty. You liked skipping around the nervous chatter, the lies, the embellishments. This was a far cry from some of the dates you’d been on in the past - boys pretending to be men that they’re not. Bradley clearly went through that when he was your age. And he clearly realized it doesn’t work long-term.
“You’re saying all the right things, Bradley,” you chime. “I just want you to know… I’m not after your money or whatever else it is you have to offer me. I’m not sure what I’m after here, but I’d like to explore this. Whatever it ends up being, or not being, I’m interested to see where it goes.”
You’re surprised to hear those words coming from your mouth. An hour ago you were just about ready to call this whole thing off. You were sure this would make you lesser than; lump you in with all the other desperate girls your age just looking to get rich and not work for it. But, honestly, you didn’t care about money - your friend did. If this all worked out, if Bradley ended up being more than just a Seeking Arrangements date, you’d have to thank her for being such a gold digger.
Oh, the misery.
"I do too, sweetheart,” Bradley said sweetly. “No pressure, no fakery, no stress.”
-
Brunch went exceptionally well. Bradley told you stories from his time in the Naval Academy, TOPGUN, and even a few missions you were pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to share. He told you about his parents and how he followed in his dad’s footsteps. He told you about everything. He was a man who’d lived. You couldn’t grasp, still, how a woman his age wouldn’t want him.
You shared stories from your years in college, your job, and from your childhood. Absolutely nothing compared to the nearly twenty years he had on you. You felt silly telling him about yourself, but he was genuinely interested. He asked so many insightful questions, held your hand, and maintained eye contact. You thought maybe, just maybe, he was falling for you.
You’d be remiss if you didn’t admit you may be falling for him, too.
When the bill came, Bradley snatched it away from you with a mischievous grin. You playfully pouted at him and he just waved you off. He took his wallet out and slid a credit card into the book and held it until the server came back. Clever little devil.
“I told you I’d spoil you, sweetheart,” he mused. “This is me spoiling you. But, I should warn you. This is only the beginning.”
You grinned at him and nodded, relaxing back in your seat. He was just so cool. His entire demeanor, his attitude - devil may care kind of air about him. You enjoyed his youthful aura, especially since you knew he was not quite as youthful as he used to be. It was truly a breath of fresh air.
The bill was paid, you’d successfully drank three mimosas, and Bradley was looking at you with stars in his eyes. He walked you out of the restaurant and to his Bronco. He looked down at you once the two of you were on the passenger’s side. Brushing some hair from your face, he smiled softly and pulled you just a touch closer.
“Well, I’m dying for your review, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “Did I live up to expectations?”
Your mouth felt dry all of a sudden. Did he? Did he? You’d just spent three hours chatting with a man nearly twice your age about his life, your life, and genuinely enjoying each other's company. And he wants to know if he lived up to expectations? You smiled widely, no longer able to conceal the excitement you felt in your gut about this.
“Very much so. I’d even be so bold as to say you’ve surpassed them,” you took his hand in yours gently. He responded by squeezing your waist a little tighter.
“Then,” he said in a lower tone than he’d used earlier. “You wouldn’t find it uncouth of me to do this?”
Before you could even think of a witty response, his lips were on yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. Your initial shock washed away quickly as your lips pressed back against his. He was gentle, nothing extravagant, nothing lying beneath the surface - just a kiss. His hands slid around your back and upwards, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands found purchase on his large biceps, squeezing as he drew you nearer.
Like in the movies, you felt an instant spark. Little electrical pulses all over your lips, your cheeks, and wherever he touched you. His hands seemed to be made for you. They seemed to know exactly how to hold you, how to caress you, and how to make you forget all except him and this moment.
And all too quickly, he was pulling away from you. He looked down at you with gentle eyes, a small quirk of his lips. You stared back up at him with your mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He brought his hand up and swept his thumb over your bottom lip. You almost had to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the mild ache that warmed your core.
Bradley let out a soft chuckle and opened the door for you. Like earlier, he helped you into the Bronco and then got in himself. He started the vehicle and started driving away from the restaurant. Your mind swam with the possibilities. He could be your father, but you wanted him. You wanted him to be the man in your life. Just from this one little encounter. You were sure you wanted him.
It really was like the movies.
You noticed eventually that you were nowhere near your apartment, or his. In fact, San Diego wasn’t around you at all. You’d traveled north, and then west. To a small little shopping center away from town. You looked at Bradley curiously and he met your gaze as if on cue.
“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he said coolly. “I’m taking you to the beach. But you need a bathing suit. And, honestly, so do I.” He grinned at you and pulled into a parking spot. Just great! He was already blowing his money on you. Part of you felt guilty, but the other part of you - the part that was still listening to your friend - wanted to see this all through.
He pulled you into a store that sold probably the most revealing swimsuits for the most outrageous prices. You cringed every time you looked at a price tag even though Bradley had assured you nothing was too expensive. Finally, after looking at a one-piece suit that was anything but “one piece,” you pulled Bradley to you.
“I cannot let you spend this kind of money on such little fabric, Bradley,” you pleaded. He simply smiled down at you and nodded.
“I understand completely,” he looked around at the options and narrowed his eyes. “Let me find something worthwhile then.” He kissed your cheek and walked off to search for a suit for you. Dumbfounded, you stood back and watched for a second. Then, without even thinking, you started looking for one for him to wear. Like some kind of girlfriend would.
You picked up a red pair of trunks, the shorter kind that have come into style recently. You weren’t sure if these would make him look younger or just plain silly. You didn’t really care, though, you wanted him to wear them. You figured this would be a good color on him.
When he eventually found you again, he had his hands behind his back. A shit-eating grin on his face, you’d notice. You held up the trunks you’d chosen for him, a small smile on your face.
“How are these?” You asked sweetly. He nodded in approval and then brought a one piece suit out from behind his back.
Your eyes bugged out of your head when you saw it - bright red, just like the trunks you’d chosen for him.
You let out a genuine laugh and smiled up at him. He pulled you in for a quick kiss before taking the trunks from you and walking to the register to pay. You followed behind him but quickly tucked yourself against his side at the counter. He’d picked up a pair of aviators for you, a couple of towels, and some sunblock. Once he paid, he took your hand and led you out of the shop.
“Let’s change into these before we head out. I wanna get right into it when we get to the beach,” he handed you the swimsuit and gently pushed you in the direction of the bathroom. He went to the men’s room to change, and you changed as instructed.
When you arrived at the beach, you were in awe at how gorgeous the scenery was. Not a person in sight, either. Perfect, you thought. Bradley hauled you to the sand like a little kid and laughed at your protests.
“The water is fine! Come on, let me see that suit I got you.” He pinched your sides and tickled you into submission. You shoved him off of you with a wheezing laugh and tore your clothes off to reveal the swimsuit. His eyes traveled down your body in a very uncharacteristically obvious way.
“Wow, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Red is definitely your color.” He took his t-shirt off and tossed it aside. He was surprisingly muscular for someone his age. It added to his charm, you decided, that he was able to stay in such great shape. “How about me? Red a good color on me? Someone my age?”
“Yeah, actually. Those make you look at least ten years younger,” you teased. He laughed and watched you take off towards the water. He followed behind you and let his feet get wet from the waves.
You, on the other hand, were the young sprite who was going deeper into the water. You let the water lap at your thighs before traveling out a little further. The cool water felt amazing on your skin, even better with the sun beating down on you. You closed your eyes and let the waves rock you from side to side. You surely could get used to this.
You suddenly felt hands on your hips, a firm grip. You jumped slightly before turning around to come face-to-face with Bradley. The sun made his eyes sparkle just as you’d predicted in the restaurant. You looked at the age on his face and sigh softly. It’s not as obvious in the sun. Not something you expected.
“You forgot something,” he said softly. He propped the pair of aviators he bought on your face and gently pushed them up the bridge of your nose. He poked the tip of your nose with a boyish grin. “Perfect.”
“You’re gonna let me get a sunburn, too?” You chide with a poke to his ribs.
“Oh, never,” he said with a scandalized look on his face. “Here, turn back around.” He produced the bottle of sunscreen and smirked.
You turned around without hesitation. You felt his hands all over your back as he spread the sunscreen around your skin. He rubbed up and over your shoulders, kissing them gently when he was finished. He traced your spine on the open back of the swimsuit he bought you. You shivered ever so slightly when his hands brushed your skin so gently. He worked the sunscreen into your neck before gently turning you back around and working it over your collarbone. You saw the hesitation in his eyes when he went to drag his fingers lower, but your lack of protest replaced his hesitation with determination. He massaged the sunscreen into the swell of your breasts slowly. Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. The familiar ache between your legs returning.
He moved on to your arms and the tops of your ears. He then put a silly little stripe of it on the bridge of your nose, making you giggle. You took the bottle from him and repeated the gesture on him. He grinned proudly and pulled you close again. His lips crashed onto yours in a hungry kiss, more intimate than the last.
You knew then that you could get used to this.
-
You grinned widely and charged at Bradley, jumping into his arms. He laughed and caught you with ease, spinning you around as you wrapped your legs around him. He playfully tipped you backwards so your hair brushed the water. Your squeal of excitement rang out clear as day, making him smile brighter than you’d seen.
He pulled you back up and you buried your face in his neck. His skin was slick with sweat and sunscreen, and he smelled still like the subtle cologne he wore. He held you securely against him, never daring to drop you.
You pulled your head back and kissed him again. It came easier now, kissing him. It was more exciting, less anxiety-inducing. You liked the way the walls had been dropped and the affections came easier. He gladly kissed you back, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. A soft, more needy than intended whimper left your lips at that.
Instead of scaring him away, it only spurred Bradley on. His hands cupped your rear possessively and he carried you back to shore. And you knew where it would go from there.
He set you down on one of the towels and crawled over you. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he explored your skin with his mouth. Your hands slid up and into his hair, whining softly as he ravaged you with that perfect, experienced mouth.
“I need you to know, sweetheart,” he grunted. “This isn’t a one-off.” You tilted your head, sweat on your brow.
“I’m going to take you out, bring you home, make you mine,” he explained further. “I’m not ready to let you go yet. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay,” you breathed. “I’m not ready to let you go yet either.”
“Good,” he said before kissing down your stomach, dangerously close to your aching cunt. “Because I don’t want to go too fast.” He kissed back up your stomach and to your lips.
A pitiful little moan left your lips in protest. He chuckled softly and looked down at you.
“We have time,” he said simply. You wrapped your arms around him and laughed softly. His lips connected with your collarbone before he lifted you back up.
“Let’s order something and eat dinner here. Sound good?” He suggested. You nodded with a grin, kissing his cheek. As he was busy ordering something for dinner, you looked down at your phone for the first time since that morning. You opened it up and looked at your conversation with Bradley on the app. You bit your lip and closed the app. Then you took a leap.
You deleted the app.
Bradley was the only one you cared about among the list of men you’d chatted with. And in a stupidly short amount of time, you started picturing yourself with this man. This real man. He turned to you and smiled as he spoke on the phone with the place he was ordering from. The look on his face when he looked at you was enough. This, eating dinner on a secluded beach, was enough.
Tagging people who may enjoy: @roosterscock @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @roosterbruiser @beardedladyqueen @seresinsweetie @sebsxphia
#rooster brain rot goes brrrrr#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x y/n#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#rooster imagine#rooster x reader#rooster fanfic#rooster top gun#rooster bradshaw#top gun rooster#top gun maverick#sugar daddy bradley#sugar daddy rooster
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AMORTENTIA ; jeonghan
view the whole series here!
DESCRIPTION ᝰ He was the worst of worse, how could anyone love him? Such a cold-hearted kid yet you were forced to sit next to him and as a Ravenclaw, it didn’t do you justice that all Jeonghan did was throw insults and act like a total jerk
WARNINGS ᝰ kinda enemies to lovers / dislike to like, deskmates ravenclaw!reader x slytherin!jeonghan
PAIRING ᝰ yoon jeonghan x fem!reader
WORD COUNT ᝰ 25.3k
“Yo, Y/NNNN~! Dap me up!” a too-familiar Gryffindor shrieked, hand outstretched. You narrowed your eyes down at the boy upon recognition, questioning what went down for him to be so enthusiastic in the rise of aurora.
You dapped him up anyways. Because if anything, Soonyoung was your beloved friend.
“What happened to you?”
“Huh? Nothing. Where’s your little boyfriend? Isn’t he always scurrying around you?” the boy asked, leaning oh-so-casually against the doorframe of the classroom.
“He’s literally twice your size, Soonyoung. Don’t go around calling Mingyu ‘little’,” you stated defensively, pushing through Soonyoung’s shoulder roughly to enter the DADA classroom. The over-energetic Gryffindor followed you in, a grin smacked right on his face.
“Sure. You still won’t admit that you have a thing for younger men.” he smiled.
“Come on, Soonyoung, He’s in fifth year.” It was usual for you that people would discuss the age difference between you and your honey badger boyfriend. Not that it was a bad thing, you didn’t take it as a bad thing, seeing that the age gap wasn’t illegal as such.
He was sixteen and you were sixteen, turning seventeen. So technically, you were the same age still until you were to turn seventeen in a few months time.
“He could be a younger brother,” Soonyoung said to you, not letting it go.
“You could mind your own business.”
“He could quit his Quidditch team and let us have the Quidditch Cup this year.”
You rolled your eyes, striving to find a good seat in the classroom. It didn’t support you that Soonyoung was all over you, bent over backwards to talk you into breaking up with Mingyu for Mingyu to be dismayed the days leading up to the finals of Quidditch. As much as you loved Soonyoung as a friend, you were not willing to put your relationship on the line for some Quidditch Cup. With the time he spent talking you into breaking up, he could spend on academics or even, Quidditch, for that matter.
“Hold on―why are there labels on the desks?” you noticed.
“I dunno, princess. Use those brainwit-thingies you Ravenclaws have,” he said, smiling at you like a little kid.
Frustration grew inside you as you collapsed your books on a random table. Your finger traced over the little white label plastered across the corner of the desk. “What’s going on? Is this some kind of prank, Soonyoung?”
“We’re having seating arrangements. I came here especially early to see your reaction,” he admitted, putting a hand on your shoulder lightly. Once again, you rejected him by shrugging him off. You grabbed your books up in an armful and sauntered the barren classroom, now on a hunt for your seat. If you were sitting at the back, you were obviously going to pick a dispute with Professor Lupin.
Though, you were sort of confused on the part in which Soonyoung said he was early to see your reaction. Why would he come especially early to see―
BANG!
Your books dropped in a brown heap on the shiny floors of the classroom. In an instant, your eyes became wide and you could sense that there wasn’t an inch of your muscle that moved for a whole second. You wanted to believe that this was a dream (oh, please let it be a dream) so badly but your intelligence proved you wrong. Squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath in and out, you opened them again.
It was still there.
Soonyoung’s laughing was heard but it seemed to be in a distance as you doubled over to pick up your books. The thought of it just made your body crash with adrenalin. You placed the heavy books back on the table one by one, an unlikable feeling settling in you. And what was even more unlikable was the fact that you were so near tears that you wanted to just disappear right then.
“I’m sorry, but it’d best be a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor.” you heard Soonyoung said, embedding a hand on your shoulder. You wanted to shrug it off, yet was partly too shocked to even conjure that thought. “And also, you’re not far from the front of the class.”
Was he seriously trying optimism with you?
“He’s going to murder me,” you whispered coldly, hands fixed on the table as you figured out what to do. Was there anything you could do about this? You were a Ravenclaw for goodness sake, you should use that knack of a brain for something at least.
“He is not! And even if he tries to, I’m here!” Soonyoung declared just as the huge doors of the classroom open flauntingly. Your knees shook, the voices registering in your mind. You had no choice. You were to sit on this table for the rest of the god damn year and live with the fact that Yoon Jeonghan was going to be next to you.
It wasn’t that you were scared―it was more that you were a mix of annoyed and shocked for the reason being you were paired up with the most obnoxious, ungrateful brat in the world. Like there was a choice in it.
You swooped into your seat, cupping your face as your elbows held themselves on the table, sighing. The dismay was plastered on your face, signed by the eyebrow furrow.
“I’m gonna go take a seat, good luck.” He looked back nervously at the door and then left to the other side of the room. You would admit that the racing of your heart was much faster than envisioned. It was not your fault.
Those Slytherins put themselves on such a high pedestal that no other house in the year level could stand up to them. So if you were irritated at them being some sort of comical in class, you couldn’t just bark at them to shut up.
And Yoon Jeonghan. He was a sick little daddy’s boy. Stacks higher than him was basically what backed him up and you’ve seen the black card in the flesh. He wasn’t to be messed with, with all those assets and a filthy rich background. So it willed you to wonder, as soon as he saw an average-classed Ravenclaw, what would be the resolution?
You would be waiting.
It took a second for the Slytherins to realise that there were labels on the table and when they did, his group of friends began looking for where their name tags would be.
You played cool on the outside, taking away the anxiety from your face and staring straight ahead as they roamed the classroom. A piece of you was idling for Jeonghan to show up next to you. Waiting with every tiny sound of the clock’s hand passing the seconds ahead of you. Until it finally happened.
“Don’t tell me you’re sitting next to me.” His voice dragged out smoothly, yet managed to release your heart to your stomach. So maybe you were a little scared, but that didn’t mean that you were going to back down…sort of?
You turned your head to the left, seeing Jeonghan standing there with his books in hand, staring you down. Acting as if you didn’t know, you cleared your throat to attain your voice. “Yeah, you’re Jeonghan?”
“Who else would ask you that question? Aren’t you a Ravenclaw? You should know this.”
You pursed your lips together and faced the front again, praying for Lupin to arrive quicker. You didn’t want to be stuck conversing with an arrogant kid.
“Answer me.”
“I don’t think there’s a reason for me to answer that as you can see clearly that I am one.”
He scoffed, setting his books down on the table before sliding into the seat next to you. You continued to sit while facing forward. You didn’t know if it explicated that you were scared but you didn’t want it to show at all.
“I can’t believe this teacher,” he muttered to himself.
“If you have a problem with the seating arrangements, you should go speak with Professor Lupin with it because―” you began while turning to him.
“I don’t have a problem with this seating arrangement dumbass, I have a problem with you,” he answered sharply, also turning around to you with disgust painted with a sneer.
“That’s literally the same thing. Maybe you should consider thinking before speaking.” you began, but were cleanly cut off along with many other classmates and Professor Lupin’s voice came booming into the classroom. The man walked to the front with his loving greetings to the gloomy class, leaving Jeonghan powerless to act towards your rude reply.
You took pride in that as the lesson began.
“Good morning, class. Good morning, Soonyoung. As you can see, I have put you in seating arrangements. Now, I’m sure you have a lot of questions and opposes. But I have a reason for this.”
No one argued, seemingly interested as to why the ex-Gryffindor wanted to put you in seating arrangements. Though he was your favourite teacher thus far, you threatened him in your head to have a good reason.
“I noticed the social hierarchy in this year level specifically, so I would like you guys to sit around different houses just to build up that friendship a little…if you have any problems with it, though. Please do come to see me after class and we can discuss it.”
After that, Lupin started his class.
Reluctantly, you focused your eyes on the teacher, following his every word and taking notes here and there. You noticed, however, Jeonghan wasn’t paying attention a tad bit. Rather he was involved in a series of comics with his friend who was placed next to your table.
They were noisy, but you tried your best to focus on Lupin’s explanations briefly overviewing the topic of Dementors stationed on the outskirts of Hogwarts, trailing like blighted ghosts. Truthfully, you hated every inch of the boy’s presence beside you, it made you want to hit him with your massive Charms textbook more than anything.
How could he just turn completely away from the teacher and talk to his friends? He was going to be behind on work, you couldn’t imagine being behind on work with your hectic schedule. It would be a nightmare.
“Okay, so for today’s homework, I want you to answer the questions for Boggarts on page 209. Unfortunately, you must complete the questions for next week’s practical, so please do, do them…”
The bell rang, dismissing the class for the next period. You stood up and packed up your books like every student in the room, pumped for Advanced Arthimacy with your best friend.
Until the Slytherin spoke up. “Where are you going?”
“My next class?” you said.
“I need to go talk to Lupin―”
“Okay, go do that?”
You knew what he was trying to get at, but stayed fooled just for the pleasure of it and the honesty that you had another class anticipating you in literal minutes.
“You’re coming with me,” he declared grandly.
“Are you twelve? No, I have a class to get to and I―”
Jeonghan’s glare hardened, cutting you off as students rushed out of the room as if on cue by him.
You didn’t agree nor did you disagree which determined being a faulty choice made by you as Jeonghan slipped out from his desk and marched to the teacher, all high n’ mighty. You gawked with resentment screwing the back of his damned blonde head. The temptation of hexing him right then was indeed a hard one to let go of.
Despite that, you did heed that it would be embarrassing if you just left like that, so you settled your books down in the forced decision and moved to the front of the classroom to stand next to Jeonghan.
Lupin was sat at the desk when he looked at the two of you with a smile. But when he regarded that neither of you had similar expressions, he outlasted seriously.
“Is there something I can do for the two of you?”
You didn’t say anything, stubbornly gazing into the window. This was in fact a Jeonghan problem, he dragged you into it when you paid no mind―news flash, you paid tons of mind, you just didn’t act it.
He talked anyways, not requiring your cooperation a slight bit. Then, what was the point of bringing you here, if he could do everything himself? “Could you change our seating arrangements? I don’t want to sit with her.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr Yoon? I can’t just change the seats without a proper reason.” Lupin replied tensely.
It was like he doomed Jeonghan.
Jeonghan was quiet, suddenly and you predicted the anger showing on his face through a glare. Lupin continued, reeling his words in a teasing manner as he explained the reason. “An affair mayhaps that happened a long time ago between the two of you? Is that why you don’t want to sit―”
Sharply turning your head back, you gawked at your professor, offended. “What are you saying, sir?!”
“Well, was it?” he smirked at you.
“No!” Jeonghan answered this time.
“It’s not, so why are you so bothered about sitting by each other a few days a week? It’s just an hour class.”
“Fine, then. I’ll sit with her,” he grumbled.
Jeonghan whipped around and stalked off, frustration evident in the way he stopped to scoop his books into his arms and left. It happened all so quick, you only had time to part your lips in astonishment. Neither did Lupin say anything to comfort the boy. It was best to leave the aggression alone anyways.
When the door slammed hard behind the bitter Slytherin, your head returned to the teacher. Your hands urgently slammed onto the wooden table, striving for some sort of explanation on your side.
“Sir, it wasn’t my idea to come to talk to you, in case you were wondering.” you defended yourself excessively.
“I know that, L/N,�� He stood up from his seat. You watched as he put a hand on your shoulder like he was going to have a deep discussion with you like he was your father. Not that you had time for that. Your next class had already begun. “Slytherins have the tendency to be full of themselves sometimes. I hope you can tolerate it, it’s a Ravenclaw’s duty to assist a Slytherin to see a different perspective.”
You laughed when the thought of showing Jeonghan the stars in the sky. You didn’t know why that was the first thought that registered in your mental process out of all likely thoughts. It would never happen even if the world was ending. Him being seen around another house was a scare for him.
“Sure, Professor Lupin.” you sarcastically answered, stepping down the narrow hallway of tables to get to grab your set of books. Smilingly, you looked back at the teacher, who smiled back, as if challenging your notion of his words.
You were off to your next class, forgetting your morning encounter.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“So you’re sitting next to him now?” Adora asked.
You nodded with a sigh, digits sweeping past the tethers of books in the library’s inner shelves. Your best friend got to know the tea when you met her in Advanced Arthimacy and now she was expanding the conversation, seeking to find a solution to the problem. She sank against the table behind her, considerably shocked about the chances of you being with Jeonghan out of all people.
“Ah, that’s going to be tiring,” she said, forcing herself off. The active Ravenclaw patted your head, clearly feeling sorry for you. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for you? You were going to live sadder after this.
“You know what’s worse? Lupin was so funny about it. He was teasing us when he asked for a change in the seating plan.” you continued, looking over at Adora with pain screwed in your eyes. “And after Jeonghan practically stormed out, he was like ’it’s a Ravenclaw’s duty to assist a Slytherin to see a broader perspective’.”
“Dude, what?!” she queried, tucking her silky auburn hair behind her ear. It sprung back to the sharpness of her cheek, honouring her facial features.
“I know!” you exclaimed to your best friend, furrowing your eyebrows. “It was so weird! I really don’t know what to do with this kid sitting next to me. You can literally feel it, like the Slytherin energy when he’s sitting next to you.”
“God.” she sighed. “That’s scary. I would not like that at all…but he’s kinda cute.”
There she goes with the teasing. It was what any best friend would’ve done in the situation anyways.
“True.” you agreed, seeing honesty in her words. Jeonghan’s face emitted prettiness, but the kind of prettiness that was unjust. It was structured but also soft, masculine but feminine in and you found it difficult not to ask for his skincare routine. Had he been in any other house, you most definitely would. “But still, I don’t want to be sitting next to him for the whole year. He’s going to make a fool out of me.”
She sighed, planting her hand on your shoulder. You reminisced that it was to soothe you from the fluttering thousand thoughts running around your mind. She was simply taking her duty as best friend to make things right.
“I know. Though, you are a Ravenclaw, just focus on your studies.”
She made it seem so easy.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Thinking it was easy but to be there in the present and acting as if everything was tight rein seemed to be a high achieving goal you set for yourself. It was achievable, but it was the direness that made you not want to even try.
By the next DADA lesson, you sat at your arranged seat, waiting for class to start as you flicked through your notes.
“Good morning, L/N.” Lupin greeted, walking past your table.
“Morning, sir.” you greeted back, not swerving your eye contact to the man.
You were a little early for class but that solely meant more revising time for you. The night before you were stuck in a rather competitive game of chess with Jeon Wonwoo that got his whole year level staying to watch. The game was played until three am, with you winning, of course, to keep the pride of your year level.
Other than that, you made a new friend and made friends with his friend Vernon. So now, not only were you and Adora not alone together all the time, you had adorable little fifth years as friends.
“We shall begin the class, how are you lot?” Lupin asked the class. They responded as you took the sign of the fact Jeonghan wasn’t next to you. You didn’t say anything about it either. He was probably late. “L/N, where’s your deskmate?”
You glanced up at the teacher. It was painful not to get mad at him, especially when knowing that Lupin was doing it on purpose.
“I don’t know, sir. Sorry.” you apologised calmly, letting the ball of fists under the table unwind to let some air into your palm.
“Strange,” Lupin commented and then, grabbed white chalk from the chalkboard to commence the lesson. A lesson he thought would begin from there. Unfortunately not.
He was shortly interrupted by a bang which could only come from behind, indicating the double oak doors to glide open, as if on command. You gripped the fresh sight of an elephantine sea of green accented figures walking in. And the way they walked, it certainly caught you in a trance for a second. So in synch and with purpose and authority. You hadn’t seen anything like it. Lupin hadn’t said anything about it either. And when you turned back to face the teacher, there wasn’t an inkling of surprise dotted on his face.
“There you are…we were all wondering where you were.” Lupin chuckled. The Slytherin didn’t participate in his laughing. Your shivers were taken note of as the room moved severely cold. It was like there were no souls, yet thousands of eyes watching at the same time.
Instead, they scattered before entering the maze of tables and walked to their assigned seat, obviously filled with hatred for the teacher. You detected instantly it was because they couldn’t be with their friends but you also saw that some Slytherins didn’t regard anger in their face.
“We had to stay back.” the boy you recalled as Junhui, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, said.
A spark must have lit for Lupin because he straightened up. “Ah, yes. Is it because of the…incident?”
Jun nodded.
“What incident?” Soonyoung’s voice was as clear as a harmonised whistle and you crinkled your eyes, caught in cringe. He should have wished that moment he could have taken it back. Yet, he didn’t. He stared at the teacher, anticipating an answer.
He did get one, just not the one the poor kid was foreseeing.
“Stay in your lane, Gryffindor,” Jeonghan told him as he took the seat next to you, dropping his books in an untidy load on his table.
A heavy pit landed in your abdomen, somewhat feeling bad for the tiger but also feeling bad for yourself that Yoon Jeonghan had arrived and so dramatically, too. You didn’t commit to the acknowledgement of his arrival but minded your own business, the thought of getting called out was not a good one.
“Um, let’s speak to each other nicely in this classroom, shall we?” Lupin smiled.
You were funded with relaxation when the man once again swished and flicked, closing the double oak doors of the classroom. Then, he turned to the blackboard, beginning the class for the second time in five minutes. It was only moments before something started again. Honestly, you wanted an easy breezy class that would end with a nice finish.
Jeonghan started it.
“Tell your little boyfriend to stay away from us,” Jeonghan whispered.
You widened your eyes, shooting a side-eye at the boy. You thought he had no idea who you were. But then again, you were dating the Kim Mingyu, it came with a position of popularity dropped on your head like a crown.
You were deemed to be focussing on class, but the news flash caught you off guard. Suddenly, you found yourself needing to know what was happening with Mingyu and why he had gotten right into a web of troubles with the Slytherins. Because that was the last thing a Hufflepuff should be doing in this world. Messing with a Slytherin was bound to ruin a Hufflepuff’s reputation.
“What happened?” you whispered right back, your voice sadly biting the fact that you weren’t supposed to share curiosity around like that. You focussed on Lupin and leaned in a little so you could hear Jeonghan better.
“Your boyfriend picked a fight with Junhui after accusing the team of cheating in the last Quidditch match. Now tell me, do you think that just because we may come off intimidating, Slytherins will go as low as cheating?” It sounded like he was talking to Mingyu than his Ravenclaw deskmate and you were getting the feeling that the grudge dawdling his words were starting to follow you up. As if you were responsible.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” you defended Mingyu anyways.
He was the sweetest boy you ever knew of. If Mingyu ever picked a fight, there would be a valid reason for it and when there is one, he would tell you. He hasn’t told you anything yet, so you were left to assume that there was something terribly wrong going on.
“He gave Jun a blood nose, what are you talking about?”
You glanced back at the said boy. Junhui, the brunette, was sitting a few rows back, his eyes plastered on the teacher as he scribbled down notes. Abruptly, his eyes peeled off the teacher to look at you. You turned back just as quick, not wanting to catch the Slytherin’s gaze. You heard rumours about him that were far too brutal for the average ear to even hear. For Mingyu to go pick a fight with him was unbelievable. But you had perceived the bloodstains at the edge of his nostrils. They had to mean something. Your grip tightened on your quill, feathers scrunching under your grasp.
“Why are you telling me?” you asked Jeonghan, covering the shakiness in your voice. You didn’t want to falter around him, wanting to prove that you weren’t scared of a small fight. But when you recalled the way the Slytherins walked in just before, you were beginning to trail with your own doubts and worries.
“Because you’re his girlfriend, duh. You don’t ever use your brain for a Ravenclaw.”
You flashed him a glare that made him a little startled as he backed the tiniest away. “I will converse with Mingyu after.” you stated and returned your focus back to the class.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“Y/N, I swear! They cheated, I saw it with my own eyes!” your boyfriend exclaimed and you were sure if it weren’t for you questioning him, Mingyu would most likely be pulling on his hair.
The enthusiasm enraged the younger boy’s eyes. You cornered him near your common room entry on the fifth floor. In all your years of knowing Mingyu, you hadn’t seen him act like this before. It was fresh to your sights. “Okay, okay. Explain to me exactly what happened in the game.”
Mingyu sighed, looking to the ground. It was like he was trying to gather his words to talk to you. You recalled the previous Saturday game where Hufflepuffs were playing the Slytherins. You recalled that it wasn’t the nicest game in the world―insults were thrown at each other, physical abuse was involved in abundance that the game was about to be stopped halfway. If it wasn’t for the honey boy agreeing to play properly, the game would’ve been called off.
“Fine. I was flying around as one does and I had the Quaffle in my hand. Friggin’ Junhui smacked that Bludger right into me and I dropped it and―”
“That’s allowed, right?” you interrupted.
“It is, but here’s the thing. I was going to my goalpost because I got hit with the Bludger. That’s the rules, right? So I was in the middle of touching my goalpost when I saw, Tzuyu, their Chaser and Ace, push the ball into the hoops. That’s not allowed!”
You found the mistake. A deep disappointment ran through you. You were hoping that Jeonghan was wrong, hoping very hard but in the end, that is what the truth ended up being. “I know how Tzuyu is and are you sure she did that? I was near your goalpost and I―”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Mingyu asked. “Or is it because she’s a girl and you’re taking sides with her because she’s a girl?”
He tilted his head to the left and it took everything in you not to smile at it. Mingyu was trying to stay serious about some Quidditch game and here you were, pursing your lips together in a straight line, seemingly thinking.
“No,” you answered, touching his arm comfortingly. Your eyes shined. “I was spectating by your goalpost and I even had binoculars with me. I saw Tzuyu hit that one goal only because the other boys were hogging the ball and that was the only time you went to touch the goalpost. What I don’t understand is the fact that she was so far away from the goalpost when she scored, you even saw that.”
It was Mingyu’s turn to purse his lips. His hair radiated under the light with elegance, almost. The Hufflepuff normally resonated with such bouncy behaviour, but today was the first time in a while you were seeing him act oh-so gloomy. As if you struck something you weren’t meant to. You understood immediately, your breath slightly hitching in your throat.
“I don’t know what to say…” he told you, looking at the ground.
“Don’t tell me you lied and went to pick a fight with them anyways,” you said, sounding more aggressive than you needed to. It was solely because you were praying in your heart that wasn’t the case. You didn’t want Mingyu to get on their bad sides, you cared for him that much.
“I did.” Mingyu answered you, laying his head in your shoulder with a plop. “I can’t even answer you, no wonder they didn’t believe me.”
“It was such a stupid lie.” you sighed, settling your hand in the tufts of his fluffy hair. You loved him and all, though at times, he would be so stupid, you wondered if it was humanly possible. “Why would you go and do that when there’s so much proof that she didn’t cheat?”
You were a little annoyed at the fact he lied. You were able to decipher why it angered the Slytherins too, it wasn’t fair on them.
“I don’t know, I was frustrated. You’re not going to tell me off?”
“Of course not, just don’t do it again, okay?”
“Okay…I have a Quidditch practice now, so I have to go,” he told you, looking up at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure, be safe.”
You pecked Mingyu on the lips before turning around to go to your dorms, ending the day with the calmness that you sorted the situation out.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Only when your head hit the fluffy pillows a week later had you remembered something. You struck up immediately again, your tired eyes now as wide as an owl. Beginning to hate the way your mind worked, you stood up to your feet.
How could you forget? You were relaxing the whole day and you had the audacity to forget something as vital as that?
“You okay, Y/N?” your best friend inquired from beyond the room. She was leafing through the pages of a book, obviously tired from the way a yawn slipped through her mouth after asking.
“I said I would go get that book for Potions at the library and see? I completely forgot it.” you sighed, slipping on random slippers aggressively. You didn’t even see if you had them on right.
Adora giggled and her glance moved to the clock in the dorm. “What an idiot. Go get it quickly though, the library closes in like twenty-five minutes.”
That was sufficient to get you moving. As if there was an added force in the room, you were thrust to the door of your dorm, basically jabbing to grab the doorknob and pull aside the door. Adora’s laugh wasn’t lost in the air at your actions as you sprinted down the slim hallway where there were girls coming out and going into their dorms.
You nearly wanted to screech at all of them to get out of the way, but after discerning that it was hardly likely for you to do so, you sharpened your focus more on your way to the library. This was not easy for a Ravenclaw to do so whatsoever. Mainly when you were on the fifth floor, you had to escalade down a radical number of stairs in your pyjamas, which provoked the joints in your knees to barely stick together. Talk about disadvantage.
You were put through a rough time until you finally made it.
Accessing the library, you assuredly put your hands on your knees, breathing in and out piercingly, a punch right in your stomach. The sweat residue on your head became evidence of your hard work as you clammed for a grasp of yourself. Pushing back up, you decided to go straight into locating the book than wasting any time with your barely-jointed legs strolling.
You walked through the adventure section towards the left, before finding a table in the middle of three shelves and a comprehensive view of the lake. You were about to be distracted by the view when you skimmed your eyes back to the table, your heart almost stopping.
It had to be pure coincidence.
You stared, as did he.
The effort of running all the way to the library had doubled its results somewhat. His eyes tracked down to your feet, the book in his hand in a tight grip.
“Nice slippers.”
You looked down too and pinched your eyes shut. Please tell me I’m dreaming. No matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut and opened them, the same vision of your dormmate’s llama slipper and your sheep one would still be below you. Shaking your head, you glanced back at the boy. He was the last person you foresaw here.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, changing. the subject. He was dressed exceptionally well, you noticed. Head to toe, clad in a nice outfit for something as plain as going to the library.
“Detention,” Jeonghan answered as you began sauntering around the area again.
“That’s stupid of me to ask,” you muttered, fingers running through the thick binds of books in a row as you turned your awareness away from him. You couldn’t forget why you came here.
Each bind came with its own texture―bamboo, silk, wood, paper and it was ascertained that each of those binds came with its own story. Soon, your fingers were brushing the wooden shelf, slowly delving into the side of the shelf and the other side.
Jeonghan’s presence simply slipped your mind like drops of quicksilver as you wandered through the quiet shelves, scanning for the title of the book. But it was nowhere to be seen. It was like you were looking for the same thing for hours and hours on end, yet came with nothing but a dead end. Surely, it was tiring you out too because you were sure that the book was here.
You had seen it before you went to have dinner and no one else in the school needs the book until your level in the latter part of the year. It didn’t fully set into you where it could be until your eyes met the authoritative figure at the counter.
You sighed and walked up to Pince, seeming very confused about the book’s whereabouts. You were hugely entwined with the fact that it had to be somewhere within the library’s walls and with your Ravenclaw knack, you weren’t far off.
Discussing the problem with the librarian, she took the big book stating all the books that have ever been borrowed in the library.
“Is it called Quick Potions, you say?” she asked, flicking through the pages. Something was telling you she was looking for the 'Q’ section to find the book’s name. And when she got nearer to the end of the book, you were told the same thing. “It has to be somewhere in here, dear. It hasn’t been checked out since last year.”
“Oh…maybe I didn’t look properly? Thanks, Madam Pince,” you said, bowing slightly to the woman.
She gave a firm smile prior to getting straight into her paperwork again. You were left with the suspicion rolling in your mind as you took another round the library, where you ascertained that you didn’t miss anything.
Nonetheless, the fact that nothing had been checked out stood out like a splinter in a knee. You looked again, skimming past Jeonghan’s table.
You shot him a brief glance, his doe eyes following the lines of the book he was reading. What was he reading anyways?
The way your body had stopped as soon as you saw the title of the book.
“Hey.”
He looked at you.
“Why do you have that book for?”
He scrunched his nose somewhat in revulsion. You gave no heed to the action as you penetrated your sights through the front cover that was strangely familiar from the start. You just never paid much attention to it, when Jeonghan was all dressed up fancy, drawing recognition away from the tattered case the book was in.
“To read, duh.” he remarked.
For all intents and purposes, you didn’t believe that. You didn’t show it, your target shifting to the book in interest.
“I need that book,” you addressed, leaning your hands on the wooden table slowly. Just as though Jeonghan was some prey of an animal you were trying to get near.
He must’ve seen the way you were looking at that book because he shrunk it back to himself a little as you looked at him. “No way. I’m having it.”
The book proved to be of such importance to you.
“Come on, Jeonghan! At least let me write some notes on it.”
“Um, no,” he stated with sass detected in his tone. “You should’ve got it before. And why do you even need it for? We don’t do this topic until later in the year.”
He was stating the obvious.
“I’m a Ravenclaw.” was the only excuse that drew from your lips.
“Right. You lot want to impress the teacher all the time.” he insulted, sounding like he was spitting his words out almost. He needed to look for the way he said things sometimes, it would come out wrong.
“Right we do.” you agreed with a firm nod. “So give me the book.”
Hope depleted your body. The boy in front of you didn’t seem to be wanting to give you the book, neither did he want to provide an explanation as to why he needed the book. Was he trying to be ahead of class, too? You didn’t know, but what you did know was there was no point trying anymore when he was so determined in his case.
“No.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“And then I told Wonwoo to piss off.”
“Adora, shut up. You did not!”
“You bet I did. Like, do I look the type to mess around with shit like that? Absolutely not! He had me mad mad!”
“So did you get your stuff back again or what?” you pestered her, genuinely involved in what she did with the younger students of your house.
Adora, Mingyu and you were currently walking through the busy halls of Hogwarts, striving to get to your classes. Had it been that Mingyu’s class wasn’t on the way, he wouldn’t be entwined by your link of an arm as you dragged him, chattering with your best friend. You acknowledged that he was very bored and looked over at him to see what he was doing instead of listening.
Your eyes had caught a glance of something else in the short distance.
Jeonghan was standing there, with his group of friends surrounding him in a semi-circle so they were all able to face the bustling hallway. His eyes had fleeted the conversation for a mere second, darting to make contact with you.
Your body stammered, identifying crisis at its peak. If you wanted to leave without a fight starting, you had to get yourself and Mingyu out of there immediately.
“Um,” Adora perked up.
You faced her again, realising that her line of sight was stuck at the troublemaking Slytherins. You could assume that she was worried about why you were looking at one spot only. Hating that you were so obvious with it, you looked at the girl with the intention to get away quickly. Your best friend got the message and before you knew it, you were starting to walk a little faster.
“Why are we going so fast? It’s just Monday morning.” came Mingyu’s groan.
You weren’t in a desire to hear any of it. It was your responsibility to get him into that class safely. If you weren’t doing that, what kind of girlfriend, or even, senior were you?
“Ssh, child. We’re going to your class now.”
“You did not just 'child’ me,” Mingyu complained, practically jogging at the end of his hold. Was he always such a brat? No. It must’ve been the prank that his roommates did on him that had him this grumpy in the morning. He was whining about it all morning and as much as you felt bad for him that it was the result of a bad’s night sleep, you rather Mingyu’s day not get worse.
Which meant physically flinging him into the classroom.
Adora laughed at seeing that, as well as a few other members of the younger year level.
Mingyu poked his head right out of his classroom again, furrowing his eyebrows in the slightest. “What’d you do that for?”
You put on a feverish smile on your face, acting as if you do this every day for Mingyu’s sake.
“For fun. Now, get back into your class and learn a lot. I love you, okay?” you told him.
Mingyu rolled his eyes and waved you off as if you were an embarrassing mother bidding her child to school.
“Love you too.” he muttered.
Your resisted the urge to say ‘say it louder’ and walked off with Adora, acknowledging that you had settled your boyfriend. It left some time before class actually started so you and Adora were able to almost crusade to class, now speaking more freely because there was no guy there listening in on your conversation.
The two of you entered the classroom and took seats at the far left back of the classroom where you were confirmed of being able to have your own conversation as well as easy access to notes since the board was on the left. You chatted your way through minutes as other members of the class came in as well as the teacher herself.
You almost had to bite your tongue to stop talking, just because you and Adora were having that good of a conversation. The whole class beame quiet, even the Slytherins who, fortunately, don’t stand a chance in front of McGonagall. Who does, honestly?
“I can’t believe I’m only now noticing how many classes Jeonghan and I have together,” you commented briefly as your eyes stuck to the teacher instructing.
“You don’t have that many classes with him.”
“I don’t. But it’s annoying to just see his face this early in the morning if you get what I mean.” you said.
The fear of getting caught talking in one of McGonagall classes was on your back.
“I get what you mean. It’s going to be hard now, huh?”
“It is―”
“L/N, would you come hand out these worksheets for me?” The teacher manages to instruct you.
You would admit that when she had said your last name, you felt a claw in your stomach scratching you and telling you that you had done something wrong. It wasn’t until she said her full sentence, had you calmed down a little. The shock stained your face, however, quickly erupted when you got up with a nod.
Chair skidding back, you removed yourself from the prickly gap between the table and chair and got out to the front of the classroom that had broken into a set of broken whispers here and there―the class was for once, able to talk in class.
You did your dutiful task of handing out worksheets, replying to ‘thank you’s and such for one side of the classroom. As you went along the last column, dreadfully as well, because Jeonghan and his group of friends were coming up, you felt this pit drop. Just looking at his face gave this ungrateful whirr of mush in you that you wanted to splutter out, but there was no possible way of doing so. It was so hard to describe, yet so easy to express the pain he gave.
You placed down Jeonghan’s paper on his table, sensing the silence when you did so.
What? Were you not even allowed to do your own task?
You moved away quickly because you realised that the group of Slytherins were just staring.
The class continued with the agonising pain of McGonagall’s voice deliberately getting screwed in your head. As much as you loved staying on top of your work and the satisfaction of doing so, you hated when teachers would give homework.
You left the class more burdened than you were when you came in, with your best friend complaining about the workload once again.
“It’s suffocating,” she whined.
“I hate it here.”
“Let’s run away with the Dementors. Lowkey, they’re kinda fine.”
“Girl―no, you’re kinda right.” You nodded along before the two of you bid each other a goodbye as you had different classes.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“No, no. I stole your stuff because you stole my glasses.” Wonwoo argued affirmatively.
Vernon and you were shocked as you stared between the two quarrelling. How he had changed the story so drastically, you had no idea, but your were confirmative in your enthusiasm for it. As was Vernon who sat right opposite you.
Although Vernon and Wonwoo were juniors of yours, it didn’t seem that for a second that Wonwoo wanted it to be that way since he was starting to get out of line with his argument.
“Whatever it is, I am your senior,” Adora argued.
“Oh, so just because you’re my senior, you get special privileges of stealing my things?” Wonwoo asked.
“I did not steal them, I―”
You stuffed a spoonful of mashed potato into Adora’s mouth, causing Vernon to laugh. You smiled at him, glancing over at your best friend. “Eat. Or you’re going to be complaining about hungry you are all day and I don’t have time for that.”
Adora swallowed hard, her fists curled in her lap. You were her next target. If you didn’t notice right there, right then the absence of one of your textbooks on your concerning book pile, you would’ve been dead meat.
“Oh my God.” you gasped.
“What is it?” Wonwoo asked you.
You looked back at the three. “I totally forgot my Transfiguration textbook back at the classroom.”
Untangling yourself from the bench, you pursued into a run, not forgetting to turn a little to see your friends. “Take my stuff with you!”
And you were on a run; fleeting down the linear course of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables where a sea of yellow and blue punctured your eyes. Students moved out of your way once they saw you running for what appeared like your life and frankly it was. You had homework that involved the presence of that textbook.
Lucky for you, McGonagall’s classroom was on the ground floor of Hogwarts, allowing students like you easy access. You scooted through some more starving students, a few fellow Ravenclaws in your sprint prior to making it to the entrance of your destination.
Oh, you felt like you had seen the light of the day when the double doors met your eyes. A soft smile of relief sculpted your face as you pushed the door just enough for you to slide through.
“Do you think it’s funny that your grades are going down, Mr Yoon?”
Your eyes caught quite the killing scene―McGonagall stationed at the front of the classroom with Jeonghan right in front of her. She seemed as if she was ridding her heart and soul out to the boy about the importance of school and you couldn’t agree less.
Yes, scold him more.
You nearly forgot that you could be seen so you quickly slid to the back of the classroom where your textbook was waiting for you like a child waiting for their parent to pick them up from kindergarten. It was like all your sweat droplets slinked back into the pores of your skin…only for them to bleed out again.
“L/N? What are you doing here?”
You looked up at the authoritative women at the front of the classroom who shot daggers at you. You stood still for a second, before trying to explain why you were in the classroom.
“Sorry, Professor. I just left my textbook in here.” You waved up the textbook.
She nodded, letting you walk freely. “Alright. You can go, then. Now, you―”
“No, Professor. She’s here to find out why I’m in here, so later she can go talk behind my back about me.”
You stopped in your tracks and rolled back around. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Yes, what is this about, Yoon?” McGonagall asked, her eyebrow raising. If she didn’t believe it, it would only cause you luck because she was such an opinionated woman.
Jeonghan sniffled. If you believed that McGonagall was not going to fall for his lies, why were you literally shaking in your shoes? Maybe because of the known fact that Slytherins tended to have their way with things.
“She’s been doing it the last few weeks and I’ve been hearing the worst rumours about myself spread around. She keeps calling me a manwh―”
“L/N, what is this?” McGonagall interrupted.
Her eyes proved that she was in a state of anger as you stood there, a textbook in hand, deadpanned. You were staring right at Jeonghan, instead of looking at your teacher because there was a part of you that was still concocting the message. He really lied to get you in trouble and for what?
“Professor, I swear to you, he’s lying! Why would I call him such a word? I don’t even know him!”
“Of course the professor will believe you.” Jeonghan looked away, enticing an effect of devastation. “Just because I’m a male and a Slytherin for that matter, I’m expected to take these words and be okay with it. But there’s always a line, Y/N. You should understand that―”
“That’s right, L/N.” McGonagall interrupted with a firm nod.
Resentment gradually rose in you as the doe eyes of Jeonghan floated to the teacher. “I feel like it’s only fair for her to serve detention too. That way she can learn from her mistakes.”
McGonagall nodded at the liar. “I think that is fair too. Furthermore, what is even more fair is that the two of you should serve detention together and sort out this issue.”
“What?” Jeonghan and you spoke out.
Your muscles felt stiff and rigid, your throat had gone dry. There was no way that you were hauled into a lie and detention with him. This was all beginning to be a little too much for you to take in.
“I said what I said, Yoon. Apologies, but I feel like this is a situation that the two of you need to make up together or come on okay terms. I hear that you are seated together for Defence Against the Dark Arts, it will be less awkward if you talk things out.” she explained carefully, looking between the two of you.
And it was like she knew everything that was going on. You were placed in a web of lies like prey for the spider. The spider being Jeonghan. You were daunting it with all your soul already, how would you be when you actually work with him?
“No, no, I don’t think―”
“That’s the final decision. Trophy Room, Wednesday night, at nine o’clock.” McGonagall stood up and swept her books into her arms magically. She was full of authorisation as she stepped down the steps from her desk before sweeping past Jeonghan. When she walked past you, she gave you a stern glare, her square glasses glimmering under the lights.
“I don’t want to hear such things coming again. You are a well-behaved student but you also need to be well-behaved when it comes to other students. Do you understand?”
As much as you wanted to tell her it was a lie, you nodded. She had too much power and was aware of it. McGonagall left the room, closing the door behind her.
Now that it was the two of you alone, you looked up at the blonde boy. He was looking at you already.
“Why the hell did you think that was okay, Jeonghan? I do not want to waste time doing detention with you and you―”
“How was I supposed to know that hag was going to give the two of us detention?” Jeonghan asked.
“She is the head of Gryffindor house. You should know that and above all, you lied about me. You don’t even know how much I wanna hex you right now.” you said, speaking in small breaths. You knew the rage hadn’t fully settled in yet.
Jeonghan didn’t seem bothered, he acted with the thought that the whole thing wasn’t his fault.
Why was he so arrogant for? Couldn’t he just be accepting of his faults? Slytherins like Jeonghan make you think that there will never be a good Slytherin again. They were all deducted of the need to tell the truth.
“Oh, shut up,” he muttered. Jeonghan walked past you, eyes seething from the looks of it. You couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid of him anymore. His cold presence meant nothing. In that moment, you just wanted to grab him by his luscious blonde hair and tug at it until it all ripped out.
Jeonghan left the classroom, leaving you in the emptiness of it. Placing the textbook on the table, a revelation opened up―you remembered something.
“Oh my God,” you muttered out of frustration.
You had a test on Thursday.
How the hell were you going to spend the night before revising when you had detention?
You hit your head with the textbook.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“What if I just don’t show up?” you asked Adora, looking at her pitifully.
It was already Wednesday, twenty to eight and here you were, walking with your group of friends and boyfriend, dreading to see him. The last two nights ended up being full of revision because you couldn’t fully set it out over three days. Thanks to Jeonghan and his lying. You hadn’t wanted to beat someone up so badly.
He made it a point that he didn’t like you and he used that to make your life miserable. For what? Because you sat next to him in a class. You had no control over that, what were you supposed to do?
“It’s just one detention and you already know everything, babe.” Mingyu said, slinging his arm around your shoulder so casually. Even his pretty face hadn’t managed to make you comforted. “I tested you, remember?”
“Exactly.” Adora nodded, putting her hand on your head to reassure you. None of it was working.
You were scared that this one night gone would make a sacrifice.
“You’re a Ravenclaw, Y/N.” Mingyu told you. The other two juniors of yours entailed behind the two of you, quiet for their own good. You looked back at them, pitiful of yourself.
“You guys aren’t going to say anything to make me feel better?”
Wonwoo and Vernon exchanged a glance worriedly because they were put on the spot.
“Well, you’re our senior. So we don’t know what exactly to say.” Wonwoo said for the two of them as Vernon nodded along with his friend’s words. It must’ve been the fact that Mingyu was here.
Because behind closed doors, these two were the most fun you’ve known of in your life. Since Mingyu was in their year level and popular at that, it must’ve caused a margin of how much they talked. You understood that and smiled at them, despite the distasteful situation you had brought yourself into.
“Ah, babe.” Mingyu perked his head up at you, his eyes widened a little as if he remembered something.
“Yeah?”
“I-I have to be somewhere right now,” he told you urgently.
You furrowed your eyebrows wondering what it was and why he would remember it now? Like he could’ve said something about it earlier?
“Well, what is it?” you asked him.
“Um, you wouldn’t really get it now. But I’ll explain it tomorrow, okay? Good luck on your detention and test.” Mingyu quickly pecked your check, much to your distaste as you had previously mentioned your dislike towards public affection. Then, he turned around and dashed through your juniors without an apology.
You watched as the boy ran as if his life was on the line and for a second you pondered the idea if it was, then, you turned right back around, finding yourself dipped in worry and frustration once again.
“We’ve arrived,” Adora told you with a fatal sigh leaving your lips. How much you wished McGonagall would appear in front of you like a fairy and tell you that you were in luck, but there was no fairy McGonagall as you drove the doors of the Trophy Room wide open.
The dramatics of the door opening prolonged a silence that was without warning. You walked in first, the footsteps behind you reassuringly following.
He was already there.
A similar feeling of dread once again swamped inside you.
“Oh, look. You brought your stupid Ravenclaw friends with you.” Jeonghan commented, a glare that felt like it was stained on his face like turmeric to a countertop.
“You should be the last person calling them stupid.” You remarked back.
The room was silent for a second and you felt Adora’s hand on your shoulder, signalling you that your remark was a bit unexpected. You didn’t care. Watching Jeonghan’s face fall was somewhat pleasing to the eyes.
“Are you talking back to me?” Jeonghan asked.
“Yeah, I am. Because frankly, I’m starting to get sick of your rich boy attitude.”
Jeonghan didn’t say anything about it and it convinced you that you got him good. The rest of the room was quiet so you looked back at your group of friends.
“You guys can leave. I don’t want you to view this torture any longer.” You told them.
The two boys stood there for a second before Adora pushed them out. Door slamming behind them, it left only you and Jeonghan in the room and it was not the ideal environment to let two people that were on the verge of killing one another together.
Grabbing your wand out, you start to wave things out. You didn’t want to be here, neither did you want to put in the effort of cleaning up the room. The last time you checked you didn’t lie so you’re not doing the detention.
Jeonghan didn’t give you another look as he whipped out his own wand to get stuff done. The two of you were quiet with each other and there was this fine border, you saw it from the way things were going, that screamed that if someone were to talk right that second, it would break out something. Like a zit popping, an explosion that destroyed the world.
The two of you knew this deep inside and were basically playing tug-of-war in your minds, waiting for someone to say something. It was just that adrenalin rushing that made you all frustrated all over again.
“Detention with you out of all people…” Jeonghan muttered under his breath.
Your eyes darted up instantly, feeling the knot keeping the rope of sanity together break.
“You shouldn’t be complaining. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here together. I hope you regret this for the rest of your life, Jeonghan. I have a test tomorrow and now thanks to you, I can’t revise for it.” you complained, lashing out a trophy from the cabinet. It flew in the air and into your hands for the cleaning spray and a wipe down to retrieve another layer of glossiness.
Jeonghan furrowed his eyebrows at you. It seemed that no one really stood up to him, so he didn’t know what to say. Though he did know that his standards and expectations were being abolished by your comebacks.
As they should be.
“You shouldn’t be talking back to me.”
He had another one coming because your mouth opened and spat facts.
“Aw, that’s literally how communication works.” you pouted, before deadpanning at it. You flew the silver trophy right back into the cabinet and got the one adjacent to it. “I think you’re the stupid one, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan’s grip on his trophy tightened and although it was fairly dark in the room, you were capable of seeing his veins tense. Sort of like Mingyu before a game.
“Oh, you should really shut that mouth. It’s not going to do you justice.”
You didn’t care. It showed too.
“Aw, really? How? Because I really love seeing you look so mad and do absolutely nothing about it.” You teased.
Jeonghan almost shoved the golden trophy into the cabinet. It urged no new reaction from you as you were determined to defend yourself well.
“I’ll do something for real, you dumb Ravenclaw. Don’t test me.”
“Come do it, then. Don’t tell me.” you smirked proudly.
It seemed like you snapped Jeonghan’s rope of sanity because the next thing you knew, he was walking towards you.
It was then you felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head―you were enlightened as to why no one messes with him.
It’s not that he’s not use to it, it’s that he doesn’t want to make the effort to go fix the situation. This is shown through his unbothered behaviour and his lazy actions. Yoon Jeonghan was feral on the inside.
But now, you weren’t sure 'feral’ was the only way to describe it. He had his wand out and everything, you were sure he was going to murder you then.
You looked around for a possible defence for yourself. There was absolutely nothing in the stone-cold room that could pitch as a defence tool rather than your own wand.
It wasn’t until Jeonghan had reached a foot to you did you let out a loud gasp. A little away from you was a metal bucket that held all the cleaning supplies that you and Jeonghan were to use the night. It was empty when Jeonghan tripped over the bucket.
Gratitude to the fact that you were only what seemed a feet away, the only falling position had was on top of you. Though you were a Ravenclaw, it was a given you were too late in moving out of the way. Jeonghan’s body clashed against yours, causing the two of you to topple over to the stone-cold floor in a disordered pile.
The menacing Slytherin had his chest right at yours, the tension circulating one that could come off contradictory from your dispute. Your heart was shaking, beating profound in your ears as you took a glance at those ravishing doe eyes, hardly inches from you.
Light from behind had shadowed his face but you knew all too well that the look on his face could only mean that…he didn’t mean for this to happen.
However, before you could even get a word out of the, well, knotted situation, the door of the trophy room opened. You were not only weighed down by Jeonghan but also, fear.
“What in the world is going on in here?!” came the stern voice of McGonagall.
It looked wrong, you admitted it, but you required to explain yourself first. Sweet Minerva didn’t delight you with a chance.
“When I said to sort things out, I did not mean this. You children are a menace to society! Up to your feet―now!”
The two of you paused. Partly because Jeonghan was still on top of you, half his body on top while his hands held his weight up and entrapped you in between him. You felt heat rush to your face.
“Up!” the Gryffindor called.
With a glare that spoke ‘it’s all your fault’, Jeonghan got to his feet, and you clambered to yours too, a pain stretching across your shoulder blade from the knockdown.
“Another detention, both of you,” she said. “You have five more minutes in here and then you can leave.”
The way the teacher had expressed herself proved that she didn’t want to hear excuses drawing from either of you.
You pressed your lips in a firm hold and nodded at the teacher. Your head was down so you couldn’t see what your fellow classmate did, so you could only imagine that he did something that was sufficient for the teacher to leave you guys in the room.
Jeonghan shifted to the back of the room where he continued with the trophies, being somewhat louder, showing his have for the detention.
You could say the same with a bit more embarrassment.
The next five minutes were the most awkward five minutes of your life.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Fire was darting through your lips by the next afternoon, insulting everything and everyone who was in the way under your breath. You were lucky to not have DADA yet. You didn’t have it until after lunch and during lunch, you were complaining to your friends, every word dropping with no hesitation or respect for the place you were in.
“Like how do I deserve detention in the first place?” you argued.
“Wow, this is my first time seeing you bitch about a teacher,” Adora commented.
And she was quite right about that. You didn’t complain about any teacher until McGonagall’s string of stupid accusations yesterday. She didn’t give you a chance to explain, instead, she put you in another detention with him. How could you not be frustrated?
“Yeah, because it doesn’t make sense. If it was a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff teacher, they would’ve asked what happened,” you answered, the fragility gone in your voice. You proposed the subject of Minerva McGonagall with such aggression.
The bell rang, signalling your mood to get more unsatisfactory. DADA―your favourite.
You stood up, the burden coming again. You smiled sarcastically at your friends, your boyfriend not present. It was like he disappeared overnight, you haven’t seen him all day. Neither did you care very much, you had a lot on your plate at the moment and to check his whereabouts was not the top of your priority list.
“My favourite class.” you sighed.
“Just show him you’re not going to back down like everyone else in his way and he’ll treat you like an equal.” quiet Vernon spoke.
Your glance shifted to him―everyone’s glance shifted to him. He moved uncomfortably in his seat.
“Whoa, since when did you speak like that?” Wonwoo asked in utter shock.
If you were in shock, how would Wonwoo, his friend for a long time, be? You shook your head, clearing the air so that none of you would be late to your classes.
“Thanks, Vernon. I’ll do that.”
You grabbed your books from the small coffee table that was in the middle of the seance of armchairs and then shuffled out of the library with the rest of the students that were on their way to their fifth-period classes. It was an ill-fated, but a known fact that the three of them coincidentally had a vacant period and yours was after this DADA class.
He was already there when you had walked into class, on time, rather than early because of your grudge towards the Gryffindor head. You took your seat, not endorsing him.
It went on and you were sure that the air clouded between you and Jeonghan proclaimed to the whole class. Something about them whispering about the no recognition of the other showed. It was like you wanted it to show that you weren’t going to back down from his words because you were still mad at the test.
Oh, the test.
It didn’t go well at all. But at least you answered all the questions.
“Yo, my favourite Ravenclaw. Got a quill I could borrow? Kinda lost mine on the way here.”
The point that you knew Soonyoung was too dumb to read the mood made you glare at him more.
His eyes widened a little, accentuating his adorable features. “I-I mean―”
You cut him off with a sigh, clutching the spare peacock quill and delivering it to him. He muttered gratitude before leaving, pacing quick to his seat as you had anticipated. Since Soonyoung came, you sensed a simmer down In the atmosphere.
Jeonghan broke the tense silence.
“Have you said anything to your boyfriend yet?”
“What do you mean?” You didn’t face him, you were writing on the worksheet Lupin had given out earlier in the class. You noticed that Jeonghan’s was blank. He must’ve been going through some thinking time.
“Oh, you must’ve told him about how we Slytherins are…”
“No.” you replied. “What are you talking about?”
It had to be the way you said it because Jeonghan had straightened up. You finally looked at him, blonde hair shining under the light of the classroom to find out what he was trying to tell you.
Jeonghan appeared pissed.
You continued, Vernon’s voice stuck in your head like glue.
“You have too much Slytherin pride. Do you think I would actually go run my mouth about you to everyone? Sure, I’m concerned for him and that the irrelevancy of him going to pick a fight is prominent but at the same time, I wouldn’t go talk about you to him.”
He was quiet.
You’d never seen anything like it.
From what you viewed afar, Jeonghan was the type to fight back straight away but for once, he was silent, his lips loosely closed. He was examining your face.
It still made you doubt the lingering impression of whether someone hadn’t stood up to him or was he just observing?
“And as much as I hate sitting with you, I complain more about the situation than you.” you continued.
It was a lie.
Everything that left your lips was Jeonghan this, Jeonghan that.
“Sure you do, dumbass. Now give me the answers to this.” He motioned towards his blank worksheet. What was he doing?
You sighed, furrowing your eyebrows. “You’ve been copying every single one of my worksheets, Yoon Jeonghan. Why are you asking suddenly?”
It seemed that the air was clearing. It was much to your disappointment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to make it heavy again.
A giggle left him, one that felt a little too innocent to be Jeonghan. “You noticed?”
“Yeah, I did and not only that, Lupin let me know too that our worksheets are too vaguely similar.”
He smirked. “What’s the point of doing work when I already have a sweet Ravenclaw sitting next to me doing it for me?”
The word ’sweet’ coming from him stuck longer in your head than Vernon’s encouragement.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The last detention with your enemy consisted of cleaning the Charms classroom, the following week. It was evident that both you and Jeonghan just wanted to get it over and done with. And you did. Without blaming each other, without talking much.
It was like for once, things were on par with either of you and you treated each other as equals rather than wanting to rip the other’s hair out. Supposedly, you would assume that it was the class where he asked for your answers that kinda released some pressure between the two of you from the night in the Trophy Room.
McGonagall came in after everything was done and dusted to give the two of you a speech.
“I don’t want to hear any name-calling or anything else like that, you hear me?”
You didn’t suppress your eye roll. Instant regret flourished through you.
“Young lady, you did not just roll your eyes at me,” she said, fairly disturbed.
You didn’t say anything as you were meddled by Jeonghan’s laughing.
“Is this funny to you, Mr Yoon?”
“A little.”
She made an offended sound, placing her hands on her hips. Then, she shook her head. “Thank God, I don’t have the two of you anymore for detention. Off you go now.”
The two of you spun around and left the classroom, leaving the teacher in her own thoughts.
It made you wonder, what does the woman even think of besides the fact that she’s a Transfiguration teacher? Does anything that doesn’t match the solidness of a rock go through her head? It was something you were far too afraid to ask but eagerly wanted to know the answer to.
Among the silence outside the Charms classroom, you let out a heavy sigh.
Jeonghan snapped.
“Thank God, I don’t have to be doing two horrendous tasks at the same time. Cleaning is enough, but looking at your face and cleaning―”
“Why would you look at my face while cleaning?” you cleanly interrupted.
It went horribly cold.
Your eyes widened a little, realising what you said. You were tired, both of you were tired―in short, you didn’t need to say that.
“I’m going back to my dorms,” you muttered, heading down the hallway. You didn’t want to anticipate in the reaction. But before you did leave, words slipped out of your mouth that couldn’t help themselves. “Hope your bedbugs eat you alive.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Hope both sides of your pillow are warm, love!”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The next class with Jeonghan proved to be rather interesting. Besides the fact that Soonyoung came over a couple of times to ask you questions about the work, which Lupin didn’t see as he had his own errands to run during class time. You didn’t fully understand what was going on in him, he was quite tired-looking.
Almost as if a Dementor had absorbed the life out of him.
Anyways, Soonyoung came to ask another question.
“What’s the answer?”
You leaned forward to the parchment, reading to where he was pointing.
What happens when a prisoner escapes from Azkaban and what is it?
You rolled your eyes. “We just went over it, but it’s the Dementor’s Kiss. So essentially, it’s when the Dementor sucks out a person’s soul and it’s used as a sentence for those who attempt to escape Azkaban…you got that?”
You turned to Jeonghan to see him scribbling it down.
"Yup,” he muttered.
The past two times that Soonyoung came over, the Slytherin found it easy to just copy what you said aloud to the simplest questions. He wasn’t surprised you caught him in the act of doing so either.
“Thanks, Y/N!” the Gryffindor exclaimed, closing his eyes and smiling. Then, he went back to his arranged seat across the room. You looked back at your work, all finished.
Jeonghan opened a conversation, appealing to your boredom. But it wasn’t quite the expected.
“You and your boyfriend don’t seem as close anymore.”
You looked at him, his blonde locks falling perfectly near his eyes. He was really, such a beauty. “What are you talking about?”
A part of you understands what he’s getting at but the other part tells you, why is it his business?
“I just don’t see you two hanging out often anymore.”
“This bothers you because…?”
“It doesn’t.” he replied, the quill in his hand falling flat to the parchment, prior to him continuing, “Just an observation. Like I’d give a care for your life.”
You smirked. “Mhm, you sound like you are, Jeonghan.”
“You think I would just hover around a middle-class Ravenclaw girl?”
You stopped.
The words bled an unexpected pain and you could see that his face twitched a little when you paused.
“You did not just call me a middle-class girl,” you said, standing up. Your hands pushed into the wooden table as your desk chair scraped back. It alerted some members of the classroom to look at you.
“I did.” he said calmly, face not wavering from it’s blankness
Alas, his predatory pride couldn’t help but come back again.
“Jeonghan, you do realise no one likes you because of how you speak to others?! Your friends only want to be with you because of your wealth, okay? It spoiled you into thinking you have real friends and that you can make fun of other people’s financial issues. It’s seriously not cool…you should really think about how fortunate you are instead of coming at people who are less fortunate!”
You didn’t know how the words spilled out, but you were glad they did. Who had given him this much confidence? Why didn’t anyone put him into place? Jeonghan needed to understand that not everyone may have gone through the same treatment as him.
He was advantageous and as much as he did call you a middle-class girl, he didn’t have any authority of making himself look like the bigger person because of his financial issue.
Murmurs broke out subsequent to your outburst.
“Y/N, detention,” Lupin said.
“W-What?!” You yelled, your frustration yet to back down. How many teachers were just giving detention without knowing anything about the situation? It was seriously getting out of hand. “I didn’t do anything, sir. He was the one that―”
“How can you raise your voice in a quiet working environment? Do you see anyone else making noise?”
Unbelievable. There was no way people were ganging up on you, now were they?
You sat back down to your seat, Jeonghan letting out a chuckle at your misfortune. It wasn’t funny, neither was it anything close to fair.
Devising a plan in your head, it was all set to go once the bell rang. You waited. Waited until all the students left the classroom before you made your way to the front where the teacher sat. You needed to give this one a lecture, the teachers at this school were starting to get on your nerves one by one.
“Yes, Y/N?” he asked as if everything was okay and he did not just give you a detention for standing up for yourself.
“Why would you give me detention? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Lupin laughed.
You felt humiliated at that point. It wasn’t suggested to be funny. Were you that much of a laughing stock for the world? Jeonghan, Lupin, who else?
“I know, I know. I was just playing with the two of you―it was a joke.”
You crossed your arms together, the racing heart unable to move to its original speed. “Sir, It’s not funny. I’ve already ended up with two detentions because of that boy. You’ve already put me next to him and that itself is torture, let’s just leave it at that.”
Lupin opened his mouth to speak, maybe to comfort you but you weren’t into it. Your mood was just ruined for the day. There was literally no one that could make you feel better.
You dismissed yourself from the empty classroom, a cloud parading over your head when you bumped into someone.
Seriously? Who else was going to try messing with you today?
“Dude…Mingyu!”
There he was. Your boyfriend.
Actually in person to see you.
“Hey!“
"You came at the right time. I’ve just had the worst day ever.”
“Really? Oh, I’m so sorry, babe. You’re lucky though! I came here wondering, do you wanna go on a date today?”
That in itself had made the clouds go away and a smile came onto your face. Finally, someone could make your day better than ruin it all.
“Yeah, I would really like that.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The Three Broomsticks was a common place for couples of Hogwarts to go. You discerned it whenever you would be talking to your friends that had a significant other. You would guess it was because of the mature feelings that would surround the restaurant from the decorations to the people that attended it.
You couldn’t catch first to third years there much. So when you and Mingyu went in there thanks to your more senior rights of visiting Hogsmeade late at night, you guys were feeling comfortable in the atmosphere.
“Well, look who it is, my favourite couple,” Rosemerta said, with a smile that was so big and beautiful you wouldn’t miss it for the world. She was always so optimistic, it was wondered by many how it was humanly possible. The owner pulled out her notepad and pen, “What can I get for you today?”
You glanced at Mingyu and then ordered what you wanted. He ordered his food too and the woman went away, complimenting the two of you once again.
A conversation was then taken away by Mingyu. It’s been a while since you were able to talk to the other. But that didn’t stop chaos from happening.
Mingyu’s eyes shifted to the left when he had stopped abruptly in his words.
“Uh-oh,” Mingyu whispered.
“What?” you asked, deeply hoping it wasn’t another excuse for him to leave again.
Instantly you felt the hope turn into an unquestionable rage that could rake this whole restaurant into chaos. Yoon Jeonghan and his delinquent friends were sat a table away from the two of you.
If it wasn’t for the people sitting at the table in between yours and Jeonghan’s party, you would’ve said something about it and caused chaos anyways.
What he said last time had wound buried inside you and articulated some sort of extreme hatred for him. To the point where you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore neither could you bring yourself to want to see him ever.
It was damaging that you were stuck sitting next to him.
Time went on on your date and you did your best to ignore Jeonghan and his friends that were laughing often. It was a restaurant, had they no respect?
Soon, the people that were seated in between the two of you left and that was enough for you and Jeonghan to turn around and lock eyes immediately.
You wish you could tell him that your boyfriend did actually care for you and was close to you but due to what he said earlier, you didn’t think that would be likely of happening.
“I really don’t want them to be here,” you told the honey-badger as you looked back at him.
He nodded, understandingly as the Slytherins roared with laughter again.
“I get it. Jun keeps looking at me. It’s a little uncomfortable.” Mingyu admitted.
A little silence flew by and you opened your mouth to suggest to leave when suddenly, a splat knocked you on your shoulder. You gasped and turned to your right to see a strawberry shortcake splat right on you. Your eyes directed upwards to meet with the Slytherin boys who were laughing again.
Jeonghan was too.
“Yoon Jeonghan!” you bellowed, knowing it had to be him. It seemed as if a rope broke because of him―the only thing keeping you sane in the restaurant and he had to go ahead and destroy that. “You better come here and clean this up!”
Mingyu seized a napkin from the stack on the table, leaning over your empty plates to reach your top but you put a hand up at him, still looking at Jeonghan. He sought to avoid eye contact, but even that didn’t allow his friends from letting it go. They were thorough in teasing him, something that you pronounced of his deserving.
“Yah!” he told them, striving not to break into another stream of laughter. “You can bet on my father’s black card that I’m not going there to clean up a prissy little middle-class girl.”
The way those words rolled off his tongue felt a little too natural for your liking. The Slytherins laughed again and Jun smacked his friend on the back. “Go! You’re the one who did it! Look at how mad she is!”
“Y/N, don’t do anything you’re going to regret.” Mingyu warned you patiently. He had fear screwed in both his eyes and you found that rather annoying, seeing that he was the one that willingly went to pick a fight with them.
You had about enough of everyone right that second, that you whipped around to look at Mingyu. “Oh, shut the hell up, Mingyu. You can’t say shit when you lost the fight anyways!”
Jeonghan’s table heard.
You knew when they all went silent.
You squeezed your eyes shut when you heard them all laugh again at what you said. It was an impressed and shocked roar of laughter and agreement that went past all of them and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Mingyu. You did not just embarrass him in front of all those Slytherins, did you?
“No, that’s not what I meant!” you tried, but failed, shaking your head. “Yoon Jeonghan, come clean this up.”
“No―”
“Yeah, Jeonghan.”
“Go clean it up, Jeonghan.”
“You’re the one who made the mess.”
His friends chirped him, aggravating him. But what was surprising was the random push Junhui gave him, urging him to go towards your table. Now that he was already up, he was left with no choice. Jeonghan walked towards you, surrendering.
Turning back to your seat, you waited for him to clean up his mess.
“Oohhhh~” his friends continued. They were contributing too much to this and in front of your boyfriend. You felt bad enough just looking at his face. The tips of his ears turned red and you were divulged into knowing the pain he must be experiencing because of these green-robed students.
Jeonghan’s napkins became an endless pile of cream as he wiped them off your bare shoulder. You kinda froze, letting him do his work in shame. His friends were too loud for your liking.
His fingers scraped past your bare shoulder, cool and relaxed as they touched by the off-shoulder material you were wearing. Jeonghan laughed again at something his friend from the other table.
“Shut up, Junhui!”
“Done…you act like too much of a princess for someone who wears something this cheap.” he commented. His finger casually glided into the sleeve of the material that started at your forearm and he playfully pulled it back.
A knot appeared In your stomach.
Mingyu was watching too. You looked up at Jeonghan, wanting to telepathically choke him to death.
“Go away, Jeonghan.”
He let it go, the elastic strap coolly hitting your skin again.
“Whatever you say, princess.” And he walked away to his seat.
You wanted to get up and get back at him but Mingyu reached for you over the table, in attempts of calming you down. You regretted dissing him earlier, so you took it as a way to repay him―by calming down.
“Let’s just go,” Mingyu instructed.
You nodded.
Thanks to Jeonghan, what was expected to be a perfect date became completely imperfect. In all honesty, you desired to spend as much time with Mingyu as possible, fill the long night with pleasant memories because you don’t get to see each other a lot during the week. The one time you wanted to live in a little bubble with just the two of you for a few hours was the time Jeonghan came to deflate it.
Mingyu and you weren’t quick to give up though―the two of you paid Rosemerta and walked, seeing snow fall in blankets over the ground. It was probably past eight-thirty and the coldness of the winter hugged the two of you together.
You reached for Mingyu’s arm, coincidentally, he put on his jacket. Pursing your lips together, you acted as if it never happened and decided to venture down the lone lanes of Hogsmeade.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“I wanna walk around…there’s nothing much to do this late anyways,” you answered with a sigh that breathed out white smoke. Though you weren’t able to see that due to the darkness.
Mingyu and you walked along the snowy path, talking about random things as time flew. Because of the dark, you couldn’t see where you were going and soon you ended up down a small hill with a wired fence that felt a little too familiar to your liking.
“Holy, are we―”
“The Shrieking Shack.” you interrupted, seeing the other side of the fence.
It was far into the distance, yet noticeable. You didn’t mind it much, turning around to incline against the tall fence. The path back to Hogsmeade was next to you but for now, you needed to enjoy the time you had with Mingyu. Your eyes found his and you smiled, feeling the comfort that normally drew from him. Although, this time, it felt less.
You blamed it on the distance and how you couldn’t see him in the dark, but there was something about looking at his face that didn’t bring you the same satisfaction as it used to. Why? You asked yourself.
Was it a once in a while thing?
You furrowed your eyebrows as he looked over at you, hands stuffed in his pockets instead of holding you like the night was meant for. Why were you so far apart?
“Is it hard with Jeonghan?” Mingyu questioned you.
“Not just hard, I just feel so much worse when I’m with him. He’s always doing something to make the mood worse.” you said with an annoyed sigh. You did not want to be talking about him now.
All you wanted was for Mingyu to hold you, kiss you but he was just standing there and asking questions. You didn’t know how to tell him how awkward this was making it between the two of you.
“Can’t you ask the teacher to move seats?”
“I did, but he refused. Mingyu, I―”
“BOO!”
Mingyu and you both jumped, profanities leaving your lips in an instant. The hairs on your skin raised far quicker than it did when you stepped outside to come to Hogsmeade. Right on the other side of you appeared Vernon and someone else you failed to recognise. A drop of a cloak gave the answer away as to what they were doing.
“Who are you?!”
“Mingyu, calm down. It’s just Vernon,” you said, laughing. “What are you doing here? Who’s this?”
“Ah, I was bored so me and Chan decided to sneak out. But you know how fifth years aren’t supposed to go into Hogsmeade unless they’re with a senior, so we sneaked out.”
“Chan?” Your eyesight moved to the boy standing next to him and your mouth simply dropped to the ground. “The Chosen One, Lee Chan?”
“That would be me.”
“I never expected for this day to come.” you sighed, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Admittedly, it’s the quickest your heart had beaten this whole date because of Mingyu’s distance. Mingyu was also shocked as he took in the sight of the shorter boy as if succumbed in the shock.
You had another question coming for Vernon. “How about Adora? She could’ve taken you, Chan and Wonwoo.”
Vernon sighed and he rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to believe this but they were too busy studying together.”
You tilted your head in confusion.
“Wonwoo and Adora…”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Every single second accumulated by the next DADA lesson made you want to hit your head on the nearest wall. The tension, Lupin talking, his fingers tapping on the table made you a ball of frustration, to say the least. You wished for it to go away.
But alas, you were stuck there, sweat sticking to your forehead in a thick layer and your legs jiggling under the table. Why was the class taking forever? Why was one simple hour taking so long to complete itself?
"―and I hope that all of you are writing this down as I speak to you?” Lupin asked, suggestively hinting that notes should be taken in the lesson. You were stress-scribbling everything he was saying, if not, repeating some of the words.
You hadn’t seen such rubbish on parchment in your life, it hurt your eyes from just looking.
“Except, Mr Yoon, of course. What makes you exceptionally different that you don’t have to be taking notes?” Lupin asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“I didn’t bring a quill,” Jeonghan answered.
Your eyes burned at the spare quill on top of your pile of books―the same one that Soonyoung had asked to borrow a week ago, it seems.
“Unprepared?…there’s not much we can do about it, can we?” Lupin said, strolling back and forth in a little circle. The whole class had tuned their attention towards Jeonghan, except you. You were attented to the teacher.
“Except we could ask our deskmate if we could borrow their pen.”
Your heart plunged into your stomach. It felt like the world had crumpled into you and you were the last person standing right that moment. A fake, but a tense smile passed across the features as you met a couple of glances from your classmates. They were amazed at how rough yet smartly Lupin played his cards.
The influential desire you and you would assume, Jeonghan had to play those cards right back were a slim chance, nearly none. You picked at the skin on your palm under the table, telling yourself not to fidget at the moment but it didn’t do you any justice that you were put in the spotlight.
“Fine.” Jeonghan replied to the annoying teacher, “Y/N, can I borrow your quill?”
Jeonghan took o polite voice, one that was fake as your smile previously.
“Sure, Jeonghan.” you awkwardly answered, looking at the boy daringly.
But it was that moment where you should’ve known that what hit you were a feeling quite different from what you would feel when you looked at someone you hated.
It was amazement that flooded your body for a second, taking every space inside you as you found yourself staring at his eyes. They looked the same, but you never really noticed how pretty they looked.
What the hell is going on?
Like the whole of your body went into dysfunction, you couldn’t find yourself breaking eye contact. He kept it going too. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that your class was still looking into the drama, anticipating for Jeonghan to pick up the quill from his mortal enemy’s book pile. But they would be rather startled to find that they were staring at each other, or at least you were.
You couldn’t help it. The doe-sleepy look, plus, the eye bags that stood out made you stare. It had to be the newly added eye bags that still burned with the same ember of fiery hate that made you pause that second extra.
Jeonghan’s hand roughly scrolled to the top of your book pile and picked up the peacock quill. Just as quick as it happened, it felt painfully slow. It was like time stopped for a second even. How dare he touch your quill? You saved up for it to look pretty on the pile of books you take to lessons and he just roughly grabbed you.
Wait until you roughly grab his throat.
The regret still stuck to you like super glue. You banged your head on your textbook when people left the classroom, appearing dazed at the thought of his eyes.
“What is wrong with me?” you groaned, grabbing at your scalp for some sort of moral support but none arrived. You collapsed back onto the book pile once again, left in a confusing dark.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
When you came to the library, you expected some quiet and peace but that was far from what you got instead. You got loudness that even Pince wasn’t able to pipe down and that proved to be deteriorating to your study time. You kept at it though, moving down the worksheet from Charms at a God-level speed. Your quill moved with fluidity, a smile on your face at every satisfying answer that came, until, of course, you were interrupted.
You looked up, taken aback slightly. Then, you search around and to your luck, the library was quite full and there was no other space except at your little table that had space for four.
“Are you Ravenclaws always hogging this space?” Junhui asked as he drew back the chair opposite you.
Still slightly in shock, you managed to pull in a few words, smartly. “You are stating the obvious. This is our natural habitat.”
Jun rolled his eyes, taking out the same worksheet as you from his Charms textbook. You didn’t find him to be the type to do his homework, he and Jeonghan skip classes at times.
You don’t mind him either, understanding the importance. You did your homework, proud that you were getting your stuff done today. You might go pay a visit to Mingyu if you had time to spare. So for the time being, you would just complete your homework and then―
“Do you have a crush on Jeonghan?”
The quill on your worksheet stopped writing ink bleeding through the parchment as you glanced up at the Slytherin in pure disgust. “I have a boyfriend.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I don’t?
Why were you thinking this over?
“No, I don’t like Jeonghan. Why would I like Jeonghan out of everyone that exists?” The way Jun was asking you this―there had to be a reason. Had it been the time you were constrained to spend with his best friend or how you communicated with no chill? You were confused, yet sort of understood where he was coming from.
“You suit him, that’s all.” Jun shrugged.
You laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’m serious.”
You shook your head and placed your quill down, demanding to know where he was coming from. “Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”
Jun sighed. “I don’t really seem the type to care about people―”
“You don’t.” you agreed.
He squinted his eyes sarcastically at you and continued with what he was saying, his finger swiping across one of your many books set on the table. “We grew up together, I know what’s best for him and I think rather than having a girl that wants his money, he should have someone smart and to keep him grounded.”
To say you were shocked that Junhui would be saying this was the least―you were mortified. The brunette didn’t give any type of sentiment as long as you’ve been in his residence. It was rather aggression that Jun designated towards others and now you felt sort of enlightened and shocked you were perceiving this side of him. Although, you felt the uncomfortable aspect of it too. You didn’t expect him to pour out his feelings like that.
“What are you telling me to do? Break up with my boyfriend?” you said, trying to make a joke out of it.
He was serious though. The boy didn’t falter from his point of view. He shrugged.
“Look, I―” you began, but was intervened by him.
Junhui locked eyes with you and you felt the seriousness coming from those half-closed eyes. “It might be because we’re in completely different houses. But if a Slytherin were to choose which house they would want to be acquainted with, it’s most definitely Ravenclaw…it’s just my opinion.”
You nodded, looking back at your work, trailing over the many answers. You were reminded about how Jeonghan would copy your homework last minute nearly every lesson and you wouldn’t have a choice but to let him because you didn’t want a fight to start in class.
“I respect your opinion and I really wish I could help you right now but I think you understand the situation yourself.” you smiled. And instead of making a joke out of it, you tried to comfort Junhui out of it.
They were really close to each other. Talk about bro-code.
“Jun? What are you doing here with her?” All your tension was back. This is why the two of you shouldn’t be together.
“Shut up, Jeonghan.” you told him, looking over at him. He was standing behind Jun’s chair as Jun stayed quiet, not responding to your fights. He’s never been that way between you and Jeonghan and you realised at that moment, this was the reason. He wanted the two of you to be together.
If he was going as far as desiring another girl for his best friend who was from another house, it genuinely showed how much he cared for Jeonghan. It reminded you of you and Adora―how you would do anything for each other.
It kind of comforted you knowing they were close like that.
“Say, you’ve gotten a little too much these days for a Ravenclaw,” he commented harshly. You noticed no use of the 'middle-class girl’.
You rolled your eyes. “You’ve gotten too prideful of yourself if you think I’m just going to let you be rude to me.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
DADA was starting to become boring.
Lupin didn’t give any extensions for the inquisitive Ravenclaws, explaining that you didn’t need it. You tried to look for more extensions but truth be told, you’ve done everything possible for the topic. So by the next lesson, you were just sitting there with nothing to do.
Reading random things in your textbook didn’t dare give the same fulfilment as doing actual work on the things you reviewed.
“Hey, give me the answer to this question.”
Looking over a little above your book, you whispered harshly: “The answer is B. Stop asking me.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times I ask, your smartass always answers.” he chuckled quietly. You rolled your eyes and paid attention to your book, wanting to doubt the false accusations but they weren’t false accusations if you thought about it yourself. You gave him the answer regardless.
“You’re late, Junhui!” Lupin called, the boy entering the classroom.
Nothing new, you noted.
“I was held back by Professor Snape.” Jun excused, his footsteps echoing the quiet classroom.
He’s always held back by Snape. You were starting to think it was a little lie he would implore whenever he came to class late. But who would know? Snape always defended the Slytherins.
You felt a small shift from your side, you looked over. Junhui had sneaked over when Lupin returned his shift to his papers on his desk. Jun bent down beside Jeonghan’s table, locking eyes with you for a second, before going by his best friend’s ear and muttering something. You didn’t trouble yourself trying to listen, flicking through the pages of your book for something you haven’t read yet.
However, the definite: “What?” coming from Jeonghan reached you.
You minded your own business, grasping the boy would make a fuss if you didn’t. But the whispering became more jarring.
“I’m sorry.” you heard Junhui. Did they mess something up? Your mind wandered anyways.
“Just…go back to your seat,” Jeonghan instructed his best friend.
The next few moments were sat in silence. You couldn’t help but think something had gone wrong because the silence between the two of you was so awkward, unlike how it would be most of the time. It made you realise your talking terms with the Slytherin. If it wasn’t something serious Jun had said to him, he would be back to bother you for answers but Jeonghan hadn’t touched his quill.
“I’m redoing the roll since some of you came late to class. Soonyoung?”
“Junhui? Just arrived…Shawn? No…? Jeonghan?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jeonghan? I swear I saw him today―”
With no substitute, you nudged Jeonghan with your elbow without looking at him.
“Oh, here,” he said, passively. Something was wrong for sure.
The roll finished soon and Lupin was back at his table, seemingly marking tests as the students did their work. But Jeonghan hadn’t touched his quill. You were concerned and it worried you too much to concentrate on your reading.
Finally, you put a hand on his arm. “Hey…you good?”
Jeonghan shoved your hand away firmly. Your eyes widened at the reaction and you hesitantly looked over. You had to arrest the gasp coming halfway up your throat to prevent a murder from happening within the walls of the DADA classroom.
There was no way you were witnessing this yourself.
Jeonghan had his head hanging low, but even then, you could see it yourself. The tears.
They were rolling down in heavy beads, almost not seen.
What were you supposed to do?
You already made it awkward by freezing upon their existence. It was literally like a slap in the face as your eyes enlarged. Another side of you softened.
Jun must’ve told him something that happened at home. How? You didn’t know yet, but you felt as if it was critical that Jeonghan was okay.
“I got you, okay?” you said softly, routing out your wand and bringing over the tissue box at the front desk of the class. Then, with the brilliant wits of your Ravenclaw self, you pulled out a bunch of tissues and stuffed them with no hesitance on Jeonghan’s face. He shot you a glare from half his face and red eyes but you only nodded at him in reassurance. He took the tissues from your wand’s grip and tousled them onto his face like you instructed through the nod.
You put a hand on his shoulder and got up, shouting. “Professor! Jeonghan’s got a bloody nose!”
Lupin stood up quick to see the ‘pitiful’ boy beside you that supposedly had a bloody nose. “Go to the infirmary quickly! I don’t want any bloody kids in my class!”
You nodded and patted Jeonghan with the same hand and the other hand to motion him off his seat. Whispers broke out in the classroom, Lupin dismissing them. “Don’t fret. It’s just a bloody nose.”
“You were the one that was worrying, sir.” Soonyoung teased, tending at the teacher.
You pronounced yourself grateful as you crossed over Jeonghan’s chair and followed him to the exit of the classroom. You got to see Lupin’s face that was dying of hesitance as the class broke out into merriment. He hadn’t known how to respond to Soonyoung’s facts.
You rolled around just in time to see Jeonghan disappear through the doors and hurried to accompany him. Your smile disappeared as quick as it came. Outside the classroom, you found him walking ahead, soft sniffles emitting from the poor boy. Still having no inkling what happened, you dashed forwards to be by his side.
You knew you weren’t meant to be the person comforting him. In fact, you would be the last on his list. So, why this? You couldn’t help seeing him cry like that for some reason.
The sensitiveness that emptied the Slytherin was difficult to see.
You stayed withdrawn by his side, letting him morph himself into the bundle of tissues provided in his favour. Your hands crossed in front of you, fidgeting slightly to foresee how things will turn out.
“Why’d you take me out?” Jeonghan asked as you turned around the corners in the hallway.
“I was just worried. Didn’t want to ruin your rep or anything.”
Jeonghan lifted his face slightly from the tissues and looked over at you, seemingly scanning your face. And then, he was back at the tissues. “Like you would care about that.”
He stopped walking, taking a rest at a wall. His shoulder dug into the solidness as he peered down, refusing to look at you. You sighed, being patient with him. The solitary excuse he had was that he was crying, you were going to respect that this time. “Hey Jeonghan, news flash. Not everyone is like you, okay?
He didn’t say anything. Alternatively, he let the quietness coiled itself into the conversation. Jeonghan sniffled a little, his nose growing a rosy pink. Whatever it was that was going on, there was an intimation of curiosity running in your body to know what it was that made the great rich boy, cry.
It only took time for him to reveal it himself.
“…my dog just passed away…”
Once more, you were submerged into astonishment. Your lips parted to say your apologies and pay immediate respects but he cut you off, looking at you fiercely. Tears were at the brim of pouring again.
“And if you’re looking at me like I’m weak or something, don’t even because―”
“I’m not,” you answered. “How does Junhui know though?”
He let out a sigh, the force in his face releasing. Neither of you suspected to be here at such a depressing time but here you were.
“I didn’t open any letters from my family the last few days. So Junhui’s mum told him to tell me.”
You nodded inaudibly and then slinked down the walls. Jeonghan gazed at you weirdly. You just patted the spot next to you. He wasn’t going to have it if you were all generously comforting him, he wanted to be treated like an equal because to him, you were merely a scum. You recognised that Jeonghan didn’t want to be treated nicely by ‘scum’.
Jeonghan sat down beside you. You looked ahead at the other wall, fading in its colour of beige. The embers of torchlight shone amongst the cloudy hallway with its breaks of windows and walls. You felt like you could feel the heat from those torches, but it wasn’t exactly the case. It was rather the distance between you and Jeonghan that you were met with.
“Cry it out,” you told Jeonghan. “I’m not going to judge you.”
He stared at you, asking with his eyes if you were teasing him. You didn’t say anything, rather, you looked back at him with the same neutral look in your eyes. You were still unsure whether it was good to say something comforting or not.
Jeonghan turned around and buried his face in the tissues and the light sobs soon resonated. You tilted back upon the wall, waiting for him to finish. A hand soon found itself on his back, this time he did not restrict it.
You couldn’t believe he wasn’t restricting it.
“What was your dog’s name?”
“Charlie…my little sister named her,” he said and you found the smile on his face that shone like the sun after a huge storm.
You were warm. “How old was she?”
“She was going to be fourteen next week.”
You moved your hand from Jeonghan, scrunching your face at the sad news. “Ah, that must hurt then. I’m sorry…for your loss.”
“Is this your way of making fun of me?” Jeonghan questioned abruptly. It took a second to register in your mind―what he said.
You snapped at him. “No! Why would I use such a thing against you?!”
Jeonghan also turned to face you, calm even though you were going to scream at his accusations. “Just joking, chill.”
“I can’t believe you’re joking at a time like this.” you huffed. “Your dog literally died.”
You rolled your eyes away from his face that caught a delicate smile. A smile that represented that he was already getting over it. He chuckled again. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re all riled up.”
Bewilderment severed a cord inside you. You fastened your head at him the second time to see something else instead. A tall kid walking down the hallway.
“Y/N?” Mingyu asked before you could barely register his presence.
“Oh, this isn’t going to look good.” you whispered to Jeonghan, waving at Mingyu. He didn’t respond, it only meant that you were alone for this.
You got to your feet, Jeonghan followed you up. Realising then was a renowned mistake―what could you do? It was already too late to cover it up.
“Y/N, what are you doing here? Don’t you have―what’s he doing here?” Mingyu’s words were sharp, sudden from the Hufflepuff.
Since when did he act like this? He never addressed you like that? You had many questions during that moment, but it was challenging for you to get an answer when you didn’t want anything to start neither did you want allegations flying around. It was better for things to be left as they were, particularly when you and Jeonghan weren’t at each other’s throat for once.
“Are you skipping with him?“ Mingyu interrogated you.
You gasped. “What? No! Mingyu, stop. It’s not that big of a deal. We’re just in the same class.”
Mingyu wasn’t having it for some reason. The male treated you with such caution like you were a prized possession. But all of that was gone as soon as it came to Jeonghan. Mingyu was mad.
“Sure, just tell me to calm down. It makes everything better, doesn’t it? You would doubt it too if you were in my position. One minute you hate him and the next you guys are skipping class together.”
You were aghast by his behaviour. Out of everyone you knew, you didn’t expect Mingyu to interrogate you like that. It was out of line.
“Stop looking at her like that,” Jeonghan told him when he was borderline glaring at you.
“You. Don’t tell me what to do―”
“Mingyu, seriously. You’re getting out of hand. I literally can’t speak to him? He’s in my year level, we sit together, we have the same classes. How am I not supposed to communicate with him?”
“Whatever you say. Because for me it looks like a completely different story,” Mingyu said, shoving past the both of you. He didn’t want to talk to you and it hurt that he was the one that wasn’t willing to listen to you. “Have fun.”
Jeonghan and you stood there, watching the tall boy walk down the hallway in absolute shock. You never saw this day come. The most mellow boy that ever existed was the one telling you off.
“Aren’t you going to follow him?” Jeonghan asked.
“It’s not my job to. He should be trusting me.”
You guys baked in the quietness, your eyes scrutinizing Mingyu’s back. Jeonghan used the time to get rid of the stray tears on his face.
“All of this…don’t think I’m suddenly going to be nice to you or something.”
You weren’t in the very mindset to think about what and what not Jeonghan wasn’t going to do. So you replied simply to him. “I’m not.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Rushing was something you hated to do. It was proved so when a week later, you were rushing around the dorm with your best friend, the two of you, off timing for once in your school years. Your alarm rang late and because Adora was a deep sleeper, what you would do normally was get ready first and then wake her up so that she can get ready.
You were close like that. Though, this one time, your alarm hadn’t sounded and the others in your dorm began to get troubled and woke the two of you up.
“I’m so sorry!” you apologised, almost wanting to cry. What was worse was that the two of you had a test for Muggle Studies first period. It was unfortunate that your day had to start with sprints and worries.
The two of you were already worried about the test, it seemed that this poured more salt into the growing wound.
“If we get to the Hall now and grab something small, we’ll be five minutes early to class.” Adora dismissed, before waving at a non-existent fly. “Don’t be sorry, you goose! You didn’t do anything wrong!”
The guilt continued to sink into you as you ran through the nearly empty common room. Students must be finishing with their breakfasts and getting to their classes but you and Adora were only getting to the Hall. You second-guessed Adora’s estimate of getting to the Hall, but you did stay persistent in trying as you followed her out the door and down the hallway jammed with students getting to classes.
Lucky for them they were all extremely early for class.
It sucked that the Ravenclaw dorm was on the fifth floor too, it was unimaginable how many steps you had to take at this hour. Your hand flung to Adora’s shoulder when you felt that you were going to lose her in the crowd and she was assuring in the way she grabbed onto your arm and lurched your forward, winning profanities from the students that were bumped into.
“Stop running!” you heard a teacher yell.
It was far from getting you to stop on the staircase almost tripping and toppling you into the branches of auburn hair in front of you.
Until you were stuck.
A guy had bumped into you from behind as you were running, nearly knocking you off your balance, thanks to the jumpy feeling settling into you since the morning. You parted your lips to say something.
“Hey!”
Adora, you and the guy snapped your head behind you, in time to see something startling. Jeonghan…and his group of friends walking through the crowd with luxury (they were practically giving them way) as he looked at the guy. You couldn’t believe this.
“Why’d you bump into her?” he questioned the guy.
It was hard to ignore the nudge from Adora. It was screaming with questions, you couldn’t face her.
The guy looked down to his feet and then bowed at you promptly. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” And he pushed past you to get down the remaining stairs. You were about to go as well when the Slytherins didn’t let you without another ounce of surprise that morning.
“Why are you rushing so much?”
You furrowed your eyebrows tensely. “We haven’t eaten anything and we have a test first period.”
“Ah, that’s all?”
What was up with him? You nodded. “Why are you asking so many—“
Jeonghan whipped out his wand and swished and flicked. You assumed you were getting a live demo from Flitwick from the elegance that departed Jeonghan’s wrist. His other Slytherin friends were questioning his behaviour.
“Why are you talking to Ravenclaws?”
You heard draw from one of their lips but Jeonghan ignored it. Subsequent to his elegance, his best friend’s bag lifted in the slightest and rattled, gaining attention. Out came two packets of pumpkin pasties.
"Hey! Jeonghan!” Jeonghan didn’t mind him as his other friends got a hold of the grabby Junhui. Jeonghan turned to you more seriously, his eyes not wavering with any source of pity of such.
“It’s not much but you best get early to your classroom.”
The pumpkin pasties floated over to you, Jun trying to grab at them but failing miserably. You believed your inside warmed up yet not having a single bite of the sweet pumpkin pasties. The shock had taken some time to indulge you. Instead, you were thankful for the gesture by Jeonghan. Until you held your pumpkin pasty in your hand.
Adora was dead silent, letting you talk. She wasn’t involved, you didn’t blame her.
However, you had a choice and it was limited. Accept it and be early to class, don’t accept it and eat at the Great Hall and be late to class or don’t accept it and starve during the test, ultimately, failing from zero concentration. You were choosing the best option.
You were still in surprise. Maybe this was just repayment for last week’s assistance of comfort.
“Jeonghan, I—“
“Just go do your test.” he sighed, placing his hands on his waist.
You nodded and sent him a small smile. He didn’t smile back, you weren’t expecting him to. He already saved you enough.
“Come on, Adora.” You gestured the evidently nervous Adora and hiked back up all the stairs. This time, the two of you weren’t rushing, rather walking upstairs, waiting for the perfect time to talk about it. It wasn’t until the two of you entered your empty classroom that were you allowed to speak freely without the sound of other students near.
“Mingyu doesn’t seem like a dick, but up close he is. Jeonghan seems like a dick, but up close he isn’t,” Adora concluded.
“How do you draw to that conclusion?”
“Unless you have another opinion, Ms L/N,” Adora smirked, finding a spot on top of the back row table. Her approach was insightful, you admitted and you didn’t affirm offence in how she described Mingyu the d-word. Jeonghan helping you out was really a blessing, you believed. You were able to make it to class twenty minutes earlier.
You grabbed your pumpkin pasty wrapper as well as your best friend’s and made your way to the front of the classroom.
“I don’t have anything to say,” you told her truthfully.
“Hey, it’s just like Junhui said. Maybe the two of you are meant for each other. If he can see it, I can too.”
“You guys are so not playing matchmaker right now.” you gasped, watching as the orange wrappers swirl before taking a dip into the empty garbage liner.
“We should be. Have you sorted your stuff out with Mingyu?” Adora asked you.
You walked back through the tangle of tables and sat on top of the table in front of Adora’s. She twirled around so she could see you and the disappointing look your face gave away. “No. It’s been like this for the past week. If I see him in the hallway, I don’t even wave.”
“Sounds like a red flag to me. Even the overall jealousy.”
You didn’t doubt her. She wasn’t wrong that it was a bad indication of how Mingyu got angry easily.
“What do you think I should do?”
The auburn-haired girl pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I strongly believe that you and Jeonghan are a much better match. After you told me what Jun said at the library, it’s been on my mind.”
“Why, though?” you asked softly.
It didn’t make sense—before this, you and Jeonghan wanted to blow each other up. There were people that think that you would actually look good together. You could understand Junhui’s belief in keeping his best friend grounded but how did Adora think you would benefit from a relationship with Jeonghan?
“Not only will you guys look cuter but Jeonghan is also a lot more emotionally available for you than Mingyu. He fits with your time schedule so you’ll get to see him more often.”
How were you taking all of this in? It was like you were actually reflecting the differences between your boyfriend and Jeonghan for a second as if they were two different pairs of shoes you really wanted to wear for one outfit. You shook your head. “Enough. Now test me on technology evolution with Muggles.”
Even if Adora stopped talking, the topic of Jeonghan lingered in your mind.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“How do you think school is going for you guys?” It was more of a question you wanted to ask yourself because of the deepness of homework you were sinking in. Almost brutal to the touch, you hoped that your juniors were going through something easy.
“It’s starting to get harder,” Vernon admitted, filling in another blank on his worksheet.
You nodded and turned to Wonwoo for an answer but before you could, you caught something beside his head that sauntered in through the library doors.
“Mingyu,” Vernon stated for you.
You pursed your lips, seeing another girl, seemingly his year level next to him. They were laughing and chatting. Wonwoo had turned around to catch the honey boy walk in and the world had slowed. A pain slashed into your heart, ridiculing you at the sight.
“Who’s she?” You asked the boys more than yourself.
But all Vernon could do was shrug. Wonwoo, however, answered for you. “She’s one of Mingyu’s friends. They’ve been hanging out for a while together.”
“For a while, as in?”
“Since you guys stopped talking to one another,” Wonwoo told you. He must’ve known that was enough to cut the ties between the two of you, because the next minute, you were yelling for Mingyu from across the room. He caught your eye in a second as if knowing that you were where you were. You wouldn’t be caught surprised if he did, he was sly like that.
Mingyu walked over with the girl, who confusedly looked between you and Mingyu.
“You wanna talk?”
Mingyu looked at you blankly, “Sure.”
With that, he followed you out the door of the library, completely quiet and trying so hard to diminish the awkwardness between the two of you but there was proven to be no way. You and him were going to be like this until the problems themselves diminish.
The outside of the library had no trace of people or soul so you started talking immediately. You knew he was trying to get you back for what happened.
“Look.” You began. “I wasn’t trying to make you mad or anything, the other day. You know that’s definitely not my intention.”
Mingyu sighed. “No, it’s just that I was hurt that you would hang out with the guy that I fought with. It felt like you were on his side or something.”
You shook your head. He got the wrong idea. Completely. “Jeonghan was just going through a hard time and I brought him out of the class, that was it. And besides, there were no sides at all, neither was Jeonghan the one you were fighting. You’re just in the wrong with them.”
“It’s the same thing. He was still threatening me for his best friend and you know how that made me feel?” He was starting to show aggression, far from how a normal Hufflepuff would’ve handled the situation. You didn’t want to anyone thinking that you were in the wrong for something that wasn’t even your fault.
“Okay, thinking rationally, this whole thing was your fault, to begin with as you admitted to cheating―”
“So you go hang around with him?”
You took in a deep breath and let it out, estimating the stress would just air itself out. But another glance at Mingyu proved the exact opposite. “I told you we weren’t hanging and even if we were, it’s bound to happen. Not only are we in the same year level, but we also have some classes together and seating arrangements. Of course, I’m going to have to talk to him and he’s actually kinda okay. Maybe if you didn’t mess things up, he wouldn’t have gone hard on you.”
Your past self wouldn’t have guessed you would come to this stage in your life. Your past would rather die than see the day you defend the Slytherin.
“You complained yourself that he wasn’t nice and he annoyed―”
Mingyu stumbled forwards, his eyes widening. The Hufflepuff riled back to his straight posture, turning to the side to see who it was. It happened to be the very person you were discussing. It gave you a sickening vibe that things were about to turn ugly. You wished for an escape.
“What?” Mingyu asked.
“Stop messing around with her. I can see how much she doesn’t wanna be here from all the way down there.” Jeonghan pointed down the hallway.
He was right, but you couldn’t not defend Mingyu. “Hey, Jeonghan! It’s not like―”
“Don’t ‘hey’ me, dumbass. You’re still in a relationship with this cheater. If he’s cheating in Quidditch, imagine how he’d cheat on―”
Mingyu snapped. He grabbed Jeonghan’s collar in a fistful, causing adrenalin to shoot down your veins, worrying resting at your temple. It seemed that your endless worries were starting to prove the bottomlessness it really was. Why was this happening to you?
Jeonghan’s smirk wasn’t missed as he was hoisted in the air by your boyfriend and you could only assume that this was a bad sign. You didn’t want anything bad happening so you quickly grabbed onto Mingyu, pulling him away.
“Stop, Mingyu!”
He looked over at you, fingers opening to let down Jeonghan who fell gracefully to his feet. His intention was to trigger Mingyu and obtain some sort of victory from it―that was one way to assume Jeonghan’s doings.
“Y/N.” Mingyu pressed on, looking over at you sharply. “You choose me or him.”
“Hey, stop it.” you began, the anger starting to drive into you too. He wasn’t the only one that can show frustration. “This is not like some movie, okay? This is real life and we need to sort our situations sensibly.”
He didn’t talk, simply gawked at what you said. You stared back, just because you didn’t expect this quiet of a reaction from the determined boyfriend. Jeonghan, on the other hand, didn’t miss with a small giggle leaving his lips.
“Fine.” he stated. “I see how it is.”
Mingyu turned around and walked down the hallway. You watched for a few seconds, turning around too, deciding whether it would be the right decision to follow along. The boy was immensely immature, but simultaneously, you were filled with a need to stick to your spot on the ground, determining your dominance in the fight. You weren’t going to let him get away with something this silly.
But when a laugh left Jeonghan and his group of his friends, a sad sigh drew from your lips.
“Mingyu!” you yelled.
He didn’t stop walking.
“I’ll be back,” you said to the Slytherins before running down the hallway, in the attempt of seeking attention from your boyfriend again.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Your lips melded together perfectly into a rushing heated kiss. Back pressed against the wall, you found your hands pressed on Mingyu’s nape as he placed your hands on your waist.
“Oh my God, we haven’t done this in ages,” he said, pulling out at last.
You leaned your head back, catching your breath from the kiss. It wasn’t every day that you would be kissed like that from Mingyu, especially these days where all it seemed to be was bickering with one another or excuses of not meeting up with each other. Mainly Mingyu since he didn’t want to break the rules by sneaking out in the middle of the night.
“I missed it,” you replied with a sigh, feeling relief that the two of you were able to sort out your issues a few hours ago.
“Me too…we gotta go now,” Mingyu said, patting your shoulder. You wished it wasn’t time though. Something about having the satisfaction of his lips back on your mouth was somewhat urging you to ask him to stay back, but you couldn’t.
There was an invisible barrier blocking you from asking the Hufflepuff such an easy question. You were his girlfriend after all, not some random stranger. But the barrier was there and it was telling you not to cross it.
“Sure.” A brief glance into his eyes displayed tension that you couldn’t get past, however, you ignored it and walked down the hallway. Mingyu and you were somehow quiet on the way back to your dormitory as if the make out didn’t just happen. You were in your own headspace, thinking that you were starting to lose touch with Mingyu.
Ever since the incident a few days back, he’s been acting weird. Like he doesn’t want to talk to you much even though you have reconciled your issues.
“Emma!” Mingyu suddenly exclaimed, causing your head to lift up. Your eyes went comically wide, seeing the same girl that was with him when he came into the library on the day of the near-fight with Jeonghan. You squinted, double-checking but there was no doubt. It was the same junior girl that you saw last time.
She had a big grin on her face as she made her way towards the two of you, with you standing there awkwardly.
“Oh, hey, Mingyu. I was looking for you all around the common room! We need to work on the project today and try and finish it off.”
Were you not there?
You cleared your throat, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Project? Do you guys need any help? Because I can be of assistance.”
Mingyu smiled at you tensely. “Ah, no…we’re okay, we’re nearly done. anyways”
You nodded and smiled back, biting the tension away. You didn’t want to be there anymore, a distaste in seeing the two. Like you didn’t like Mingyu anymore.“Okay, why don’t you go, then? I’m sure you guys need to finish it off before the due date so I’m going to go now―”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure! Good night, Mingyu…and Emma.”
You turned around and walked away, a confused feeling stuck in your chest as you did. You’ve never done that before, why were you doing it? You recollected those days when you used to be jealous of girls that talk to him so brazenly and you would no doubt tell it to Mingyu.
You headed back to your dorm, putting your mind off things. It was pretty easy as the first thing you saw was Adora about to throw hands at Wonwoo.
Again.
You stepped in fast, grabbing her off of the poor kid.
"Girl, you better get off me or you’re going to get it too!” she exclaimed. The threat was evident in her voice but didn’t scare you, to say the least. The two of you were used to threatening each other in a way it became the norm.
“Shut the hell up and sort issues out without violence, dumbass.”
Adora paused, coming back to her senses and thank God for that too. You wouldn’t want to live for the day that she struck a punch at Wonwoo, that would be too painful.
“What were you guys were doing anyway?”
“We were discussing―”
“Arguing.” Vernon interrupted cleanly.
“Discussing,” Wonwoo argued. “We were discussing what we were going to do while you were gone.”
“And…?”
“We’re going to go to the library.” Adora answered with a shrug. You walked around the girl and claimed the seat next to her. “Just to hang out and stuff.”
“Wow, I should’ve just stayed with Mingyu,” you said sarcastically.
The three dropped their jaws to the ground, cooking in your comment. You laughed, realising how what you said cut a wound intensely to your friendship.
“No, no! I meant that he was at the library doing a project so I should’ve stayed there if you all were going to go there anyway.” you explained, a hand going to Vernon’s shoulder. They all sang with an understanding tone.
“Really thought you were betraying us like that.” Wonwoo put his hand to his chest, breathing out a relieved sigh.
“Of course not! Now, how long are we going to stay here? Let’s go.” The three of them got up along with you, exiting the Ravenclaw dorm hastily to enjoy the Friday night. Walking in the hallway, their voices echoed throughout.
To be frank, Adora and you were basked in more entertainment when you started talking with Vernon and Wonwoo. Whether it’d be Wonwoo and Adora fighting just for the fun of it or you and Vernon having to get those two back to the dorms because they’ve fallen asleep by each other’s side again after endless arguments―you counted it all as your entertainment.
There was something special of a sort between you and your friends and you were forever cherishing in that. Especially as you walked to the library, you and Vernon exchanged smiles at seeing your friends bicker again.
If you and Jeonghan weren’t enemies, these two definitely were. Arriving at the library, Vernon cut them off.
“I need to show you guys this comic I saw the other day.” He grabbed both Adora and Wonwoo’s wrist and then paused, regarding that he wasn’t holding you too. He pouted a little.
You shook your head and smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll go look at the 'romance’ section anyways.”
“Need to find more erotica? I can hel―”
Adora used her free hand to ball into a fist and hit Wonwoo on the head. His head fell a little. “You idiot. How dare you ask that question to her? She has a boyfriend!”
“Okay, so? It’s only human nature to read what is erotic. Therefore, I’m not asking her anything wrong.”
“Therefore, I’m not asking anything wrong―shut up before I smack you silly. Y/N, listen to me. Go look at all the erotica you like, but don’t take advice from him. Even I know better erotica.” Adora said, pointing sharply at Wonwoo like he was something disgusting under her shoe.
You raised your eyebrows with Vernon. Wonwoo defended himself nicely. “I know better erotica than you―”
“No, you don’t. Don’t argue with me, Four Eyes!”
“I can show you better erotica,” he said to her.
All four of you paused in your respective positions at Wonwoo’s words. Did he just say what you thought he said? Even Vernon let go of Wonwoo to place his hand on his mouth.
“Yo, Wonwoo~ Are you trying to tell her something?” you teased. It was your turn to get hit by Adora. “Ow!”
“Don’t joke like that. I would never do anything like―”
“Wonwoo, don’t you think a great erotica story would be one where you’re doing Adora and you take off your glasses and put it on her. Then, you compliment―”
“Enough. Go read your damn erotica!” Adora said, shoving you out of the way.
Vernon and you erupted with laughter. “I said I was going to look at romance, not erotica. There’s no erotica section in a school. You two started this!”
They tried to argue with you but you were already on your way to the other side of the library.
The rest of them were off to the other side of the library, apparently looking at the comics. You didn’t bother them, on your way to the romance section like you said you were, finding fascination in the particular enemies-to-lovers trope.
“Are you sure she won’t come here?”
“I’m sure. She’s too stupid to even realise that I’m cheating on her.”
“Mhm,” she giggled, looping her arm around his neck. Her lips were nearing closer to him. “Thank God.”
You were frozen, captivated wrongly in the scene your eyes fled to. Particularly noting that it was happening right at the end of the last romance aisle. You felt as if someone had ripped out your heart and stomped on it and that person being Mingyu had caused tears to run freely down your face as you stood there. Just watching.
Funny how merely seconds ago you were joking with your friends and now this.
Body against body, you were met with betrayal. The girl you suspected was actually with him, kissing him so passionately. Mingyu had never done that with you. You were almost discreet of showing public display of affection, it hurt to see that he was open with someone else.
You couldn’t see it any longer. Turning around, you exited the library, allowing the tears to run loose. If Vernon and Wonwoo weren’t there, you would’ve gone to confide Adora straightaway and she would’ve given him all she had but they were there and you were alone. It would be embarrassing to go tell her that now, so you escaped the claws of the self-delusional way of a cheap thrill Mingyu had.
He didn’t see you either.
You looked down even though there weren’t any students that passed the hall at this hour.
Some assignment, he said.
Not only had he lied but he was making out with another girl in the library and in the romance section. You wished to bleach your eyes as the scene refreshed and replayed in your mind like some kind of heated drama.
All you could keep asking yourself was why?
Why were you so easily fooled? You bumped hard into someone.
“Dude, what the hell―dumbass? It’s you?”
You looked up at him as if you were strong and proud of your tears and least to say, he was quite still to see you in tears.
“Yeah, it’s me, everyone’s favourite dumbass. The one that’s so easy to fool because she’s such a dumbass.” you laughed half-heartedly, before sinking your face into your palms again. The sadness came out behind all the anger stored in you. It was like you had so much anger that the way that Jeonghan was in front of you in such a moment, didn’t seem to phase you.
“What happened to you?” he asked, more aggression in his voice than was relevant.
“No, don’t speak to me. I’m a dumbass. Dumbasses don’t know how to speak for themselves.”
Jeonghan held onto your wrist, pulling back an arm to reveal your crying face. You looked to the ground, feeling his stare penetrate through your skull, prompting your heart to go wild at how he was the one that found you out of all people. But with the way that he was staring at you, you found the care that came through it. Like he was waiting for you to explain.
“Right now, as of nine-thirty-one pm, Mingyu is making out with another girl and what did I do? Walked right out and acted as if I didn’t see anything? Yeah, I did. That was me.”
“He did not.”
Jeonghan overlooked your ignorantly sarcastic behaviour, focussing more on the fact that Mingyu cheated on you.
“He did.” you nodded, smiling.
Jeonghan’s grip on your arm got tighter as if bringing you back to your ground. The tears stopped for a whole second.
“Ah, ah!”
“Oh, sorry.” He let your arm fling to your side, then he proceeded to question you. “How could you just walk out like that?”
The way in which he asked the question seethed with toxin.
“Because I’m a dumbass.”
Jeonghan furrowed his eyebrows, his hands placing themselves on his waist. Never in a million years, you would expect Jeonghan to be here when your heart was at stake.
“You dumbass! You know I didn’t mean that! Ugh, just, come on!”
“No. I’m not going back in there!” you yelled arrogantly as he got a grip of your forearm again. He needed to get his anger issues consulted because if he was going on like this, everyone was going to be insulted profoundly.
“Um, yes. You are. Because you’re a dumbass that speaks up for herself. Don’t let anyone step all over you.” Jeonghan turned around, leading the way towards the library.
Instead of objectifying, you proceeded with caution, watching as his face contorted into frustration of some sort. You were seeing a new side of Jeonghan―a preventive side. Why was he helping you out? What happened to his Slytherin class? He held himself up so greatly to the point that you assumed you would never see the day he would be helpful to you in some way.
And yet here he was, dragging you back into the library to stand up for yourself.
He kicked open the library, making you jump in your skin. You didn’t bother trying to tell him where Mingyu was because he was dragging you through the aisles (left, right, up, down) until he finally met the romance section and your doom.
And to your great horror, he was still there.
“Yah, Kim Mingyu!”
Mingyu snapped his attention away to you, his eyes widening at seeing you and Jeonghan there. A dreadful pit dropped into your stomach. Jeonghan pushed you forwards.
You really didn’t want to do this.
But after seeing that girl, Emma, rolling her eyes, it made you more mad.
“What is this, Mingyu? What are you doing?”
Mingyu pushed Emma out of the way, walking down the aisle towards you.
“No. Don’t even come here.” You stood there, wiping away the last tears with your sleeve, glaring at Mingyu. “Breaking my trust was one thing, but being a coward and telling me about it, pushed the line. The least you could’ve done was be honest about it. But you didn’t.”
“Babe. Let me explain.”
You looked away. “Jeonghan, I can’t even look at his face anymore. If you let me stay here any longer, I might actually damage his face for life.”
Jeonghan sniggered beside you and then nodded. “So no slap or…?”
“Not feeling it.” you sighed, placing your hands on your hips. Looking at Mingyu’s face for a longer time made you realise that you weren’t so mad anymore. It must’ve been the distance that separated the two of you the past few days but somehow wounding into your night, looking at him only concluded disappointment in your heart.
It was kind of an annoyance that it would happen on such a good day, so as you and Jeonghan left the library together, with no signs of your friends (they were probably riddled into a good comic), you were alone.
“Come on.” Jeonghan stated, grabbing the sleeve of your top.
“No.” You shook your arm, hoping that he would let go but Jeonghan stuck to you like super glue. “I’m going back to my dorm.”
“And do what? Cry for the rest of the night and then act like nothing was ever wrong…? Exactly. Come with me,”
A final tear slipped down your face loosely, not emitting any particular emotion. It just came down itself without being asked to.
“Where are we going?”
“Shut up.” was all Jeonghan said as he pulled you down the hallway. You might as well be an inanimate object from the way things were going. The pull was strong and you could’ve said anything to it, but you didn’t. Partly, you knew that Jeonghan was trying to help and him helping was better than spending a night alone with tears running down your face crazily. When Jeonghan brought you outside the castle, you were beginning to dispute his actions, wondering if he was purposely doing this so you guys get in trouble.
“How about the Dementors?” you asked, feeling a bold shiver run down your spine as you hiked the fresh grass patches. The sound of waves crashing slowly onto the shore of the lake resonated the night, along with branches swaying. The night was bright, notably because of the white moonlight that decided to stripe against you and Jeonghan.
“What about them?”
You rolled your eyes at him, acknowledging there wouldn’t be a way out of this. He had let go by now and the two of you were finding a spot amongst the field.
“Here.” you motioned, slinking down into a sitting position. By now, all tears were dispersed from your space. You were indulged in relaxing your body against the night’s sways. Jeonghan sat next to you.
The silence bathed in itself, the calm yet rough wind delivering cool air to your body. That’s what you liked about nights. Not only was it a perfect time to study, but the cool breeze from opening your window in the slightest also delivered satisfactory cool air. Jeonghan bringing you here could only mean he enjoyed it similarly.
“You’re not crying anymore,” he noted.
You nodded, folding your knees to your chest habitually. “We weren’t doing as well anyways. I don’t wanna cry for him too. He didn’t trust me and ended up breaking my trust…God, I didn’t even expect this.”
Jeonghan converted his shift towards the Black Lake.
“I’m not the best to comfort, however, he is such a big asshole for doing that to you.” Jeonghan said.
And that in itself was able to soothe your racing heart, calming down the nerves that came from the cheating incident.
“Geez, I didn’t expect you out here out of all people when things turn bad.” became the only way you could reply. You really didn’t know what else to say.
“Me neither.” Jeonghan agreed.
You shook your head, another important thought slipping into your head, one that was staying in your mind like an undefeated fire, soon taking over every single part of your brain. Every time you had spare time, your mind would aimlessly wander to this question.
Of course, as a Ravenclaw, you had not one, but variants of answers in which Jeonghan could answer―carefully analysed and thought of too but it was the best to hear from him.
“How come you’re talking to me now? Don’t you Slytherins hate everyone except your kind?” You made sure to sound doubtful about him so that he would answer properly.
“You’re okay.”
“I’m okay?” you scoffed, turning your head towards the pretty boy. He was still busy examining nothing in the lake. The night was light, but when it came to the Black Lake’s side, nothing shone over there. It was concealed. “What’s not okay?”
“That you’re not a Slytherin.” he answered, his own smile on his face. You laughed along, finding truth in his voice. You liked that he was truthful, unlike some people.
You sat for a while, admiring the lake’s beauty even though it was quite dark for the eyes to adjust to. Being with Jeonghan made it better. You were smiling too instead of having a glare around him. It was like a miracle.
“You know something, Jeonghan?”
“What?”
“You’re more tolerable than I expected these days.”
“Hm, why do you say that?” His voice had gone one octave lower, making you look over at him. Jeonghan seemed tired, though you couldn’t exactly tell.
“Because…because you’re being nice for once.”
“Or maybe…you’re into me,” Jeonghan smirked.
Your eyes widened, heart racing as you captured a glance of his eyes. They seemed only half-open and doe-shaped. God had given him sexy and cute in one person, you couldn’t take it anymore. Just looking at him made you want to hit your head on the wall, making you question your own morals.
You just got out of a relationship, why were you already looking at him like a next target? But your mouth had answered before you could.
“Maybe I am.”
Jeonghan chuckled. “You know that would make you equally as bad as Mingyu?”
“No.” you told him, shaking your head. “I’m not in a relationship, I can say what I want.”
“But technically, you must’ve been thinking about this for a while before telling me,” he said. You had an answer for everything.
“Or I could’ve just found you attractive?”
“Or you just never wanted to admit it before because it would’ve made things awkward between us?”
Scratch that. Jeonghan always had an answer for everything. You looked away with a smile, prompting a giggle from the boy. There was no arguing with him.
“There’s no beating you.” you sighed.
“Glad you admit it.”
“I hate that you’re being nice, though. Since when were you nice?”
“I don’t like seeing you be nice too, love.” he admitted, the ‘love’ getting you to zip your mouth so quickly. The first time he called you that, you didn’t feel anything. But now there was this rumbling feeling inside you that caused your body to heat up in the cold night. There was no other explanation for this.
“I’d take you on a date…”
You whipped your head back at him.
“But―” Jeonghan’s perspective darted to your lips. “I’d rather we wait it out a little.”
“I was going to say that anyways.” you said. “I don’t want a relationship right now. Besides, we never got to know each other properly. Let’s do that.”
Jeonghan nodded. “So you actually have feelings for me?”
“Do you?”
“You caught me there.” he smiled. You waited a brief second for him to answer. He didn’t. Your heart was pounding in your ears.
“So you do?”
He nodded.
“For how long?”
The night’s breeze quickened, your eyes following the stars up. You could see a Dementor in the distance. It didn’t scare you much, to say the least, it was more like you were used to seeing it there, flying around lonely. If Jeonghan hadn’t found you in tears, you would’ve felt like a Dementor. All lonely.
“Last week.”
“All the tension finally got to you.” you commented.
“It did.”
When you were first seated with Jeonghan, you imagined stargazing to get along, you didn’t expect it to actually happen. Lupin’s plan to make your year level mingle with each other with something as simple as a seating plan was coming into reality.
#seventeen#kpop#carat#seventeen vocal team#seventeen vocal unit#seventeen jeonghan#seventeen yoon jeonghan#yoon jeonghan#jeonghan#seventeen x fanfic#seventeen x oc#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x you#seventeen x reader#jeonghan x y/n#jeonghan x you#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan fanfiction#jeonghan fanfic#jeonghan svt#seventeen fanfic#seventeen be the sun#seventeen face the sun#seventeen fanfiction#jeonghan x oc#jeonghan x fanfic#svt#svt jeonghan#seventeen x harry potter#hogwarts au
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𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲’𝔯𝔢 𝔐𝔢𝔞𝔫…
True Form!Sukuna x Fem!Afab!Reader (This is an AU!!! Sukuna is not a homicidal maniac cannibalistic murderer! I think he’s sexy and my morals say no dick from crazy murderer BUT dick from crazy 😍)
CW: violence in this chapter, threats, bloodiness, implied sexual violence and objectification
Description: You've been friends with Yuji Itadori for some time now and have seen the best, the worst, and the strange in all your years of knowing him. You've never thought he was one to have any crazy secrets and well... you were wrong. And now the demon bound to Yuji is bound to you too! How fun! Good thing that you aren't stupid and won't fall for a being that by no means should you have ever interacted with! Right? Right...?
*despite this being an aged up version of yuji, there will be no sexual stuff involving him, also the violence is only in the first chapter with a few mentions after that!!! Cross posted on Ao3 under Spicycrunchroll! THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT LATER ON!*
Chapter 1: Never Again.
Poor you, stuck with a gay best friend and his gay boyfriend and exclusively terrible, gross men. The struggle of getting a good man was hard enough, let alone getting some good dick. Even gay men will tell you how bad some dudes are. Its one thing to finish in 2 minutes and cry after, at least there's sympathy, but a whole other thing to just be kicked out of the guy's house immediately and left wearing d r y panties with cum on your shorts. Yeah, never hooking up again, you tell yourself each time. Now, you found yourself wiping the oil off your face with a clammy hand while dialing Yuji's number, having just been booted out this guys house in the middle of the night. It rang only about twice before he picked up.
"Please don't tell me something bad happened." He said on the other line.
You sighed, walking to the end of your date's driveway and sitting on the ground. "Worse than usual. Can you pick me up? I'll send you the address." Your head hung low and your eyes felt heavy, wanting to cry but not having the energy to do so. At this point, you're never fucking anyone again. Let alone agreeing to suck them off before you get off. "I should've known that all his talk were lies."
You could hear him breathe in. "Yeah, I'm coming. Wanna stay over?" He asked jubilantly, as if to raise your spirits.
You smiled softly. "Could you stay at my place instead?"
"Hell yeah!"
You said your goodbyes and opened your phone, aimlessly scrolling on social media while looking for something to distract you from the disappointment of being used up and left to the corner, dehumanized again by a shitty man with a big ego. God, it made you sick. It wouldn't take long for Yuji to get to you, but it wasn't fun waiting either. Each minute ticked on by as if an hour had passed and all you wanted to do was throw away your shorts and shower off the stench of vape juice and alcohol. You didn't want to get in his car and start sobbing about how you wished you never did what you did, not because Yuji wouldn't listen, but because of your own embarrassment. Itadori has always been kind and much more level-headed (at least with this, he's usually just as stupid as you) so its extra embarrassing to have to tell him you sucked off a guy who didn't even get you wet. At least he was clean, you tell yourself, deleting Tinder from your phone for the last time. Never again will you take subpar dick from grown men who act like children! No, from now on, your body only allows worthy men, men that would worship you like you'd worship them!
After sulking for another five minutes, the engine of a car in the distance rumbled in your ear. Straightening your back, your head turned in the direction of where it’s approaching. It’s approaching way too fast for a regular suburban neighborhood. Rising to your feet to take a step back, it already turned down the street you happened to be on and you could hear sirens go off in your head, especially as you noticed that none of their lights were on and they definitely didn’t have tags. The van sped past you but they started to slow down before they reached the end of the street. You felt your heart rate surge when you realized they came to a complete stop. At that moment you realized that they were turning around.
Quickly, your legs brought you to the house you had just left and you banged on the door for a few seconds and screamed.
“Hey! Let me back in!!! It’s not safe!” The roar of the car started again and your intuition told you to run so that’s what you did.
Fuck, who knows who these mother fuckers are! Your mind is racing thinking about what they could potentially do if they caught you. Did they know you were here? Did they just happen to see you? Or… did the motherfucker inside of that house tell them you were here? Oh fuck… that’s why he kicked you out.
Tears started falling from your eyes as you ran through these people’s yards, you could see lights coming on in some houses, but it was no use because the car behind you stopped and three men came out the side door. You prayed that your human survival instincts would kick in and catapult you to go faster than you were, but they were bigger than you and right on your tail. Your legs ached and burned, practically sprinting and trying not to trip in the road. You didn’t dare look behind you, scared to slow yourself down, and scared of them. You kept on running and running until you reached the end of the road and saw headlights.
“Yuji!” You screamed, recognizing the shape and color of his car. With you out in the road, he stopped abruptly and you could see his body jerk with the impact. The men behind you cursed themselves but you felt hands on you faster than Yuji could process what was going on.
“Get her now! He’s coming behind us we’ll throw her in!” The man lifted you and you screamed again, but a hand swiftly covered your mouth. Yuji was out of the car and lunged at the guy holding you captive but was quickly stopped and apprehended by the other two.
“The kid has some fucking balls!” The biggest of the guys holding Yuji shouted, earning a strong blow to the chin. You thrashed against the man’s body as the large van from earlier came up right behind you.
Yuji looked at you as blood dripped from his nose. “Y/n! I got it, I promise!”
You held out hope and believed him even as you were thrown inside the van and the driver pulled away from the scene, leaving the two men with Yuji and you with a man wearing all black pressing you into the floor of the van. Tears spilled from your eyes, angered and terrified at the same time.
“Looks like we got a real good catch!” The driver harrumphed. “Bet she’ll go for a pretty penny.”
Your mind practically stopped when you heard those words. You were going to be sold, like an object, like a slave. The horror of it all made your body go numb and eyes go wide and then you closed them.
“Please.” You begged. “Please let me go.” Your voice was hoarse and you could taste your own tears as your mouth opened.
“No can do. We were told that you’d fetch a high price with your skills. Don’t worry, some girls get a good owner.” His voice was menacing and cold, but he spoke as though he actually fucking believed it. He didn’t even laugh at your pain like a monster would, he was just indifferent, emotionless.
“Please.” You begged again. “I can’t do it, please let me out!” This time your voice raised. “Help!” Your mouth was stuffed with cloth and your face was buried more into the floor as he bound your wrists.
The driver started to chastise the other man. “Why didn’t you gag her right away, the dumb bitch is louder than a dying cat!”
The other man cussed back. “Shut the fuck up, there isn’t nobody coming after us!”
The van stopped so fast you and the man were flung to the front of the car, colliding with the back of the front seats.
“What the fuck!” The man that was holding you down swore. His arms were now off you and the bindings he attempted were loose enough that you released your wrists and went for your gag. “No you don’t!” He reached for your clothes, yanking you back. Before you were held against your will again, the entire van split down the middle, from door to door. The back half of the van was flung off to the side before it became a cut up mess in the middle of the road.
Then you saw him. His hair was the same color as Yuji’s but was much less controlled. You could see what looked like four arms and a giant smiling mouth in the middle of his stomach. Every single person in the van went still and silent, staring at him. The creature looked inside and dead at you, bright red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. All four of them. Even the two on the side of his face that looked almost like a mask. He can’t be real. The tattoos all over his body were arranged in such a pattern that it was beautiful but something that scared you even more.
The creature spoke. “Now.” His gaze shifted from you to the man holding you. “I prefer it when I can get a good fight out of my opponents, but you lot are pathetic.” He looked disappointed. “Normal humans…”
No one spoke and he pouted. “Not a single retort? None of you pathetic excuses of flesh can say a word? You had a lot to say about selling the woman, can’t you entertain me? Or are your brains so simple you can’t think outside of making money off selling one of your own?”
Their own? Did he mean… humans?
The man behind you was shaking. And you could definitely feel his pants getting wet.
The creature before you sucked his teeth. “Boooring.” He narrowed his eyes. “And pathetic.” The vehicle was slashed once again, this time cutting into thirds, leaving you and the man holding you isolated in the middle while the other two thirds, including the driver collapsed around you. You heard squelches of flesh from the front and gasping. “You said she sounded like a dying cat, hm? Since you prefer the quiet so much, I thought I’d help you.” The creature chuckled.
The man holding you finally let you go, and he turned around to see the driver. You didn’t look. You knew what the creature did. Scurrying away, you realized headlights were approaching again and… it was Yuji!
“Ahhh, the brats already here. Well, I can’t kill you lot so how about I leave the piss-soaked one with a lesson.”
You didn’t know if you should thank the monster or run from him. You decided to run toward Yuji’s car.
Another crack resounded in your ears and then a gut-chortling scream resounded from behind you. “There we are. Something nice and fast. I hope they don’t find you until the morning.” You didn’t want to know what he did, you didn’t want to dare to turn around, all you cared about was the car door opening for you and Yuji’s comforting presence.
He looked so relieved to see you. “Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Don’t worry about those guys. I got you now. Sukuna won’t kill them, he can’t, but they’ll never ever do anything like that again to anyone.” Those were the first words to meet your ears. You didn’t say anything, all you did was sob in the seat next to him as he drove off and away from the scene. You didn’t ask anything. You didn’t want to. All that mattered was getting the fuck away from this and home and into a clean bed.
You could care about this later.
“I would’ve killed them if it wasn’t for this contract.” Your heart jumped out of your chest as the monster’s voice resounded in the backseat. “Sorry you don’t get the pleasure of knowing they’re dead.”
#jjk#jjk x reader#Sukuna x reader#Sukuna smut#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryoumen smut#Sukuna x reader smut#jjk smut#yuji itadori
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Bird of Prey ~ Chapter 8: Forging a Warrior
Bird of Prey masterlist. Azriel x Reader.
Chapter summary: Azriel helps you open up about your past.
Story rating: Mature - Minors DNI
Warnings: Child abuse, neglectful/absent parents, torture (yes again i'm sorry she's been through a lot)
Word count: 2.6k
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“My parents,” you started, “were mates. I know that’s not exciting for the Inner Circle, with your abnormal amount of mating bonds. It’s almost statistically impossible, really.”
Azriel laughed and shook his head softly at the comment.
“For the common people who don’t take baths in mythical objects, you know that’s rare. Very rare. My mother was a respected officer in the Dawn legions, and so was my father in the Illyrian army. They both were powerful enough to gain recognition at the time. When their bond snapped, everyone was uneasy at the thought of a child born of the two courts, but the idea of fated offspring from two powerful magic wielders was enough for them to tolerate their offspring. They kept it all very hush-hush, until they were certain where I’d end up.”
“I say they’re mates but it certainly wasn’t the romantic dream people portray.” you continued. “The hate between Peregryns and the Illyrian… well, I’m sure you’re aware of how deeply entrenched it is. When I was born, I was just a piece of property to be used as a bargaining chip. Dawn and Night battled over me like children, claiming they had the right to claim me. In the end, it was settled that I’d get education in both courts, that negotiations would take place when I’d have my first bleed, and that I’d be married off to someone in whichever court ended up not owning me.” You shuddered slightly at the memory. You’d been made aware of the potential suitors during your teenage years, and you knew a future with the men that each high lord put forward would be misery.
Azriel’s face darkened. He seemed not to be a fan of the arranged marriages that run rampant in Illyria, you thought.
“I’d have expected such a trade from the Illyrians,” he said through gritted teeth, “but for the Dawn court to be involved in such dealings… They must’ve expected a lot from you.”
You let out a snort. That wasn’t even the beginning of it.
“This was Thesan’s doing?” he added, and you could practically see the spymaster master gears start running in his head.
“No, I think Thesan would’ve done things differently.” You had never truly met him, but you’d heard enough from the people through your travels. He was a much kinder man or, at the very least, not someone who’d encourage the treatment you’d received as a mere child. Azriel appeared relieved at your words.
You hadn’t known the Shadowsinger that long, but you’d seen enough to understand he was willing to go to great lengths for the people he… cared about. There was no other way to put it. He’d begun caring for you as you had for him and, even if it scared you to death, it brought you much comfort.
“They expected me to move mountains,” you said, “and stop a thousand-man army without breaking a sweat by the time I was twelve. I was trained in every type of combat they could think of from the moment I could stand and hold a stick. Imagine a 6-year-old being treated like any grown soldier in the camps... I could deal with the physical training, but it was the hate and mockery of both courts that dealt the most damage. I hadn’t even grown my first flight feathers before I had heard every sort of insult possible and faced beatings from soldiers of all ages.”
“My parents…” you added hesitantly as you felt your voice wavering, “They didn’t care. If anything, they encouraged the others, because what worth could I have if I couldn’t protect myself? They berated me whenever I told them, they’d answer that it didn’t matter that the ones dealing the blows were twice my age, as I’d have to face much worse ‘out there in the real world’.
It deteriorated as I got older, without any magic to show for myself. The courts were growing restless, demanding things I couldn’t give them and, when I wasn’t able to do as they asked, they took any means possible to verify I wasn’t lying. During those years, they put me through pain… pain I hadn’t even imagined was possible.”
You blinked and looked up at the light blue morning light, trying and failing to keep your tears from falling. You felt the phantom slice of the blades, the coals, the spears they had used, every time you fell asleep. They’d keep you from unconsciousness each time and healers healed your wound, but you didn’t need the scars they’d erased as a reminder. You still carried your past with you every day.
You felt the subtle touch of Azriel’s shadows, still roaming hesitantly where you were perched on the railing. They slid over your shoulders, a weight to keep you anchored in the present. Azriel approached you silently, conscious of your distress. He looked murderous, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. He raised a hand towards you but seemed to think better of it and retreated. You gripped him before he had the chance, uncertainty in his eyes at the contact of your skin against his. You silently ran your thumb over his rigid knuckles, trying to match the rhythm of his respiration as to calm yourself and focusing on the texture beneath the pads of your fingers.
You knew of the burns on his hand, you’d noticed them almost immediately upon meeting him, but they were anything but repulsive, despite what he seemed to think. They were a part of his history, what had made him into the man he is now, and you found that there was a pride to be found in them. It showed he’d survived, that he was stronger than what had happened to him.
He relaxed after a moment and stepped closer to you, hesitantly wiping your tears away with his free hand.
You were too deep in your own mind to think about the intimacy of the situation.
“When they finally realized that I was as good as powerless” you said, “No one wanted me. From that moment, I was just a disgusting half-breed on which they’d wasted their time. It didn’t matter that I could take on their best soldiers from adolescence, my blood was too tainted for them to bother with me. My father turned his back on me and stopped contact entirely. My mother decided to keep me in the end, and I still don’t know if it was a moment of weakness at the thought of leaving her child at the mercy of the world, or if it was just in hopes of me eventually discovering some hidden powers. I never asked her; I was too afraid of the answer. She sent me to some second residence she owned, hidden away from anyone else, where I kept training on my own and worked myself into the ground, still desperately hoping I could be what they all wanted.”
Azriel frowned. “I understand you would be easily recognizable in Illyria, but how could people even tell you weren’t fully Peregryn in Dawn? Surely, they couldn’t notice it at first glance.”
“The knowledge of my existence had traveled too far. Dawn had paraded me like cattle, hoping to lay claim. There’s also… There’s one obvious thing. It’s something I’ve kept hidden for a while now. I think the Vanseras might be the only ones outside of Dawn who even know about it. It’s very visible and it puts a target on my back. I didn’t want my presence tracked across Prythian that easily after I left Autumn.”
It was time for someone to know, you thought. If only to be able to stretch your wings, to finally get rid of the fears that you held for them. You steeled yourself for what you were about to do and looked around towards the house, peering into the balcony doors and to the roof, making sure you weren’t watched. The last thing you wanted was for this to reach Rhysand’s knowledge. His father had done enough damage to you as is, you didn’t need him to try and do the same.
At your hesitance, some of Azriel’s roaming shadows slithered in all surrounding areas, sweeping over windows and doors. “There’s no one here to see.” he reassured you softly after a moment, from where he now stood between your parted legs, your hands still joined together. You felt your anxiety fade a little; you didn’t find any dishonesty in his words.
You hesitated, still. He pointed his chin at his own membranous wings, and they stretched, slightly curved inward towards you, and brushed along each of your shoulders. He was inviting you to follow his movements, you realized.
Slowly, you straightened your spine and used the rarely used muscles that crossed your back to slowly unfold your wings. You kept them at a certain distance from Azriel’s, you weren’t quite ready for that type of contact. You winced at your wings’ stiffness, but shook them out to fully extend them, exposing the inky black dawn feathers that lined their interior surface.
Azriel’s mouth opened slightly in shock as he studied the expanse of plumage, razor focused. You knew they were unusual, the harsh contrast of white and black and sharp corners of them drawing the eye, and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious at his reaction. While you held no hate towards your own wings, you’d never let someone fully examine them since you were a child and had only ever received insults from others about their appearance.
“They’re beautiful, Dove.” he breathed, following every feather. The tension you held didn’t leave you.
“You might be the first one to say that.” you laughed half-heartedly.
His eyes cut to yours sharply. “They must’ve all been idiots, because those are the most magnificent wings I’ve ever seen.”
You flushed at the praise, barely holding his gaze as you shied at the attention. His hands twitched between yours, no doubt itching to study the feathers closer, and you guided one of his towards the closest ones. You instinctively felt the need to fold your wings away from the touch of another person, but you held a tight lid on your feelings and stayed as still as possible when his fingers brushed against one of the longest flight feathers.
You only twitched at the contact, keeping your focus on Azriel’s expression. He looked mesmerized as he explored the surface under his touch. You had no trouble believing he hadn’t lied about liking them, his childlike wonder blowing away any doubts you may have had earlier.
“You have a bigger wingspan than I do.” he said unexpectedly with narrowed eyes, as if the thought had slipped from him unwillingly. You couldn’t stop the startled laugh that escaped you, amusement flaring through you. He’d just added an onslaught of teasing to his future.
Your fidgeting hands found his wings too as you giggled. You waited for a moment before touching them, and he made no comment on your intentions despite you knowing he was fully aware of your movements. He never missed anything. You barely touched the membrane, but then softly ran your fingers along the base of his talons and you felt him shudder under your hands.
“Don’t- Don’t start something you won’t finish, Dove.” he said hoarsely, lightly gripping the feather he was examining. You laughed again as you remembered the sensitivity of the Illyrian wings. You’d never had the opportunity to study these reactions up close, having never laid with an Illyrian, but you’d heard about the anatomy all the same in the camps.
“I won’t torment you today.” you teased softly, your hands retreating to rest at the nape of his neck.
He tried to imitate the gesture you’d attempted earlier, receiving nothing but another light twitch in response. “Do you not feel that?” he questioned, indignant at your lack of reaction.
“I do and it feels nice, we just have different… different erogenous zones.”
“Of course, you’d be the one person to actually call it an ‘erogenous zone’.” he muttered under his breath as you continued giggling at his display of irritation. You couldn’t help but think that he might get to figure how to make you shiver too… but only if you stayed. The last thought dampened your mood. You shouldn’t be thinking about that now. Trust him, you reminded yourself, Stop thinking about fleeing.
You curled your fingers into his hair and sighed as he continued his ministrations. Despite your thoughts, you were far more relaxed than you’d been in a long time. You didn’t remember ever letting someone touch your wings without you being forced or pressured into it, and the care he put into caressing the soft dawn feathers felt heavenly. You leaned forward and sighed, face dropping to Azriel’s neck and finger still raking through his curls.
“I didn’t tell you everything yet.” you murmured.
Azriel hummed in response, the decision to continue or not remaining yours. You didn’t want to break the moment, but you couldn’t stop halfway through. You didn’t move away from him as you spoke softly against his skin.
“When my mother died, I didn’t inherit anything.” You started. “I don’t know who got her things instead. Some officer from the legion just showed up one day, broke the news, and promptly kicked me out. I barely had time to pack a bag. I didn’t feel like I could stay in Dawn, but I didn’t have anywhere to go either. I tried to send a letter to my father and never got a reply, so I naively assumed he didn’t receive it. I knew he had no interest in me previously, but I thought he’d show some mercy to a child he’d had with his mate. I traveled there and- well, you know the rest.”
Azriel stayed silent for a moment. “Your parents were some right shitheads.”, he finally said, and you didn’t have to see him to guess the frown that adorned his face.
“You’re telling me.” you muttered. “I take special comfort in knowing they both died painfully. Those two assholes both ended up rotting away alone in their courts from infections, not gloriously on the battlefield like they must’ve dreamt.” Fate had gotten that right, at least.
He chuckled and let go of your wings, instead wrapping his arms loosely around you, completely undeterred by the cruelness of your words. You basked in his closeness.
The moment was too short for your liking before his grip on you tightened. A few of his shadows emerged from the balcony doors, and he groaned deeply.
“We have approximately 2 minutes before Rhys and Amren come here to try and convince you to start training your magic.” he said.
You muttered a few choice words that conveyed exactly what you thought of the idea.
“That’s what I thought you’d say, Dove.” You pulled back and glanced at him. He had a mischievous look in his eyes. “You know, there’s a lot to do in the city.”
“I feel like an escape plan might be brewing,” you said with an arched brow. He smiled in response. “Won’t they be mad at you for leaving with me?”
“Not if they don’t catch us.” he laughed.
Rhysand and Amren found nothing but the remnants of your scents, flowing through the breeze.
Finally another soft moment 🙏 be prepared for a LOT of (requited) pining y'all
I've got a couple chapters already written that I'll just need to edit over the next few weeks, so the update will continue like they have so far!
As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think about the story and your theories on what's happening next 💛💛
Banner created by the amazing @saradika!
Taglist: @sapphenaa @minnieoo @weasleyreidstyles
#azriel x reader#azriel#acotar#acotar x reader#acotar fanfic#azriel fanfic#azriel POV#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#enemies to lovers#bird of prey
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Hey, I'm 20 and I still have barely any stubble. I've always wanted to rock a stubble or 3 day beard look to make me look a bit more rugged, and I'm getting worried that might not ever happen... is there any way you can help me?
I remember when I was 20 years old I always wanted to have an extremely thick beard. Once to make every man twice my age green with envy. So. That’s what I’m doing to you! Granted you’ll be..different. You make the wish to have a thick stubble a beard even. Instantly you body becomes very itchy. Almost like you have fleas. You’re not sure what’s going on and you take your shirt off only to see thick dark hairs sprouting across your body ! What’s worse is you see hair falling from your head !! I’m sorry but it’s what happens when you have such a high testosterone. You get severe male pattern baldness. And you’re not going to be an exception. But just as you hair is falling out a thick beard begins to grow on your face. One you’ll have to have to shave daily to keep it at bay. You can be clean shaven in the morning and have a full beard by 5oclock. Not even a shadow. I’m talking about a full blown beard. Look at you now. You shaved clean this morning and boom. Bearded man by 5. You’ll never know a day again with out being considered extremely hairy. Even your feet are coated in the same dark hair as the rest of your body. And what’s even more. You may look 40. But I’ve made it so you’re still 20. That’s right. You’re still 20. And you know, men only get hairier as they get older.
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Logan Howlett/Wolverine x F!Summers!Reader - That’s my sister!
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GIF IS NOT MINE!
Requested by @thefandomdiaries07
Word Count: 1,819
Summary: You’re Scott Summers’ younger Sister and you’re dating the Wolverine in secret, until Scott finds out...
Warnings: mentions of age gap, fight scene (nothing too graphic), bit of angst but with happy ending
Requests are open
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You took a moment to think about what decision in your life had brought you into this scenario. How you, (Y/N) Summers, elegit member of the X-Men and sister to one of the greatest Mutants out there, pressed into a wall in an abandoned corridor of the X-Mansion with the Wolverine pressed into your body while his lips traced down your neck. His beard that roughly brushed over your soft skin distracting you from any coherent thought that you might’ve had in this moment.
Your hands wandered to his wide shoulders, you could feel how they tensed at your touch. Though you planned on pushing him away from the fear of being caught by a student or worse your brother still on your mind Logan had other plans. His hands wandered ever so closer up from your thigh to your ass. When you found enough common sense in your brain you attempt to push at his upper body despite that no matter what he would be unmoving Logan only squeezed your ass.
The moment he did you let out a gasp of surprise and he took the opportunity to plant a kiss on your lips that grew in intensity. While Logan pressed further into your body you stop fighting him and melted into his arms humming when his tongue swept over your bottom lip.
“What in the actual shit are you two doing?!” a voice broke both of you apart. With wide eyes at the familiar voice you pushed away from Logan while he although reluctantly took a step away from you.
Scott, fuming with gritted teeth, walked up to you both. “(Y/N)! Of all the people, him?!” without even glancing in Logan’s direction he pointed at him. Logan slapped Scott’s hand away anger starting to raise up in him when his nostrils flared. “Missed the point where it’s your concern, Bub.” He growled at Scott who now turned his attention to Logan shielding you from Logan.
“It’s my business because that’s my fucking sister you’re pushing your tongue into!” Scott mimicked Logan’s clenched jaw as they both stared each other down. You laid your hand on Scott’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down but he pushed your hand away looking over his shoulder to you. Even with his glasses on you could feel the disappointment that filled his eyes. “She’s just a girl, Logan!” Scott returned back to him. Logan only huffed at that crossing his arms over his chest. “She ain’t a kid anymore, Summers.”
Nothing in this world could’ve prepared your for Scott’s next move as he balled his hand into a fist and without thinking twice punching Logan square in the face. It did barely anything to Logan whilst Scott’s hand cracked with uncomfortable sound of breaking bones. Scott flinched away at the pain but a second later it was Logan who threw the next punch into the other man’s ribs.
Pulling yourself out of the stupor your body seemed to be under you screamed at them to stop, trying desperately to separate the two fighting men to no avail. So desperate to separate the two before anyone gets seriously hurt which would probably be Scott you missed one of the punches. Who’s fist it was, you couldn’t tell but one moment you tried to pull Scott away from Logan and the next moment a fist hit your square in the head sending you down to the floor.
Everything felt numb when you opened your eyes still laying on the floor with a worried Ororo hovering over you. She was calling out your name you believe but her voice sounded so far away. It was then that you looked over her shoulder to see both Scott and Logan stopping their fight, Hank between them to stop it. All three looked at you with worry in their eyes flickering.
Logan was a bit faster to break out of Hank’s grip. Scott followed him suit and as they both bent to check on you, you only pushed away from tears pricking your eyes. In any other situation you would feel sorry for Logan how his face washed over with guilt and regret but he brought this upon himself just as Scott.
“(Y/N)…” Scott tried to gently grab your arm but you ripped it out of his grasp. “Get out of my face. Both of you.” The fury in your eyes was clear first directed at Scott who flinched away at the harshness of your words before your eyes landed on Logan whose face fell with regret.
Even Ororo glared at them. Surely this would bring consequences to the both of them. “Come on, sweety, let’s get you to Jean to check your head?” giving a reassuring smile Ororo helped you up and without giving Scott or Logan another glance you left.
“This is your fault?” Scott fumed at Logan who gritted his teeth at him. “My fault?! Everything has gone perfectly fine before you showed up!”
“My fucking sister, Logan! If she’s dying because of you I will…” Hank went in between them again having watched on long enough. “Either get this outsight or pull yourselves together.” Hank warned ripping the two man from each other. Still glaring at each other they left the corridor in opposite directions probably to blow of some steam or so Hank hopes.
-
To say that Jean was angry at Scott for his reaction was an underestimate. The moment you were brought into her she bombarded both you and Ororo with questions. There was no use to hide the relationship with Logan anymore so you told her everything and if it wasn’t for your injury one of them gave you Jean would’ve already gone to rip Scott another one before giving Logan a piece of her mind.
“They both can be lucky I wasn’t there.” Jean ranted after you finished your little anecdote. She dabbed a bit to harshly over the open wound on your eyebrow and you flinched which had Jean stop and apologize her face softening in the process. “I’m just so angry at them both. But losing one of them doesn’t cut it either. Scott is my brother, we’ve been through a lot together. And Logan….I really tried to get away from him because I know how Scott would react but…” you shrugged your shoulders. “I believe it’s not us you have to tell this.” Ororo said patting your shoulder affectionately as Jean finished to clean up your wounds.
You thanked them both and chose to lay down for the day. It was eventful as it was and you needed to sort out your thoughts probably. So it’s what you did. Locking yourself in your room in your most comfortable pyjamas and your favourite movie.
A knock on your door had woken you up hours later. It was already dark outside and for a moment you were confused not realizing that you had fallen asleep during the movie. Despite the pounding in your head you pushed yourself up from your bed and made your way to the door.
The moment you opened it you wanted to slam it back close at the sight of Logan and Scott standing in your doorway but Scott like the annoying brother he was got his foot between the door and the frame like he always when your were kids and wanted to bother you. “Just want to talk, please (Y/N).” it was Logan’s attempt at pleading that had you open the door again.
“Can we come in?” Scott asked and you pondered over his request for a minute before you sighed and stepped aside. “How’s your head?” Logan looked at you after he had closed the door behind him worry written over his features. “What do you want?” I asked them looking from Logan to Scott and back. Both shared a look before Scott sighed, hands wandering through his hair in the process.
“I…” he stopped as Logan glared at him. “We…” he corrected frowning at Logan before returning his attention to you. “We wanted to apologize.” Logan agreed with a nod before he continued on. “None of us ever meant to harm you in any way. And we both feel sorry that we did.” You noticed how his hand flinched at his side in his best attempt to control his urge to not grab your hand. A habit he had picked up after you started you secret relationship.
“Do you even understand why I’m so angry at you both?” you questioned them hoping that the hurt in your eyes let the guilt fill their veins. And as both looked away and to the ground you took over the conversation again. “You both are the most important people in my life and it’s hard to witness you to fight every time you cross paths.” You walked over to Scott your fist meeting his chest playfully. “Scott, I know you just want to protect me, but news flash, I ain’t a little girl anymore and can look after myself and it’s my decision who I’m dating or not if you like him or want to see him six feet under.” Scott pursed his lips but nodded. “And you deserved this.” You pointed out to bandaged hand and Scott scrunched his nose at that knowing how right you were.
Then you turned to Logan. “And Logan, I know how hard it is to love again. I understand your fear and your anger and never in my life will I ever hold this against you, but Scott is my family and if you love me just even a little bit, if our relationship means anything to you, at least try to get along with him. I don’t ask you two to be friends or anything but to be at least decent enough to not let your anger get the best of you.” After you finished your little speech you laid your hand in Logan’s and finally he looked at you and he gave you a soft half smile. “So…we’re forgiven?” tipping your finger on your chin you thought for a moment. “For the moment, yes.” Now Logan’s smile grew into a smirk as he leant down to plant a kiss on your lips but before his lips could actually contact to yours Scott pushed between you two separating you from Logan.
“Yep, no, this was all fun and games, but still that’s my little sister.” Scott made a fake gag sound pushing to the door. “Just to remember to use protection kids!” he closed the door quickly before one of your slippers could meat his face.
Logan let out a soft chuckle before he pulled you back to his chest. His knuckles brushed over your face and the anger you held for Scott vanished in an instant as you locked eyes. “Now, where did we left off?” Logan grumbled before he planted a kiss on your lips.
#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x reader#f!reader#reader is scott summers sister#scott summers#x men#slight angst#but happy ending
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the way Daenerys treats Irri in the books is incredibly disturbing and I hate how it's overlooked by both the narrative and the majority of the fandom.
Daenerys uses Irri for sex at least twice over the course of the story, once in Storm and once in Dance. I really, truly cannot overstate how horrific the power imbalance between them is: Daenerys is her khaleesi, her queen and her employer; Irri was formerly a slave in her service and is now her maid with absolutely nowhere else to go. She has evidently been conditioned to believe that displaying absolute obedience to her higher-ups, including sexual services, is her "duty", which Daenerys recognizes and still actively exploits for her own pleasure. This is also why consent between them is utterly impossible – contrary to some asoiaf blogs who claim that consent was not a major issue in this situation (lol) or that Irri freely consented, Irri’s conditioning means that she will never be able to freely consent to someone like Daenerys, who is her employer and holds absolute power over her. Daenerys herself acknowledges this and feels guilty (damning in itself), but ends up using her in such a manner anyway, despite explicitly recognizing that Irri's kisses "tasted of duty" and nothing more.
What makes this even worse is that despite using her in this way in Storm, Daenerys has no issue saying that Irri and Jhiqui (who are her age and have had the same, if not worse, experiences than she has) are "only girls" in comparison to her. She also dismisses their (pretty sensible, imo?) concern about her touching sick and dead people by calling them "utter fools" and saying the Dothraki were only wise when it came to horses. She says all this AFTER sleeping with Irri, which makes it twice as bad - Daenerys considers her a little girl and a fool when it comes to advising her, but still finds it perfectly fine to use her for sex? This condescension extends to their sexual relationship as well, where Daenerys refers to Irri as "the maid", "her handmaid" and "the Dothraki girl" as she has sex with her. It's patronizing, disrespectful and exploitative at best, outright dehumanizing at worst.
While I highly doubt this was Grrm's intention, Daenerys's dynamic with Irri is clearly reminiscent of the horrific way Cersei uses Taena Merryweather. Dany is obviously not as vicious with Irri as Cersei was with Taena but that really doesn't change the fact that she was still a queen exploiting her employee's obedience and conditioned sense of "duty" for her own pleasure, made even worse by the fact that Irri, as a servant and former slave with no family, no connections and nowhere else to go, was 10x more vulnerable than Taena was and certainly more dependent on Dany. It's bizarre how Cersei's treatment of Taena is recognized as fucked up by most of the fandom but Daenerys's treatment of Irri is not, even though the power imbalance between them is infinitely worse. (also: Grrm writing about TWO white queens using their brown maids/ladies-in-waiting for sex is flat-out racist. I'm also extremely uncomfortable with how both wlw interactions are dubiously consensual at best and arguably revolve around Cersei/Dany's relationships with men to some extent: Cersei uses Taena to reenact her trauma by Robert, and Dany not only "pretended it was Drogo holding her...only somehow his face kept turning into Daario's" when she was having sex with Irri, but also explicitly states that "it was Daario she wanted, or perhaps Drogo, not Irri").
Certainly, Daenerys and Irri's dynamic is part and parcel of Grrm's fucked notion of consent and piss-poor writing of wlw relationships (both of which he should be called out for far more than he is, btw), but it doesn't change the fact that in-universe, these are Daenerys's textual actions. Grrm seems to believe that Drogo didn't rape Daenerys (a 13 year old who was forced into marriage) on their wedding night because she said "yes", just like he seems to believe that Jaime didn't coerce Cersei to have sex with him over their own son's dead body because she eventually responded to Jaime's advances, but I clearly recognize them as rape and coercion. The same logic and same standards apply to Daenerys and the way she uses and exploits Irri and she should be judged accordingly.
#asoiaf#anti daenerys#anti daenerys targaryen#irri#grrm criticism#anti grrm#asoiaf criticism#grrm critical#queue
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The song "I think I need someone older" keeps playing in my head when I think of either Hannibal or Duncan 🫠
The brain rot is getting worse im afraid 💀older fictional men just are ughh it's like crack
Perhaps a Hannibal or Duncan x reader with age gap and some angst but then fluff??? 🙏🏻
Thinking along the lines of they're out together. Doing some basic life stuff and some guy around readers age is like "oh you out with your dad?" But I think tho it would piss them off they would handle it differently. Could see Duncan breaking his nose
Hope your having a wonderful day ♡
~ 🔮
I changed a small detail but i hope you like it hehe
I hope you are too ❤️
(Cw: mild violence)
———
Duncan saw the guy pestering you as soon as he emerged from another aisle. You were tense, clearly trying to keep your distance as you picked some produce.
“Come on, what’s the big idea? I’m just giving you a compliment,” the creep was saying.
“Like I said, not interested,” you said, tone firm.
“Don’t be such a bi—”
At that moment, Duncan approached, staring him down.
“What’s going on here?” He asked, standing close to you.
“What’s it to you, old man? You her dad or something?” The creep scoffed, looking him up and down. “Why don’t you leave us alone and then we can properly meet when I’m your son in law?”
Duncan took a step forward, furious, fists balled at his sides. But before he could even swing, you turned towards the creep and kneed him hard in the groin.
He let out a pained yowl, bending forward as his hands flew to his crotch. “You fucking bitch!”
“That’s twice you’ve called me that. You’re lucky that’s all I did,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Come on, honey. Someone else can take care of the trash.”
Duncan had a surprised and amused look on his face, but he slid his arm over your shoulders as he guided you away.
“I taught you well,” he said proudly.
You smiled, tilting your chin up. “Of course, you know I can take care of myself, too.”
“I never doubted it for a single second.”
——-
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STORM’S be heavy soon (1) Billy the kid
Pairing: Billy the kid x Rich girl reader
Summary: Billy is hired to be the bratty Y/N Bristow guard on a five-day trip to Macon, GA; who knows what may happen on the long trail?
WARNINGS: Original characters, Cursing, reader's last name is "Bristow", mentions of guns, gun usage, reader is snotty, Eventual smut , (gonna add more warnings as I go)
Authors note: Typically I don't write for this show, but this idea popped into my head a few nights ago. Also, I haven't watched this show in months, so I'm just going off my imagination/what I remember. Enjoy!! <3
Word count: 2k
Divider cred → @saradika-graphics
New Mexico, 1881
On Ovid Bristow's hand-crafted cherry wood desk lies the sand color sack of silver dollar coins he'd just offered Billy.
The sack had been plopped on the desk and sat there untouched for a whopping two minutes, two minutes in which Billy been debating if he should take Bristow's offer.
Surely, Billy wanted the money. He could use a new rifle--ou--two new rifles, afford a new pair of boots, and maybe even a new horse--a quarter horse since quarter horses were the best for ridin'.
However, Billy had a sinking suspicion of immorality towards Ovid Bristow a sinking suspicion that boils in the pits of his stomach whenever he sees the aging, gray haired man with a deceitful smile on his face (Billy always smiles back, though). A sinking suspicion that's been brewing in his stomach for a while now.
But to mention this "sinking suspicion" Billy had wasn't suspicion at all; everyone knew Ovid Bristow was cruel; Bristow himself knew he was a cruel man, so he couldn't blame his wrongdoing on his ignorance.
It was just last week Billy had been playing cards with Ovid, along with several other aging gray-haired potbelly men, inside Ovid's new Saloon and Brothel (it used to be the old church house, but Ovid paid the church house's landlord twice as much as Pastor David did to own the building.)
Normando something (Billy had forgotten the man's last name, but it doesn't matter now since he's dead.) claimed he won the game, showing all the men his hand. A royal flush, he had one 10, one Jack, one King, one Queen, and an ace of spades.
Poor Normando; if he hadn't been smiling so hard and gloating about his win, he would've seen it when Ovid drew the gun from his holster. And then that was the end of Normando something, shot in the head by a colt revolver. Ovid said Normando had been cheating; he saw the stash of cards underneath the table.
No one doubted this, as you don't want to provoke the man with a gun in his hand.
In the present moment, Billy thought of this: how cold Ovid had been to murder someone over a card game (a card game?!). Billy imagined what Ovid would do to him--how worse his punishment would be if he: "Lost sight or let anything happen to his darlin'."
And that's where Billy resides in the place of dubiety.
"What? Did ole' Ovid Bristow scare you?" Bristow laughs, a flock of seagull-type laugh; when Billy doesn't join in on the laughter, Ovid suddenly becomes serious.
"Look," Bristow says, standing up from his desk, now face to face with Billy. "I'll give you some more money if that makes you feel any better."
He goes into his left breast jacket pocket, pulling out a rolled-up wad of cash. Bristow tosses the wad of money onto the sack of coins.
"1,500 in total." He says. "It's all there, you can count it."
As callous Ovid been, Billy knew he wasn't a liar. He believed that the sack of coins and the wad of cash had amounted to 1,500.
Billy stayed silent, as silence is the loudest response.
"C'mon, Billy, I wouldn't be asking this of you if I didn't trust you, you're one of the only men I trust, let alone trust you being around my darlin'."
Ovid sits on the edge of his desk with disdain, his stare not particularly on Billy but just above Billy's head.
"I see how those bastards look at my little Y/n at the Saloon, they look at her like she's one of those harlots at the whore house." He spats. "How I wish I can put a bullet through every one of those no good lookers head."
Ovid stands to his feet again.
"But you Billy, you don't stare at my daughter like she's a piece of meat, to you Billy my daughter ceases to exist. I like that about you."
Billy seemed calmed on the outside, but in the inside, he heard the bells ringing in his head.
Of course he looked at you, every man looked at you when you walked by. You were enchanting, the most beautiful woman Billy had ever saw.
Billy did most of his staring when you or your father hadn't been looking. Most of his staring had been from the corner of his eyes or below his hat.
The first thing Billy noticed about you was your bright eyes. They were a pretty shade of (your eye color) that matched your pretty crimson-colored lips and rosy cheeks. You were light on the makeup, which Billy had liked. You'd done your makeup in a way that almost seemed like you weren't wearing makeup at all; Billy liked that about you too. He also liked your elegant collarbones that sat right before your cleavage.
What Billy liked the most about you was that you were educated. You were going to college soon, the first woman Billy had known to do something like that--hell, the first person.
But if it weren't for you getting accepted into Wesleyan College in Macon, GA, Billy wouldn't have been asked to escort you there.
"It's only a week there and week back." Ovid told him at the beginning of the conversation; then Billy had his mindset that he wouldn't take you.
But now, thinking about you--thinking about anyone but himself taking you to Georgia, one of those no-good lookers Ovid described somewhat infuriated Billy.
What if one of them were to take advantage you? Or try to harm you? What if one of them were to kidnap you, take you to one of the many enemies Ovid Bristow have made and hold you for ransom?
Ovid had said it himself, he trusted Billy, so if the job was to be done, Billy was the one to do it.
So as Billy left Ovid Bristow's office, he had the 1,500 stuffed down in his pockets.
Walking Billy to the door, Ovid had his arm snaked around Billy's neck, with a wide smile on his face.
"I knew you wouldn't let ole' Ovid down." He says. Ovid then instructs Billy to arrive at his manor tomorrow by a quarter till seven and pack lightly, as the rest of the wagon is reserved for his "sweet darlin'. "
Leaving Ovid's office, Billy thought he might've seen you inside the waiting room, but it was just that harlot--the one that works at the Brothel that looks like you.
It was 6:45--a quarter till seven when Billy arrived at the Bristow's manor.
Ovid Bristow's riches had been by pure luck. He used to work in the fields, digging holes to plant crops, and one day, he accidentally struck oil. The best kind of accident that could happen to a man.
Ovid Bristow was the Rockefeller of New Mexico.
Approaching the manor, Billy was greeted by a heap of men and women, all housekeepers, butlers, maids, and landscapers, all of whom had been waiting to give Y/n Bristow a farewell. Plus there been a marching band of all men standing at ease.
He didn't know if he could go inside the manor to tell Ovid he'd been here right at a quarter till seven and was lightly packed, because the doors had been locked shut.
So Billy waited with the rest of them, alongside the coachmen who was to take you and him to Georgia. He slips his sack into the back of the wagon.
"Warner." The man introduces himself as, he was a fellow old enough to be Billy's grandfather, Billy questioned Warner's ability to ride for five days straight day and night.
Your entrance was rather grand, ostentatious.
As soon as the white and gold doors flung open, the marching band began to blow their trumpets and bang their drums.
You stood in the doorway, a demure smile on your face, until the marching band's song (which sounded like a bunch of commotion) ended.
"Farewell, my good people, as this is yours truly last day on Bristow's Manor." You spoke dramatically. "Goodbye Nettie, I'll never forget that day you yelled at me for breaking that vase, and then I nearly gotten you fired for raising your voice at me." You waved to an older woman in a maid's uniform, who looked like she was suppressing an eye roll. "Goodbye housekeepers, whom I've never learned the names of, Goodbye Landscapers who kept planting thorn bushes even after I pricked my finger on one when I was five, Goodbye…"
As you continued saying your goodbyes the word "Shallow" was on the tip of Billy's tongue, but he hadn't want to make his judgement. Though he saw you around town, normally accompanied by your father, he hadn't spoken to you yet.
He'd been too scared he'd get shot or beaten by Ovid for simply saying a "Hello" to you.
Ovid had been beside you as you said your goodbyes, carrying a round pink leather suitcase, presumably yours. Behind the both of you were two butlers carrying the rest of your luggage—ten suitcases in counting, all pink, some round, some rectangular.
"Jesus Christ." Billy mutters to himself.
"Goodbye--" you stop in front of Billy, scanning his face--those dark curls and dark blue eyes--wondering what was his occupation on the manor. He'd look familiar to you, but then again he didn't.
Trashman? The stableman? Daddies assistant? No, he was to ruffian like to be Daddies assistant.
Then you suddenly remember--yes, that's who he is.
"Farewell, stablehand, I don't have any memories of you, but I shall wish you the best of luck cleaning shit for the rest of your life at Daddies stable." You smile.
A scowl had formed on Billy's lip.
That shallow bit-
His thinking is cut off by Ovid's laughter. "My sweet darlin, this isn't the stablehand, this is Billy. Billy here's a gunslinger. I hired him to keep you safe on the trail to Georgia."
You hum, a slight smirk on your lips. You raised your dainty hand to Billy and introduce yourself.
Billy puts his rough hands in your warm, smooth ones. You feel a jolt run through body, you wonder if Billy felt the jolt too.
It wasn't like you didn't know his name now, so Billy just tipped his hat and called you “Misses.”
"Fantastic," Ovid says with a deceiving smile. "Darlin', why don't you make yourself comfortable inside the wagon while Billy and I exchange a few words," Ovid tells you. "And gentlemen, why don't you start loading up darlin's luggage," Ovid instructs the butlers.
As you get onto the wagon (with the help of Warner) and the butlers start loading your things, Ovid pulls Billy to the side by the scruff of his neck.
"Now, remember yesterday I said I trust you, Billy. Darlin's all I got, Billy, it be a shame if something were to happen to her while she's in your care… It be even more of a shame what'll happen to you." Ovid says in a calm voice.
"Promise me that you'll take good care of her during those five days, promise me that Billy."
"I promise, sir." Billy says, looking at you from afar, you yell at the butlers for "manhandling" your "valuables."
Ovid catches Billy staring. "Also, Billy hear this, I know my daughters a pretty girl--she gets her looks from her late mama--god rest her soul, but I swear if you even must lay a finger on her with the intent of lust; I'll have you castrated, you got that boy?"
Billy thought about it , walking around town without his manhood, be known as the man without a cock.
"Y-yes sir." he sweats.
"Good!" Ovid exclaimed, letting Billy go.
"Daddy!" You yelled "I'm not getting any younger here!" You say impatiently.
Then, as you, Billy, and old man Warner left the gates of Bristow Manor, the marching band played another loud commotion. The blaring drums and tubas still ranged in Billy's ears as you all were 2-3 miles down the road.
Billy looked at you, cocking his head--you'd been filing your nails.
A Rose thorn bush, Billy labeled you--so amusing to look at, tempting to touch; when he felt the courage to touch it, he'd realize he gotten pricked and was starting to draw blood.
*I plan on making this a two part series*
#tom blyth#billy the kid smut#billy the kid#billy x reader#old west#fanfiction#fan fic#crookedteethed#billy the kid x y/n#ocs#part 1#Storms be heavy soon#I only watched billy the kid because of Tom Blyth
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simon riley x waitstaff!reader
thank you to those who liked my first post <3 i am still v new to this and haven't quite figured out my preferred writing style so all feedback is welcome (be respectful tho).
part one
part two
right so at ur work it’s real common to have military folk there bc it is a military town, close to base, training facilities etc.
first visit was just to the bar section of the place. price thought it would be good for moral to go out and have some chill team time, watch a football match and just hang out.
soap ordered some food and you brought it over to them. simon did not notice you bc he was watching the game, but then he got a whiff of soaps food and decided to grab something.
cue you coming back over with your sweet smile and handing him his food and cutlery before wandering back to the resturant bc its a quiet night.
mans is hooked.
second time ghost comes in it’s at night again but the restaurant is slammed bc it’s family week, everyone is getting dinner the night before they gotta head home.
lbr, simon didnt think about you until soap wanted to go out again: "where are we goin'" "that place with the pretty server", knows exactly where they are going.
but still, your smile and warmth towards everyone is so kind and customer service is through the roof. yet he watches as you race around in and out of the kitchen with crazy ease and grace
like dude is impressed at you staying calm and steady despite how fuckin busy it is and people with their insane requests and demands for food (inpatient pricks)
he wants to stick around and watch u but it has become way to loud and busy for him so he bows out and goes back to his quiet room
simon strikes me as someone that likes to have as much regularity in his life as possible, why do you think 141 are literally the only people he has relationships with???
but mainly forms this routine bc he gets to see you, and he knows you will be there bc you’ve old him its your regular shift.
"you basically live here."
"haha no, i just make sure i get the shift with you."
the restaurant would make the booking for him in advance cause he never does but you know he is coming anyway so have it under ‘y/n's man’ (hasn’t told you his name) and ur coworkers think its super cute and funny
but he would make the effort to come in when it is quiet and has the chance to actually listen to you talk and see you interact with others on a more relaxed level BUT he wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you rushing around tables and weaving between guests who haven’t sat down
ngl he would find it hot watching you manage several orders and memorising different peoples requirements, all while keeping that sweet smile and polite manner
you can carry three plates?! this man is sweating under the mask
he doesn’t do a lot of the talking, only when you really prompt him or he is feeling a bit more extroverted that day. Doesn’t wanna talk about military shit with you but that’s all he does so he prefers to listen to you.
knows all the drama and gossip of the restaurant. glad to hear you are not dating the guy behind the bar and that you also don't like the receptionist because he perfume is to strong.
he will hang around and wait for it to die down to be able to talk to you. if it gets too loud for him he might just try and see you at the till as he leaves but has pushed through once or twice to talk to you.
something about you makes him feel more real, that he isn’t just some shell of a man, that he has a purpose. he likes that you treat him normally, the fresh slate you give him is like clean evening air.
ANYWAY it would take him ages to ask you out, like more than six/ seven months, and he would be so nervous (not to the point of stuttering or shaking bc this man is military he has been in worse situations, but his heart would be running a marathon and the self doubt would be just as loud)
but also protective ghost omgggg, he would be seething watching the old men be creepy and shit
knife and fork are down and he is up behind these men leering over them “excuse me, I just have a question about my meal.” just would say anything to get you out of that situation and back over to him. Or would just stand by the register staring down these men (this happens a lot more often than simon would like to admit)
always checks in when he is leaving to make sure he didn’t over step or make you uncomfortable by accident
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#cod mw2#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#x reader#ahhh my first proper fic#thank yall so so much#pls be kind.
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Hello 👋 Can I pls request dating and jealousy headcanons for Choi Mujin and Do Gangjae with a gn reader? Thank you ❤️
A/n: Heyy! Thanks so much for the request <3 Hope you enjoy!! :)
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My name - MASTERLIST
~Choi Mujin
Has a photo of you in his wallet.
His name in your phone is something like “Mujin❤️”
Your name in his phone is your full name. (And probably where he met you). He forgets to change it.
His penthouse was really boring until you started sleeping over. Now it’s full of your stuff.
Pictures on the fridge. New mugs, blankets and pillows.
If you’re a collector, he’ll make room for your stuff - shelves, drawers, cabinets. Wherever you want to put your stuff.
He’s not usually one for PDA, but if someone’s flirting with you, suddenly he can’t get enough of it.
You have a hard time buying gifts for him, but he’ll be happy with whatever you give him. He’s just grateful for you.
He somehow always knows exactly what you want - even if you haven’t said anything.
Lets you tie his ties for him.
He can do it himself, he just likes being close to you.
Tries his best not to be jealous of people, but it happens often.
NOT good at telling you either. He’ll just stew silently, glaring.
His jealousy usually comes out when someone else puts their hands on you. Though it’s hard to tell whether he’s just protective or actually Jealous. It’s usually both.
Will resort to violence, even if you tell him not to.
Absolutely irrational when jealous.
A person touched your ass? Murder. Absolute Carnage.
You don’t have to reassure him that you love him, he knows. Though he does like hearing it.
If you’re younger than him, he gets jealous of the younger people you talk to.
Sometimes he thinks you’ll leave him for someone closer to your age.
You’ll reassure him with something silly like “well I’m into dilfs so…” or “I like old men, you’re fine” not older, old. It makes him laugh.
~Do Gangjae
Actually really insecure about your relationship.
He really thinks you’ll leave him with the first chance you get. Obviously that isn’t true though.
Gets jealous SO easily.
If you’re shopping together, he’ll get jealous of the staff that you speak to.
And If you’re into more than one gender, it’s 10x worse.
He’s definitely that partner that talks for you at a restaurant because he’s jealous of you talking to other people.
But if you scold him about it, he’ll stop.
Not good at apologizing for it, but he’ll try his best to show it.
You have to reassure him at least twice a day that you wouldn’t leave him for anyone else. That you could never love anyone else.
“that person was totally into you” “Baby, I promise that old lady was NOT into me”
Scary dog privileges, except he clings to you like a moth to a lamp.
Requires kisses 95% of the time.
Likes your fingers in his hair.
You take all of his shirts. It’s not like he wears them anyway.
Every time he comes home from work, you check him for wounds.
If he has any, you patch him up. He gushes at your kindness.
Obsessed with you.
If someone he kills has something you’d like, he’ll take it to give to you.
If you’re good at cooking, you’ll pack him lunch.
If you’re bad at cooking, he’ll eat your cooking regardless. He’s just happy because you made it.
#choi mujin#do Gangjae#fanfiction#x reader fanfiction#reader insert#gender neutral reader#requests are open#my name#x reader#requests open#choi mujin x reader#do gangjae x reader#headcanons#headcanon#requests#i need recs and requests otherwise i'm gonna lose my mind lmao#reqs open#choi mujin x gn! reader#gangjae x reader#jealousy Headcanons#dating headcanons
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