#this au has so much content in it—it was like... the third au i made
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ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ
pairing. michael kaiser x gn!reader
genre. college AU | older brother's bestfriend | fake dating (@/saekkas req!) | angry confession (anon req)
content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) | reader is a sophomore while kaiser is a senior | reader is ness's younger sibling | reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | toxic uni gossip culture | pet names & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread
summary: as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.
💭 masterlist | next part
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”
Your ears were ringing.
After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.
“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.
Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.
Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.
Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.
You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.
“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.
“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.
“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”
“We?”
“Kaiser is downstairs.”
Of course, he is.
Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.
You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.
If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.
“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.
The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.
“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”
In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”
“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”
“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”
Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.
Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”
“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.
“Fuck off.”
“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.
You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.
You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.
You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.
Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.
If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.
Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.
“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.
“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.
“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”
Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.
“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.
Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”
“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.
Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.
It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.
Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.
Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.
But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.
“I swear to god this better be important–”
“Get ready,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“Look out your window.”
Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.
Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.
“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.
You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.
It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.
It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.
“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”
He’s taking me to it? “Why?”
Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.
“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.
You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.
The first one today.
Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.
But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.
You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.
And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.
“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.
Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?
“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”
Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.
Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.
“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”
“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.
Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.
Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.
It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.
You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”
Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”
Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”
“Call me by my name.”
“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”
“The one you used to call me.”
Mikka.
It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.
You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.
“I’m Michael.”
“That’s… long.”
“What?”
“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”
“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.
“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.
He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.
“Same thing.”
“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”
“Your point?” you countered.
“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.
“He was nice to me!”
“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”
You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.
“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.
Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.
“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”
“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.
“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”
“And you? Are you a gentleman?”
Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.
Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.
Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.
When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”
He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.
“Especially not one, doll.”
“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.
Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.
The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.
Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.
Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.
He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.
“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.
The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.
“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.
From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.
After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.
You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.
Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.
As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).
“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.
“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.
“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”
Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”
You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.
But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.
“You should be flattered.”
Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”
“Accepted.”
If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.
At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.
You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”
The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”
“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”
“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.
If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.
Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.
Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.
“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”
If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.
You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.
Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”
“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.
“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”
You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”
“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.
Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.
You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.
“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.
“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”
“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.
Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.
You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.
“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.
Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.
Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”
Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.
And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.
But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.
If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.
Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.
“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”
Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.
You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.
“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.
“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”
“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”
“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.
“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”
“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.
Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.
“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”
What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.
“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”
“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”
The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”
“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”
What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.
He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.
And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.
His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.
Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.
Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.
“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.
As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.
“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.
Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.
“Easy, doll.”
Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.
Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.
Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.
Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.
Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.
He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.
Damn it, doll.
Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.
Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.
The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.
It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.
Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.
It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.
The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.
What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?
Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.
Just then, a knock on the door startled you.
“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”
It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.
Shit.
note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!
#☁️ my ode to you#michael kaiser x reader#blue lock x reader#kaiser x reader#blue lock imagines#michael kaiser imagines#kaiser imagines#michael kaiser x y/n#michael kaiser x you#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#bllk x reader#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#michael kaiser#blue lock fluff#first milestone event!#writing: 004
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Four-Eared MK AU Details
If you thought i’d leave you hanging and not elaborate on some details i left vague on Act 1, well you’re not going to be left hanging
1. MK was absolutely created during/after SWK killed Macaque
I stated that part of mk’s mystic monkie birth was his crystal-encased pebble growing in the remnants of Macaque, and it what it says on the tin
MK’s pebble was siphoning the shadow magic leaking from Macaque’s body and Mac’s own magic (since I personally headcanon for reasons that Macaque’s shadow magic isn’t all just from him like how SWK’s magic isn’t all just from him and he (swk) found other sources to gain more power and during swk’s imprisonment mac went on his own journey and got a big power boost to his magic and what it could do)
.
2. MK learned the word Ma and absolutely called Macaque that multiple times and this is more on what led to Macaque accepting baby Mk as his
Shortly after shadow-teleporting to Macaque’s location, baby MK just screeched and wailed out “MA!”—kept it up until Macaque went to investigate who’s child was disturbing the peace and saw it was the baby he kept trying to ditch and discovered after a brief game of peek-a-boo that he’s “ma” is conflicted
Because he didn’t ask for this creature, doesn’t want it, but it clings and grasps for him even as he has turned it away and even gave it a much better option for parents in the humans he left the infant at—but it chooses him, only wants him...
And it’s a mix of him wanting to be wanted and projecting himself on this child who’s always reaching for someone who doesn’t want it that sways him to decide to keep the infant instead of getting rid of it. Macaque works in strange ways, but it works out for the most part
(As MK grows up Mac definitely tries to get him out of calling him Ma, or even Baba, and just call him Macaque but after the Iron Bull Clan’s deal MK calls Mac Baba more often—he only calls Macaque Ma in very stressful and painful situations)
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3. Lady Bone Demon in all this?
Oh she knows. If she didn’t know at first when she revived the Six-Eared Macaque, she definitely did afterwards via her eyes and ears in the mortal realm The Mayor.
Where Macaque sees a child and now his son, LBD sees a tool she could use to keep her wayward and treacherous champion obedient and faithful though it’s still much too early still to seize that tool, she needs her champion to be thoroughly attached and loving of it after all
She’s worked MK into her plans since the day Macaque accepted the demon spawn as his to rear.
#lmk au#four eared mk au#stressed talks#this au has so much content in it—it was like... the third au i made#imagine knowing how to tag. could never be me and that makes me just—damn
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a case of the cuddle bug | logan sargent social media au
pairing: logan sargent x fem!piastri!reader
someone check his temperature, he's got a serious case of the cuddle bug
author's note: thought we could all use some logan content to get us through the weekend
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargent and 201,445 others
tagged: logansargent
yourusername: he's not racing :( more time to cuddle :)
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user1: if i find out that that t-shirt was made by them i may need to be shot in the head
yourusername: sorry to be the bearer of bad news 😕
user2: y/n where do we find a logan?
yourusername: date your brother's best friend - the romance books did NOT lie
logansargent: hard to be too sad when you're around
yourusername: awwwww logie bear 🐻 i love youuuuu
logansargent: i love you too come back to the motorhome the hospitality coffee is not worth it
yourusername: not even if i swipe you a cupcake?
logansargent: okay..... maybe ....
alexalbon: i'm sorry buddy, i promise i'll do us proud
yourusername: yOU BETTER 👹
alexalbon: i'm soRRY are you like a gremlin? did someone spill some water?
yourusername: i'm gonna ignore most of that cause gizmo is cute
logansargent: she loves you really alex
alexalbon: do you still love me logie?
logansargent: yes?
alexalbon: I' SORRY I HAVE.A GUILTY CONSCIENCE I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE BEING MAD AT ME
user3: lol mood ^
oscarpiastri: you could support your BELOVED BROTHER NOW (AT HIS (OUR) HOME RACE)
yourusername: ugh i guess
oscarpiastri: you literally said you'd support me any time logan wasn't racing :(
yourusername: unless he can come with me, we'll be supporting you from the williams garage
oscarpiastri: better than nothing i guess
logansargent
liked by oscarpiastri, alexalbon and 459,046 others
tagged: yourusername
logansargent: no way around it, this weekend has been the hardest of my career. however, i'm thankful for alex for picking up a couple points for the team and for having y/n with me to support me this weekend, enjoy the cute picture of her (but not too much)
also i guess congrats to oscar on a podium at his home race 🤷🏻♂️
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user4: hardest weekend ever... here's a pic of my. hot gf :)))))
user5: he's real for that, just reminding us that he's still winning off track
alexalbon: thank you isn't enough logie, love you man, can't wait to see you back in the car next week x
yourusername: you're so lucky you got points otherwise your ass would've been grass xoxo
alexalbon: Y/N I SAID I WAS SORRY PLEASE STOP BEING MEAN YOU'RE MEANT TO BE THE NICE PIASTRI
oscarpiastri: you stole my soon-to-be brother-in-law's car and called me a shit padel player 🖕🏻
alexalbon: why is everyone ganging up on me :(
logansargent: you gotta take it for at least this weekend bro
alexalbon: i guess...
user6: they're so cute, but who is taking these photos of them?
yourusername: oscar makes himself useful sometimes
oscarpiastri: ugh i get NO CREDIT IN THIS FAMILY
logansargent: i at least appreciate it oscar 🫶🏻
oscarpiastri: that's all well and good and i love you, you're my bff but sometimes i don't want to see you be lovely dovey with that hellspawn
fredvesti: let it be known i will no longer be sneaking out with you guys for ice cream on a race weekend, the risk was not worth the third wheeling
logansargent: i paid?
fredvesti: thank the lord you did otherwise i'd raise an official complaint
oscarpiastri
liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 793,209 others
tagged: logansargent & yourusername
oscarpiastri: got a podium at my home race and i'm still not my sister's favourite
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user8: have we considered that y/n and logan have attachment issues?
oscarpiastri: she sat at the window like a woman waiting for her husband at war when he DARED to go home for christmas when we were 16
yourusername: as if you haven't cried over lily 🙄
oscarpiastri: i ACTUALLY don't get to see her very often, i can't separate you and logan
yourusername: LEAVE ME BE
user9: oscar says this as if y/n wasn't crying her eyes out at the podium
user10: and logan wiping her tears to prevent smudging her eyeliner - sigh
logansargent: don't hate the player hate the game
oscarpiastri: what happened to blood being thicker than water
yourusername: you know what else is thicker than water ... 😩😩😩
oscarpiastri: okay you can sTOP RIGHT THERE
landonorris: they're really one being huh?
oscarpiastri: believe me the dinner at mine? they were being TAME
yourusername: okay for the audience we are not that bad, we're just affectionate we aren't like making out in front of everyone
landonorris: .... shame
oscarpiastri: yOU HAVE SHAME THAT'S MY SISTER
logansargent: THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND
yourusername: AND THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND
landonorris: damn tough crowd
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargent and 212,934 others
tagged: logansargent
yourusername: a wee break before my boy is back to knock your socks off
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user11: they're so cute your honour
alexalbon: dating a racing driver and not wearing a seat belt? interesting.
yourusername: dating a professional golfer and still shit at golf? interesting.
lilymunhe: she did get you there alex, soz.
yourusername: also we weren't even driving, that hair acting is all a fan
logansargent: practically a professional photographer now (the model definitely helps, she looks perfect doing anything)
yourusername: hehehheheheheheheheheheheeh
user12: y/n really just gagging alex at every corner
user13: she saw logan wasn't holding a grudge and decided to double down on hers
user14: and we respect that
logansargent: you knock my socks off everyday babe
yourusername: as long as it's only me 😘
logansargent: i've been in love with you since i was 13 👍🏻
yourusername: SNAP🫰
oscarpiastri: once again left out of the photodump
yourusername: you are not 'my boy' that would in fact be inappropraite
oscarpiastri: you couldn't just change the caption?
yourusername: you're not cute enough to be a lannister (cersei and jaime call me)
logansargent: ????
yourusername: *call us 😉
logansargent
liked by lilymunhe, alexalbon and 592,309 others
tagged: yourusername
logansargent: glad to be back in the car this weekend, though if alex could stop terrorising y/n that would be great
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user15: were oscar and y/n's parents in the williams garage?
user16: so oscar wasn't lying about him basically being family already 🥹
alexalbon: i was not TERRORISNG I WAS ENGAGING IN SIBLING LIKE BANTER
oscarpiastri: hold on buster, that's MY sister 🤨
alexalbon: i can't win with any of you three 😭
yourusername: LET'S FUCKING GO EAGLE BOY GOD BLESS AMERICA 🦅🇺🇸
logansargent: i'll let you have this one for once
yourusername: as an aussie that was very hard to say, please appreciate it
logansargent: thank you my little kangaroo?
yourusername: kinda offensive they're scary
logansargent: koala?
yourusername: YOU SAYING I HAVE CHLAMYDIA?
logansargent: well i've ran out of australian animals now :(
user17: thanks for the violent reminder of chlamydia being rife in koalas :(
oscarpiastri: gonna have to beat you this weekend to win back my parents' favour it seems
yourusername: let's be real, they prefer logan over both of us :(
oscarpiastri: true 😔
logansargent: i can't help the southern charm
williamsf1
liked by yourusername, alexalbon and 1,034,672 others
tagged: logansargent
williamsf1: LOGAN POINTS, I REPEAT LOGAN POINTS 😤
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user20: TRUST HIM, I REPEAT TRUST HIM
yourusername: THAT'S MY BOY LET'S FUCKING GO
oscarpiastri: you never get this excited for me?
yourusername: FUCK OFF THIS IS NOT YOUR TURN, IT'S LOGAN'S DAY
maxverstappen1: pretty sure i won the race
yourusername: FUCK OFF ALL OF YOU
user21: y/n crying her eyes out she's so real
user22: based on the faces in the garage i think she may have let everything out lol
user23: as she should
user24: can't expect two people to be attached 24/7 and not be ride or die for each other
logansargent: thanks for the support, glad to pick up some points for the team
yourusername: I'M SO PROUD OF YOU
logansargent: i know you've shouted it in my face since i got back from media
yourusername: you need to know it :(
logansargent: i love you so much
yourusername: i love you even more
user25: the whole piastri family going wild in LOGAN'S garage was not on my 2024 bingo sheet
user26: but it was cute as fuck
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, logansargent and 287,045 others
tagged: logansargent
yourusername: we're down bad with a case of the cuddle bug
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user27: the CUDDLE BUG?
user28: i need to be taken out of my misery
logansargent: i've got a high fever, a love fever
oscarpiastri: THAT WAS CORNY AS FUCK
yourusername: i thought it was cute :(
logansargent: and that's what matters
yourusername: exactlyyyyy
oscarpiastri: so fuck me, right?
yourusername: yes!
logansargent: yes!
user29: this whole interaction makes it so obvious oscar was the only boy growing up LOL
alexalbon: i'll concede, you guys are cute
yourusername: we been known
logansargent: no one does it like us
alexalbon: erm alex and lily erasure?
yourusername: lily cute, you not so much
alexalbon: stop being SO PROTECTIVE WHY ARE YOU A GOLDEN RETRIEVER WITH EVERYONE ELSE AND A RABID JACK RUSSELL WITH ME IT WAS JAMES' DECISION GO FOR JAMES' ANKLES
williamsf1: ???
yourusername: i thought it was friendly sibling banter (also james is logie's boss of course i'm not gonna go for his ankles dummy)
logansargent: she's my little guard dog 🫶🏻
yourusername: anything for you, come back to cuddle :(
logansargent: on my way cuddle bug!
fin.
note: i understand why williams made the decision they did, but i've had such a soft spot for logan since he admitted he's lonely in the paddock :( i hope he has a good next race to really prove himself to everyone xx hope you enjoyed! xx
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#logan sargeant social media au#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant#logan sargent x reader
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박성훈 、SECRET NEVER KEPT
sunghoon likes getting detentions.
featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader, highschool au
contents ⋆ kissing, suggestive i mean you can say this went out of hand a little...sunghoon is crazy guys don't try this at school ( 0.78k )
notes ⋆ another rich boy hoon bc it's always on my mind. they should cast him in a drama and make him third gen chaebol heir idk. btw this one is for @atrirose
sunghoon’s lips curl into a subtle smile when he heard footsteps coming towards the classroom. he knows it’s you, he knows your pace, way too familiar with you to not even recognise the faint humming echoing in the hallways.
he chuckles, his smile growing wider as he pushes one of the desks aside. he shakes his head at how easily you make him smile, and you aren’t even in the room. the melody you’re humming gets a bit clearer, and he turns towards the door as you slide it open.
“detention again?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. it’s unfathomable how giddy he looks after getting detention. “it’s pleasing to watch the mayor’s son sweeping the tiles,”
“just a little charity work for school,” he hums jokingly with a shrug, and then he looks up at you, his eyes are soft and just a tad bit crinkled at the edges and his smile is sweet as if an invitation to come and kiss him.
not a whiff of what happens at school reaches his parents because he knows his dad will have anyone who dares point fingers at him lose their job. while his mother is more inclined towards him trying to lay low and mixing into the general public, sunghoon can’t help but stand out.
he likes attention.
he likes it when people talk about him when he walks down the hallways, or when you wink at him from across the room. he liked it when you visited him when he had gotten detention for the very first time, and it’s a routine now. you stay after school for extra lessons and he hates not being able to sneak in a few kisses with you in the storage after school ends. fortunately, detention gives him the perfect excuse to stay.
“charity is nice but this—” you say, pointing at the mop and bucket, walking towards him as he carefully holds your hand so that you don’t slip over the wet tiles. “— doesn’t suit your pretty face.”
and sunghoon laughs, sitting on one of the chairs around, pulling you on his lap. your arms wrap around his shoulders out of habit, and he can’t help but swoon at the way your gaze rests on his lips for a fraction of a second before going back to his eyes. “well you win some and you lose some,”
and he doesn’t really care, honestly. with hands that are made to caress your cheeks and hold you close, he doesn’t really mind if they’re occupied with mopping the floors. just the same way he doesn’t care if his father hears about you and him. with elections ‘round the corner, he will be furious to see his dear son dating the daughter of the opposition.
but when has sunghoon ever cared about what others have to say about you?
“you know, anyone could walk in right now,” you warn quietly, although your actions are contradicting your words as you tilt your head a little, giving him an easier access as he presses his lips against your neck, leaving a trail of slow kisses down and then to your jaw.
he pulls away slightly, taking in the fragrance of your perfume— it’s the one he had gifted you on your birthday, and he likes how irresistible it makes you, as if you aren’t already. “the whole building’s empty,”
“the guards take rounds after school,”
“well, no one will come. and if they do,” he gently tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers drawing random patterns on your thighs, and you can feel your cheeks heat up as he slides his hand a bit further up. “we can put on a little show for them,”
“hoon—” he doesn’t let you say much, simply cutting you off with a kiss. most of the time, it doesn’t fall upon him to be the responsible one in the relationship, but you’re not any better with the way you pull him closer, fingers lost in his locks. you huff and his arms move up to your waist, and you pull him closer, kissing him deeper— a clear confirmation that you’re into this just as much as him.
and it does end up this way, most of the time. you on his lap, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, lips together, in the empty classrooms or storage, under the staircase— sunghoon doesn’t care if someone sees. it’s least of his concerns when you’re with him. sunghoon falls first, he falls hard. everyone knows it, it has never been a secret.
#—approved.#enhypen#enhypen drabbles#enhypen fluff#enhypen soft hours#enhypen x reader#enhypen headcanons#enhypen oneshots#enhypen imagines#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon oneshots#sunghoon headcanons#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon scenarios#sunghoon soft hours#sunghoon drabbles#sunghoon#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen scenarios#enhypen soft thoughts
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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.
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#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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▶ CATORU — stealing Suguru's clothes just feels natural, they're comfy and cozy and they smell like him, but thing is - his hoodies are black... and Satoru's hair is white.
contents: fluff; college!au, roommates, polyamorous relationship — 1k words
𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist
“Geez, you really need to brush that cat out,” your best friend commented, plucking a white hair off your black hoodie once you dropped down onto the couch next to her placing the wine glasses, totally not regular glasses, and a bottle on the table. You invited her for the first time after you moved into the new apartment. It was a celebration of your new place, successfully passed exams and just a nice opportunity to catch up on life.
“Cat?” You looked at her; confusion apparent in your eyes and she pointed at the hairs in her fingers, few short, snow-white strands that she collected from you and surroundings. It wasn’t unusual – you had a habit of stealing Suguru’s clothes (and they are usually black), and Gojo has a habit of nuzzling into you, demanding head scratches so it’s only natural that his white hairs stick to you and are quite visible. “Ah, that cat. Yeah, I really need to brush him out. Or maybe I’ll just shave him, I don’t know yet.”
The thought made you giddy inside, it really cracked you up. Before that, you never realized that your friend had no idea what kind of relationship you are in. You never hid it from her, you openly told her about the three of you doing things together, but somehow, the possibility of you sharing your life with Suguru and Satoru at the same time flew over her head. You also are quite openly affectionate with both of your boys, but it’s possible that once your friend saw you kissing Geto, she automatically categorized your interactions with Gojo as purely friendly. You were not even sure if she ever had a chance to see you with your white-haired princess.
“It’s cute you and Geto took a white kitten. It’s because of Gojo, right?” She smiled cutely, throwing the hairs away as you poured her some of the cheap prosecco.
“Yeah, the kitten is definitely reminding us of Satoru.” You laughed softly, taking your own glass to your lips. “Our little Catoru.”
“Awww, that’s adorable,” she squealed, savoring the taste of pinkish liquid. “How is he dealing with it, by the way?”
“Dealing with what?”
“You know, how’s Gojo dealing with the fact you stole his best friend? I was wondering, is he okay with you being and living with Suguru? They are pretty much joined at the hip.” She was curious, genuinely, and you can tell she really has no clue, so you decided to play along.
“I mean, Satoru is doing great, you don’t need to worry.”
“’ts good,” your bestie exhaled with some kind of relief, and you couldn’t shake off the amusement off your shoulders. You wondered how she would react to the revelation of your polyamorous relationship. Would she be surprised? In your eyes, it was only natural to accept both Satoru and Suguru into your life, the boys are inseparable, you couldn’t date one without dating the other. That was just the way it is, the packaged deal, the law of nature if you will. “Is your boyfriend home?”
“Sugu? He has martial arts training today. Will be back later. Don’t worry about it, okay? You’re my guest,” you reassured her and the conversation went smoothly from that point. You talked a little about everything, about college, about teachers and recent exams, about love life and your recent dates.
“Is Gojo always third-wheeling you two?” She asked when you were telling her about your last movie night. The one that got all three of you deadly backpain afterwards because you all fell asleep on the couch in a position that even got Suguru and his super trained, stretched and fit body suffering. It’s better not to recall how you and Satoru felt.
“Sometimes I feel like I am third-wheeling them,” you laughed, “but yea, we’re actually–“
“Can I see the cat?” Your friend cut you off, suddenly all excited. “God, I completely forgot about him, can I see that fluffball?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure the cat is sleeping and you know, that fluffball gets grumpy when woken up.”
“Pleeeaaaase, I promise, I won’t wake it up. I just want to see the little Catoru, he must be adorable.”
With an exhale you decided to give in. You knew Satoru had a rough night, he got back home in the morning after a visit at his parents’ house and you know his family can be pretty distressing. Now he’s probably sleeping it off, but just a quick visit shouldn’t hurt. With that thought you took your friend to your bedroom.
“Just please, don’t scream, okay? He’s dead tired.” You half-whispered, before opening the doors. She nodded and you peeked inside, just to make sure the cat wasn’t sprawled naked on the bed or something and once sure that it’s safe, you walked in, carefully placing your steps to make as little noise as possible.
Satoru was sleeping, tightly cocooned in blankets with only his head visible from the nose up. He was really worn out, you could tell by the way he was breathing, so deeply and heavily what only happened when he was exhausted. You crouched next to the bed, gently running your fingers through his hair and he purred something, automatically leaning into your touch. Satoru could be at his death bed and would still search for your warmth.
“Do you need something?” You asked quietly, brushing little circles onto his scalp. He made some kind of noise that sounded a little like a no, and you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “If you do, just call me, baby, I’ll be next door.”
Satoru purposefully uncovered the lower half of his face so you could give him a peck, and once he got that, he turned back to his cocoon. You whispered him a little love you, got up and left, leading your visibly stoked friend back to the living room. She was shocked, but at the same time it looked like a realization was hitting her hard and you saw in real time how her expression was changing.
“That was the cat?” She whisper-screamed.
“Yup.”
“So you and Geto and Gojo—?"
“Yup.”
“Like, all three of you?”
“Yes,” you chuckled, pouring her more wine. “I actually had no idea that you don’t know. I thought we’re quite obvious.”
“Now as I think about it, you kinda were… I’m gonna need more wine.”
“I’ll text Suguru.”
taglist: @gojos-thot-patrol-main , @chuluoyi
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comfort crowd
boyfriend’s mom!abby anderson x fem!reader
- summary: you’ve been dating your boyfriend for 2 years now, until all of a sudden he starts to act differently around you. one night, you come over to his place to see him, only to discover that he’s out cheating on you with another girl. as a result, you receive comfort from the person you’d least expect—his mother.
- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, older/milf!abby, age gap (reader is 20, abby is 38), reader is in college, owen (he is mentioned a lot but does not make an appearance), mentions of past teen pregnancy, abby and owen are divorced, infidelity/cheating, reader has her first intimate experience with a woman, kinda softdom!abby, oral & fingering (r!receiving), squirting, scissoring, slight edging, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything else
- author’s note: it’s finally here, sorry this one took me so long…i’ve been a bit nervous to do this pairing but it did win the poll i posted a while back so yeah…i also have to say that this fic took a lot of work and effort for me to write out, so i really hope y’all enjoy it 🤍
You were wishing that your suspicions about your boyfriend weren’t true.
A little over two years ago was when you first met Andrew Anderson-Moore. It was during your senior year of high school and your family had just moved to the city as a result of a job offer that your father had received. Having to start over at a new school was scary for you, but meeting Andrew made that experience a little better.
The two of you connected instantly, and it didn’t take long for you both to start dating and make it official. On your first month anniversary of being together, you two decided to introduce each other to your families. You brought Andrew to meet both of your parents first, and he brought you to meet his dad first before meeting his mom a week later.
Now you’re in your third year of college, still maintaining your loyalty towards him, and you still keep in touch with his parents as well, preferably with his mom, Abigail.
You enjoyed being with Abigail just as much as you did with your boyfriend. She was always so attentive and caring towards you, she treated you as if you were her own. Ever since Andrew had introduced you to her, you’d always make sure to be formal towards her no matter what, even though she could truly care less about it.
“Hi, Ms. Anderson, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell her kindly, removing yourself from your boyfriend’s embrace to shake her hand.
She flashes a smile back at you as she shakes your hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, sweetheart, there’s no need to be so formal though,” she tells you.
“Oh I’m sorry, Abigail—“
“Abby.” She corrects you. “Abby is just fine.”
You simply nod at her in response.
“Alright then, Abby.”
After dinner had passed that day, and you were bringing all the dishes to the sink to wash them, you ended up overhearing Abby say this to her son:
“Make sure you treat her well, Andrew. She’s a sweet girl, definitely a keeper.”
Even though you figured that Abby would be nothing more to you than your boyfriend’s mother, the way she said that to Andrew made you feel unusual inside…But you figured that you were feeling that way simply because it was just a genuine compliment from her.…right?
Since that day, you’ve been close with Abby since then, and Andrew has managed to treat you like royalty.
That is…until a couple of weeks ago when he arrived back from a guy’s trip with his father. You began to take note of the suspicious behavior he’s been having towards you lately. The way he’d hide his phone when he’s around you, how he’d avoid eye contact with you when you ask him about things, and how he’d leave every so often without telling you. It eventually got to the point where you needed to go and address it to him.
And that’s how you got here right now: sitting in your car in the driveway of his mom’s house on a gloomy Saturday night.
You muster up the courage to grab your bag and exit your car before locking it and walking the few steps over to the front door. After taking a deep breath, you step forward and knock on the door. Hoping it would be him answering the door, you’re quick to see Abby answer it instead. “Hey sweetheart,” she says to you. “What are you doing here so late?”
You look up to see Abby looking down at you with a soft smile. She was still in her scrubs with her white coat in her other hand, and with a bunch of little blonde flyaways sticking out of her hair. It looked like she had just gotten back from her shift at the hospital.
“Oh, Ms. Anderson…I was wondering if Andrew was here, by any chance? I need to talk to him about something.” you ask her, praying the answer would be what you’d expect it to be.
Abby let out a sigh and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart…Owen dropped him off this morning and he left the house right before I was about to leave for work. I honestly thought he’d be spending the day with you today.”
Although Andrew was an adult now, he still managed to make visits between his mom and dad. Abby and Owen have been divorced for years now, but at the very beginning, they were once dating as high school sweethearts. It wasn’t until Abby had gotten pregnant from him during her senior year, and as a result, he’d figured the best and most traditional way was for them to get married after graduation.
Things were good for the couple so far…until one day, shortly after Andrew’s first birthday, Abby had gotten home early from school only to find her husband in bed with another woman, which instantly led to them getting divorced with joint custody of their son. She felt like she should’ve been hurt and heartbroken about that, but for some reason she just…didn’t. It was almost as if she was falling out of love with Owen anyway, and his cheating was just the sign for her to divorce him.
Even though Abby was the victim in that situation, she didn’t want to tell Andrew about it so as to not damage his relationship with his father. Instead, she made sure to raise him to be a loyal, trustworthy man, just so he wouldn’t end up turning out to be just like his father.
She raised him to make sure that he wouldn’t end up hurting you.
You let out a sigh, looking over at your car before back at her. “Alright, um, I’ll just head out, then…”
As you were about to leave, you felt Abby’s hand gently grab your shoulder, causing you to turn around. “Hold on, um…would you like to come inside? I can’t have you driving around in this awful weather, maybe you can just wait for him in the meantime, yeah?”
You hesitated for a moment, but to be fair, Abby did have a point. It’s been storming so much these days, and based on the few drops you felt land on your shoulder, it seemed like it was going to happen again tonight.
You give Abby a nod, accepting her offer. She steps over to the side, clearing the way for you to enter inside before closing the door behind you.
“Have a seat, sweetheart,” Abby offers, gesturing you towards her couch. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and order some takeout if you’d like? I uh, don’t plan on doing anything tonight…” she continues, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
You nod back at her and set your bag down on the couch before sitting yourself down. “That’s alright with me…Thanks again, Ms. Anderson.”
“Abby, sweetheart,” she replies, correcting you.
“Right, thank you, Abby.”
You watch as she turns around and heads upstairs to her room. Once the shower turns on, you can’t help but get a feeling of deja vu passing through you, remembering that certain day like it was yesterday.
Now, the thought of being with a woman never really crossed your mind, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but find Abby to be so…attractive. You assumed it was just a silly little crush and set it aside because there was no way that Abby would see you as anything more than her son’s girlfriend.
But it wasn’t until about a month ago, that you decided to spend the night at Andrew’s place. It was around 1 am, and you had left Andrew’s bedroom to use the bathroom. As you were just about to go in, you couldn’t help but peek into Abby’s room as you were passing by.
The door of her bathroom was creaked open, the shower was currently running, and while Abby was undressing herself from her scrubs, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes fixed on her figure. Her back, her arms, her hands…you were feeling so attracted to her, to where a wave of arousal was hitting you instantly. You were getting so turned on by her in the way that you should be feeling towards her son instead.
Your gaze kept lingering on her, but once you noticed her blue eyes locking with yours, you quickly rushed back to Andrew’s room. This led you to have to wake up your boyfriend just to have sex with him, all with the sinful thoughts of his mother on your mind.
And even though neither you nor Abby brought up that incident the next morning, she had a strong feeling that those sounds that you were making that night were meant for her.
The sound of thunder startles you. You look out the window to see that it has already begun pouring outside. You were definitely going to be here for a while now, but you didn’t mind it. Abby always provided good company to you anyway.
You watch as the rain keeps pattering down, hitting the glass of the window. Your hand feels the vibration of your phone followed by a chime, causing you to look down at your screen and check the notification you just received.
Abby shuts off the water in the shower once she’s finished, making sure to keep it quick so as to not leave you waiting for so long. She then quickly changed into a shirt and sweatpants before shutting off the lights and leaving her bedroom.
As Abby began to head downstairs, she could hear a faint sniffling sound coming from the living room. It sounded like you were crying. This led to her rushing even quicker now to the living room, walking in to see you quietly crying, your dimly lit phone in one hand while your face was buried in the other, collecting all of your tears.
Concerned, she slowly began to approach you. “Hey, hey sweetheart…what’s the matter?” she asks calmly, sitting down next to you on the couch and placing a hand on your shoulder.
All you could do was shake your head in response. You were so choked up on your tears that you couldn’t even speak. You felt Abby get closer to you, trying to take a look at what was on your phone. You quickly hid it away from her, but it was too late. She had already caught a glimpse of the familiar figure that was on the screen.
Her hand makes contact with yours, trying to get ahold of your phone. “Let me see,” she tells you in a commanding, yet gentle tone.
You couldn’t help but give in, slowly loosening your grip on your phone, now letting her have it in her possession. Once the phone was in her hands she took a closer look at the screen, eyes widening in shock and disbelief. She couldn't believe what was seeing right now.
It was a picture of Andrew, her son, out at a party, with his lips attached to another girl’s, that clearly wasn’t his girlfriend.
Abby was just as shocked as you were. But she wasn’t just shocked. She was enraged, enraged at the fact that her own son had gone behind your back and hurt you like this. You were the sweetest, kindest soul she’d ever met, how could he, or anyone manage to break your heart with no remorse whatsoever?
Along with that, Abby couldn’t help but feel disappointed either. She spent the past twenty years raising her son to not be a cheat like his father was. But at that moment, after seeing that photo and the state you are in right now, she felt like she failed as a mother.
At that moment, she wanted to make things right.
Not only that…she wanted to make you forget about her son and make up for how he treated you.
Abby sets your phone down and reaches for her own that was on the coffee table. You try to stop her from doing so, knowing that she is going to call her son right now. “I-I tried calling h-him,” you choked out, grabbing at her forearms. “H-He didn’t respond.”
Abby gently shakes your hands away from her arms and grabs her phone before quickly unlocking it. “He’ll respond to me, sweetheart, trust me,” she tells you sternly, getting up from the couch and making her way back upstairs to her room before closing the door.
She was definitely right about that. It didn’t take long for you to hear the muffled shouting coming out of Abby’s room. Even through the thick walls of her house, you could hear her clear as day:
“Andrew, what the hell were you thinking?! Your girlfriend is here in my house, worried sick about you and you’re at a fucking party cheating on her with another girl?! I didn’t raise you to be like this. If you wanna keep this act up, then go stay with your father, Andrew. I don’t want you coming back here until I say otherwise.”
Despite that Abby was in your defense about this, you couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmed. You honestly wished you hadn’t come here in the first place. Even though it was storming harshly outside, you felt like the best thing was to just go home. This was the last place you wanted to be at right now.
Once Abby had finished talking on the phone, she then went back downstairs to the living room, only to see you heading towards the front door to leave. She quickly stops you before your hand grabs the doorknob. “Hey, where are you going? I told you it’s too dangerous for you to drive out there right now.”
You ignore her and make the effort to push her away and get to the door, but her strong figure wouldn’t budge at all. “I-I need to go, Ms. Anderson, I can’t—“ Your words get cut off as Abby begins to wrap her arms around you, enclosing your surroundings into a hug.
You couldn’t help but give in to her embrace, burying your face into her chest and sobbing into it, instantly staining the soft cotton of her shirt with your tears. The way you were acting right now was hurting Abby inside. It hurt her to know that her son was the one that caused your heart to break into a million pieces, especially knowing how much you loved him. She was willing to do anything right now to take that pain away from you.
“Listen, sweetheart…” She says, slightly pulling away to get a look at you. “I told Andrew to stay at Owen’s in the meantime, okay? You don’t have to worry about him coming here.” she takes another deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t raise my son to be like this, sweetheart…I’m sorry.”
You look up at her and shake your head in response. “I-It’s okay, Ms. Anderson, it’s not your fault…”
The warmth from one of her hands reaches your face, wiping the tears off of your cheeks “I’d like you to stay here for a bit, okay? I don’t want you going out in that storm and getting hurt…I can’t afford to lose what my son couldn’t keep.”
It was clear that Abby didn’t mean for that last sentence to slip, and she didn’t notice that she was thinking out loud until she saw your eyes widen in shock. You couldn’t help but wonder if Abby was having those same feelings towards you as well…
Your gaze shifts away for a second, and you quickly wipe the rest of your tears before looking back up at her. “As much as I’d like to, Ms. Anderson…I really don’t want to be here right now…Everything here just reminds me of him…”
You notice Abby hesitate for a moment. “Do you, uh, want to go to my room instead? Will that help?” she says, practically trying not to sound desperate. She resisted the need to beg for it, but if that was convincing enough for you to stay with her, she would be on her knees in an instant.
“Yeah…That would be a lot better, actually…”
Abby’s arm moves down to the small of your back before keeping you close to her side as you follow her upstairs to her bedroom, which was at the end of the hall. Before you go in, you couldn’t help but turn your head at the room you had just passed—Andrew’s bedroom. You were already thinking about having to eventually go in there and take your things out of his room. The thought of it was already making you sick.
Abby places a hand on your shoulder, causing you to get slightly startled before looking up at her. “You know you don’t have to go in there yet, right?” she assures you, squeezing your shoulder. “I can even get your things out of his room if you need me to.”
You simply nod and smile back at her as a silent ‘thank you’ before turning the knob of her bedroom and letting yourself in.
Upon entering, you realize how much Abby’s room differs from her son’s. Her room was painted in a shade of light blue, her bed was neatly made just as she had it in the morning. On your left, there was her dresser followed by some weights next to it, and on your right was the entrance to her bathroom. That same bathroom you had peeked into not that long ago.
“Your room is nice,” you tell her, your eyes still fixed on your surroundings. “Definitely a lot nicer than Andrew’s.”
Abby lets out a chuckle from behind. “Yeah, I know, he’s always been so unorganized.” she then hesitates for a moment before continuing. “However, there’s always been something in his room that mine doesn’t have…”
You slowly turn around to face her, noticing her starting to approach you. “What’s that?”
She stops in her tracks once she’s in front of you, gently placing her hand on your chin and lifting it up so you can see her.
“…you.”
A smile crept up on your face in reaction to her words. “Is that so? Well…”
You pause for a moment, looking at your surroundings before looking back up at her and leaning in, just close enough to where your lips were just inches away from hers.
“I like it better here anyway,” you whisper back to her.
And with that, Abby gives in and seals your words with a kiss, and you just can’t help but kiss her back. The both of you knew that this was wrong, Abby was your boyfriend’s mother for Christ’s sake.
But if it’s such a bad thing, why did it feel so good for the two of you?
You feel Abby’s hand in front of you, slightly pushing you back so you can sit down on her bed. Once you land on her bed, she drops down to her knees to your height, still maintaining her lips with yours before pulling them away momentarily to strip you down.
Her hands first meet with the hem of your shirt, gently tugging it upwards to get it off. You bring your hands up as she fully discards you from your shirt and toss it to the ground. As she now works on getting your jeans off, you unhook your bra and slowly remove it before tossing it next to your shirt.
Abby looks up for a moment, only for her gaze to linger at the mere sight of your topless self. “My god…” she says in awe, moving both of her hands to your tits. “You look so beautiful…I can’t believe he gets to see this…gets to touch this…”
With her hands still cupping your tits, she leans in to kiss one of them, causing a moan to escape from your mouth. One of her hands moves back to the button of your jeans, and she instantly gets them undone with just a single hand. Her mouth is soon off of your nipple followed by her other hand, now hardened just from the contact of her lips and fingers. You were easily getting so turned on by her, and she knew it.
However, now that your jeans were gone and your underwear was shifted to the side, you couldn’t help but stop her once she was about to dive in between your legs. “W-Wait…” you said, gently pushing her head away from your soaked cunt.
Abby paused her movements immediately, pulling her head away and looking up at you. “What? What is it?” she asks with some slight concern in her voice.
You hesitate for a moment. You genuinely don’t know how you’re going to be able to confess this to her.
“You, um…you don’t have to do it, i-if you don’t want to—“
“But I want to,” she replied firmly, instantly cutting off the rest of your words. “Do you not want me to?”
You shake your head quickly in response. “N-No, I do, I really do, I just thought—“
“Thought what? What did you think?” she asks you, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
It didn’t take long for Abby to get the message. She knew why you were being so hesitant about this. To her, it felt like she was one step away from finally being able to not only taste you but to give you the pleasure that you deserved. But to you, you couldn’t help but simply feel like a burden to her, just like how it was with her son.
“Wait a minute…Has Andrew not been doing this to you?”
Your gaze drifts off to the side, and she takes your lack of eye contact as a yes to her question.
Each of her hands was on your knees, and you could feel her tighten her grip on them a bit, but not to the point where it would hurt you. And even though you were looking away from her, you could see her shake her head in disbelief from the corner of your eye.
“I can’t believe him…” she mutters to herself with a sigh. “He really is just like his father.”
The warmth of her hand makes contact with the side of your face, tilting it back forward to face her. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart…please let me make up for my son’s actions…let me give you the pleasure that you deserve. Will you let me do that? Please?”
You hesitate once again. The thought of having Abby give you even the slightest bit of pleasure felt overwhelming to you, but the fact that she was quite literally on her knees begging to do it to you turned you on even more. If anything, Abby was being more desperate than you were right now.
So you give in this time.
“Y-yes…” you whisper out quietly to her. “Go ahead…”
And with that, Abby’s hands meet together at the waistband of your underwear, fully pulling them down and off of your legs before spreading them even farther than before.
Her lips gently brush over your sensitive clit to kiss it, and the sudden contact causes you to involuntarily jerk back. You didn’t mean to do it, but it’s been so long since you’ve been touched before, that even the slightest touch on your pussy already makes you feel overstimulated.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Abby coos, gently squeezing your hips and bringing you closer to her face. “I’ve got you, just lie back and relax for me, sweetheart, okay? Nice and slow…”
You try your best to keep your cool right now, and even Abby tries to as well. It’s clearly taking everything in her to not just quickly dive into your pussy and devour you alive. But she knows how long it’s been for you. She knows that your body hasn’t been worshipped the way that it should be.
“God….you taste so good…sweetest little thing I’ve ever had…” she murmurs into your pussy, slowly increasing the speed of her fingers.
You couldn’t help but watch in awe at the sight of Abby right now. Andrew was never willing to even put his mouth near your pussy, while his mother here was on her knees eating you like a woman starved.
“Mmmh, g-go faster, please…” you quietly whine out to her, grinding your hips against both of her thick fingers that were inside you.
You didn’t need to say anything else for Abby to instantly obey your command. Her fingers began to pump in and out of your pussy even faster than before. They were going in so deep to the point where the tip of her middle finger easily tapped into your g spot, and you absolutely loved it.
Before you knew it, Abby’s fingers and mouth were going at an extremely rapid pace inside you, so fast to the point where you were gripping onto the edge of the bed to hold yourself down.
That feeling was quickly building up inside you now, you were going to cum at any moment. However, something about that feeling felt unusual to you. It was almost as if you needed to stop what she was doing to you.
So you do. You try to warn her, even grab at her wrist to slow down.
“A-Abby, wait—oh God—fuck!”
As much as you tried, you couldn’t warn her in time. Your body had already done its deed, your pussy uncontrollably squirting into her mouth and on her fingers as you reached your peak. The rest of your body felt limp, and your brain was feeling slightly fuzzy from your orgasm.
You felt Abby shift around in between your legs to stand back up, which led you to muster up the energy to sit up on the bed. Your eyes widen at the mess you’ve just created. Everything—Abby’s face, her clothes, her sheets, your legs—was all soaked with your release.
You couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed by it, quickly closing up your legs and bringing your knees to your face. “A-Abby, I’m so sorry I—I didn’t mean to do that…I tried to—“
“Hey hey, it’s okay sweetheart…Don’t feel bad…” she murmurs out to you, gently caressing your face with one hand while bringing both of your knees back down with the other. “Did it feel good?”
You nod slowly as she looks back down at you. “Yes, it did…Better than—”
“Better than him, right?”
“Yeah. Better than him.”
A smile flashes on Abby’s face as she leans in to kiss your lips, letting you taste a bit of yourself in the process. “Then you shouldn’t be sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you as she pulls away. “Lie down on the back of the bed, princess. I'm not done with you just yet.”
You simply oblige, sitting yourself up and scooting to the back of her bed, lying your head down on top of her pillows that were stacked in front of the headboard. You watch as Abby wipes her face and licks her fingers clean before stripping herself out of her clothes. Just like last time, you couldn’t help but admire her broad, muscular figure. And it wasn't just her figure, it was just everything about her. Her bright blue eyes, her freckled skin, her luscious blond hair…You just felt so mesmerized by her. You felt an attraction to her that just couldn’t compete with Andrew at all.
Your eyes follow her movements as she leans down over her bottom bedside drawer and opens it for a moment before shaking her head and closing it. It didn’t take much for you to be able to see the strap she owned, alongside the few other toys she had in there.
The weight of the bed soon shifts down as she hovers herself over you. “Are you…are you not gonna fuck me?” you ask her quietly.
Abby nods her head as she adjusts the pillows on the back of your head to make you feel more comfortable. “I’m gonna fuck you, sweetheart, just not with those,” she says as she shifts back and begins to position herself in between your legs. “I'm gonna fuck you in a way that no man, not even my own son, could ever do with you. Would you like that, sweetheart?”
You nod quickly, eager to find out how she’s going to do this. However, you didn’t know what to do about it either. “Wait, but how do I—”
“You don’t have to do anything, okay princess? All you have to do is just look pretty for me while I do the work. Lie back and relax for me, just like before, yeah?”
You nod again, resting your upper body back on the bed as Abby continues to maneuver herself over you. She lifts up one of your legs and places it over her shoulder, and then brings her free hand down to her pussy and spreads her lips open with two of her fingers. You could easily see that she was just as wet as you were right now.
She then places her wet pussy on top of yours and you easily gasp at the newfound feeling of it. The way her lips molded perfectly against yours, along with how her arousal was practically dripping on top of your tight hole had you reeling.
“Oh fuck,” Abby mutters out, further pressing herself down on top of you. “Your pussy feels even better against me like this.”
Abby begins to grind her pussy against yours, causing you to moan over the friction. You understand that Abby wants to take her time with you right now, but God was she being so painfully slow with this. You were desperately craving for some more friction already, but you felt too shy to tell her. So you end up weakly grinding your hips instead.
“Whoa there,” Abby says, placing a hand on your hip to keep you steady. “Looks like someone’s eager for more…You want me to go faster, princess? Is that what you want?”
“Y-Yes, p-please Abby…g-go faster…” you whine out to her, continuing to grind against her pussy.
“Needy girl…” she mutters as she increases her pace. “Not even a minute with my pussy and she already wants more…I bet it feels better than any cock you’ve ever had, hm?”
All you could do at this point was babble and whine in response. The feeling of Abby’s wet cunt against yours was getting you easily drunk. You look down and watch Abby place a thumb on your hood, lifting it to expose your throbbing clit to her. She then placed her clit right on top of yours before grinding even faster than before.
The sudden overstimulation caused your eyes to flutter themselves shut and your head to tilt back in pleasure against the stack of pillows behind you. Your body soon starts to feel limp again and the familiar fuzziness in your brain soon returns again. At this point, Abby was practically using your pussy to get herself off. But as long as you kept feeling the delicious friction of her clit rubbing against yours, you didn’t mind at all.
Abby suddenly tightens her grip on your leg, leading you to open your eyes and look back at her. Her brows were furrowed in concentration with her gaze fixed on both pussies. You could hear her quietly whimpering to herself while the muscles in her abdomen were contracting and tensing up as she kept quickly grinding herself against your pussy.
At first, you couldn’t tell what she was trying to do with herself. But it didn’t take you too long to realize why her body was doing these things.
Abby was waiting for you to cum first.
You were at a loss for words at the moment. Andrew never cared about that. He would always be done the second he’d finish, meanwhile, Abby was sacrificing her own pleasure just to make you cum a second time.
“A-Are you close, sweetheart?” Abby moans out to you, keeping her hands firm against you as she continues to rub her pussy onto yours.
“Y-Yes, fuck—” you whimper back as you begin to quickly grind your hips against hers. “D-don't stop, Abby…m’so close…”
At this point, the noises that the two of you were making right now were borderline pornographic. Between your moans and whines with Abby’s grunts, along with the wet squelching sound of both of your pussies rubbing against one another, it's honestly surprising how you haven’t woken up the neighbors by now.
“Fuck, Abby—'m gonna cum, fuck!” you tell her as you grip the bedsheets while continuing to rub your clit with hers.
Within seconds, your pussy began to quickly clench around Abby’s while instantly cumming right on top of it. Once Abby felt that you were emptied out, she soon let her body relax before cumming onto your pussy as well with a broken moan.
Once the both of you have recovered from each other's climaxes, Abby presses a soft kiss to your ankle before gently getting your leg off of her shoulder and setting it back down.
Feeling drunk from your orgasm, you let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, hardly feeling the movements of Abby cleaning you up and tucking you into a fresh set of sheets. Your eyes open back up again once Abby has her arm wrapped around you from behind. “Abby, that was…that felt amazing..” you whisper out to her.
Abby lets out a chuckle before gently kissing the back of your shoulder. “I’m glad I could make up for it, sweetheart,” she whispers back to you.
You turn your head around for a moment to face her. “Are you sure I can spend the night here with you?” you ask her shyly.
Abby smiles at you, giving you a quick kiss on your lips before responding. “Of course you can, sweetheart…you know I told him not to come back,” she reassures you, gently caressing the side of your face with her hand. “You’re in good hands with me, I promise.”
You smile at her before turning back around and pressing yourself closer to her as she keeps you tightly wrapped in her embrace. The security that Abby was giving you right now was more than enough to make you instantly drift off to sleep, secretly wishing that the night that you’d spent with your boyfriend’s mother could now last a lifetime.
And little did you know, Abby was also wishing the same thing too.
2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.
#abby anderson#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson smut#boyfriend’s mom!abby#abby x reader smut#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson tlou#abby the last of us#abby anderson x reader#abby x reader#abby x you#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson x you#abby anderson the last of us#abby anderson fanfiction#the last of us#abby tlou#the last of us x reader#the last of us part 2#the last of us fanfiction#wlw#abby the last of us 2#the last of us 2#tlou2 x reader#tlou fanfiction#tlou part 2#tlou fic#if you’re reading this i love older women
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have u read the pond child au comic by any chance :3
OH I SURE DID!
**Heavy positive rant here cuz i absolutely love this au**
*slight gore warning also*
(Please go check them out if you havent —-> https://pond-child-edd.tumblr.com/)
i really wanted to make a post like this before, when i saw the question in my inbox i knew it was my time to shine PFFT
Soo in recent weeks i wanted to check out the comic, since a lot of my friends loved it and said that i should read it and stuff…
i read the whole comic in 2 hours..
.
first of all, the plot is AMAZING!! i love zombie apocalypse/ survival plots smm, the classic era of eddsworld is a cherry on topp
and the DRAMA?? THE ANGST??? THE COMEDY??? AT THE SAME TIME??!? its just beautiful!!
second of all, the gangs personalities are the best, i especially like matts whole personality LIKE HE HAS THOSE NARCISSISTIC BEHAVIOURS THAT LITERALLY MADE A WHOLE CONFLICT IN THE COMIC (and abandonment issues ofc) , IDK IF HE IS AWARE OF HIMSELF BUT ITS JUST!! SO GO O D!! [ also the incident that included matt broke me so damn much X(( ]
AND THE TENSION / RIVALRY BETWEEN TORD AND MATT IS MAGNIFICENT. Ive actually never seen this kind of relationship between those in other fan content before, but im LOVING it!!
About Edd…
I LOVE HIM SO DAMN MUCH I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS IT BUT HE IS JUST DJHFJNRN!! I LOEV LOVE LOVE HIM TOO MUCH!!! (istg he needs to get some rest after what happend in the last chapter DJHDCD)
also tom is so cute wtf
(oh btw i love the fact that tords t shirt changes every pannel, its hella hilarious LOL)
third of all, the art and expressions are on the top 🏃♂️its so simple yet so impactful, I can see how much time and effort this comic took, and i RESPECT THAT SO DAMN MUCH!!!
I’ll definitely draw more fanarts w this au lololol
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TREAT YOU BETTER
PAIRING — lee chan x fem!reader
WORD COUNT — 3.7k
SYNOPSIS — your boyfriend of five months has been treating you like hell, and one of your closest friends, lee chan, refuses to let it go on any longer, taking matters into his own hands.
TAGS — college au, best friends to lovers, cheating, explicit sexual content, mutual pining, mentions of reader struggling with low self-esteem, cheesy stuff, yes i did come up with this after accidentally listening to treat you better by shawn mendes, this didn’t turn out as good i hoped it would but oh well!
NOTE — first fic here. he looks so good in the wait m/v so i wanted to write something for him :D my beloved
the slam of the door behind you rings through your ears. you try to wipe your cheeks dry, hoping you don’t look like the tearful mess you are.
your voice feels raw from yelling for the past hour or so. it’s been going like this for the past two months at least twice a week, and you’re exhausted because of it.
as the rain pours, you notice the familiar car driving towards you, bright lights feeling heavy on your eyes. you open the door without hesitation to let yourself sink into the passenger’s seat, taking a few deep breaths, all without looking at the driver.
but the quiet sobs escaping you are enough to give it away.
chan has his one arm leaning on top of the steering wheel, the other gently touching your shoulder to make you look at him, but you refuse.
“i’m fine,” you stutter out, sniffing from the cold, “really.”
of course you’re not fine. both of you are more than aware of the toxicity of the situation. you getting into arguments with your boyfriend several times a week, resulting in you calling chan and staying over at his apartment for a night, only to hear you make it up to the guy the next day when you weren’t even in the wrong to begin with.
“we have a different definition of that, then.”
“it was just an argument. we’ll work it out in a couple hours.”
“it’s not normal.” he says, trying to get it through your thick skull without raising his voice. “it’s not normal, baby.”
you sniff, trying to somehow get rid of the pain beating against your forehead. “he can be so mean, and then… then he’s so sweet again.”
chan wants to rip his hair out of his head. five fucking months of this have passed at this point, and he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. he’s not sure how to handle the situation the right way, either.
he’s been in love with you for years. years. since sophomore year in high school. it was never his intention to fall in love with you, nor did he think he would, but he did, and god did he fall hard. embarrassingly hard.
nevertheless, he was always too afraid to make a move. too afraid that you’d reject him and he’d be out of your life forever like he was never there in the first place.
but he’s grown up now. third year of university, twenty-two years old, longer hair, a leather jacket and a solid bunch of experiences. some great, some he’d rather forget.
and so five months ago, he’d finally mustered the courage. he was finally going to own up to his feelings and tell you the truth.
only for you to excitedly come up to him, telling him you’re seeing this guy. and it made his heart sink in his chest, but he pushed his feelings to the side for your happiness.
or so he tried.
your boyfriend treats you like shit. he was sweet in the beginning — they always are.
then the cracks in the façade started to show.
it’s not that you don’t see it. you do — but it’s difficult to leave when someone knows just how to keep you where they want you. every time you tell yourself you’re gonna break up with him, he sweet-talks you and says things can be fixed, and that going through a rough patch is normal.
but chan knows better.
he just needs you to know better as well.
it breaks his heart to see his favorite person let herself get hurt like this. he becomes a little more torn with every sob leaving your body, every tear spilling from your eyes.
he gently puts the buds of his fingertips on your chin and jaw, slowly turning your face to him so he can look you in the eye.
the tears are still quietly running down your cheeks, your face numb, now devoid of any emotion, ashamed to have him see you in this state.
“you’re killing yourself like this.” he whispers, voice laced with concern. “he’ll never make you happy.”
you sniff from your breakdown. “maybe it’s me. maybe i just need to stop giving him such a hard time—”
“don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
“please, chan, just… just go and get me somewhere else. all i need is some breathing space — please.” you beg him.
he wants to scream, wants to tell you to break up with him for good, wants to walk into that damn house and do it himself — but he can’t.
instead, he obliges, driving you to his place.
his cozy one-person apartment feels like the best place in the world to you — the one place where you can get away from everything else.
you watch chan as he locks the door behind him, then leaning against it for a moment as he watches you sit on the armrest of the soft chair. “you okay? want some tea?”
the corners of your lips curl up at the suggestion. he knows you awfully well. “that’d be great.”
his lashes flutter before he nods, kicking his shoes off by the door.
once he’s busy in the kitchen, you bite your lip as you recall the way he softly talked to you in the car, eyes trailing past the curves of his arms and the sharpness of his jawline.
he’s dated more than you have. not much in high school, but definitely during the past three years he’s spent at college. though it doesn’t surprise you. he has such warmth to him, with the beautifully infectious sound of his laughter, that big smile and some of the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen.
it wasn’t until recently you began to see him in a different light. whenever you saw him with a new girl, arm around her waist or over her shoulders, you secretly imagined yourself next to him more than once. you can’t believe you didn’t take notice of how handsome he was before.
but you’re too much of a coward to tread over that line of friendship, too much of a coward to see if maybe, just maybe, your feelings are requited.
“wanna stay here for a while?” he asks, hoping you’ll at least spend the night here before you go back to your boyfriend, as you’ve done countless times before.
“yeah. don’t feel like going back yet.” you smile, trying to somewhat make light of the situation.
“then don’t.”
you sigh at his response. “it’s not that easy.”
“why not?”
“because i don’t wanna throw something away the second things get hard.”
“there’s a difference between hard and unbearable. your case is the latter.”
feeling backed into a corner, even though he hardly means to do so, you turn the topic on him. “you’ve had some rough experiences with past girlfriends too and you stuck around.”
god. if only you knew he ended up leaving them because he never enjoyed being with them as much as he enjoyed being with you. “you’d be surprised.” he mutters under his breath, pouring two cups of tea, making yours exactly as he knows you like.
when you stay quiet, he tries to think of a way to get it through your head that you need to break up with your resident ass of a boyfriend.
“can i ask you something?”
“sure.”
“what’s it going to take for you to leave him?”
the question makes you look up before using a tone that almost sounds like you’re scolding him. “chan.”
“i’m serious. he’s treating you like shit. you call me crying every week.”
“it’s just—”
“no, it’s not ‘just a tough time’. you know it isn’t.” he interrupts, jaw clenched tight but voice controlled. he will not yell at you like that piece of trash does. “he’s a controlling, manipulative asshole. it’s not gonna get better. if anything, he’ll just treat you worse in the future.”
“yeah, well, not all of us have people lined up.”
the words have left your mouth before you can comprehend it, leaving you to lower your head in regret. not that it’s any less true. to you, anyway.
“what, and i do?”
“don’t you?”
he’s not sure what baffles him more — you thinking that he’s got girls lined up to date him or you thinking that you don’t have anyone else out there that would be willing to date you.
“what’s this really about?” he sits down on the empty coffee table, facing you directly. “what does my dating life have to do with yours?”
“nothing — it doesn’t. i never said it did.”
“then why the comment about me having people lined up? which i don’t, by the way.”
the answer sits at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say it without looking away from him. “maybe not. but at least you won’t end up alone. i can’t say the same for myself.”
and there it is. the sole reason you’re still with the guy. your crippling fear of ending up alone, your heavy insecurity that makes you believe no one could possibly want you.
the last thing he wants is for you to get hurt — but he’d rather have you suffer through your first heartbreak than end up with someone who walks all over you like a doormat.
“please don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but if you think that low of yourself, you’re a little stupid.”
the comment makes you snort. “well, it’s certainly fitting.”
he wipes some of your half-dried tears away, his one hand remaining to cup your cheek, an alarmingly intimate gesture.
“aside from the fact that there’s nothing wrong or shameful about ending up alone... i need you to know that you’re worth it. you’re gorgeous and intelligent and—” he halts for a moment, in a way confessing his love for you, not caring how cheesy it sounds, “—you deserve everything you want. ‘cause you’re one in a million.”
fuck, has he always looked at you that lovingly?
his words catch you off-guard for a moment before you press your lips together. “as much as i think it’s sweet of you to say those things, you’re only saying them ‘cause you’re my friend.” you interrupt him, having made up your mind.
after which chan shakes his head, gently twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. “i’m saying it because it’s true. any guy would be lucky to have you in his life.”
“i don’t think ‘lucky’ is the term my boyfriend would use.”
“yeah, ‘cause he’s a fucking dick.” he immediately comments, adding the next part with a softer tone. “if you were with me, i sure as shit wouldn’t be acting like that.”
that last sentence catches your attention, and chan realizes what he just said, suddenly very aware he’s treading on thin ice now.
but it had to come out one way or another.
though you seem to be going along with his words, not showing any signs of being uncomfortable with it. “and who’s to say you wouldn’t break my heart?”
he sees the intrigue on your face and decides to lean in closer. “if i broke your heart, i’d be breaking mine as well.”
“i’m not convinced.” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, and chan feels his heartbeat quicken.
every rational thought going through his mind is thrown out of the window the moment he catches you staring at his lips. it’s enough for him to put his hand on your lower cheek and smash his lips against yours.
he kisses you like he always imagined he would. perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but he’s waited too long for this moment to care.
and you’re kissing him back.
you both get hot from adrenaline and arousal. his hands roam down your hips, but when you start pulling on the collar of his jacket, he finally has it in him to break the kiss.
���are you sure you want this? i don’t want you to feel pressured—”
“i’ve wanted this for so long, chan. take it off, please.”
maybe he should pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. you’re underneath him, lips swollen, gazing at him like he’s your whole world and more.
he leans down again to pick you up, ensuring you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist so he can carry you to his bedroom.
once he lays you down on the soft bed, you watch him take off his jacket and throw his shirt over his head, leaving him with his chest bare, elastic waistband of his underwear visible.
he’s a dancer in his spare time, but you know he’s been hitting the gym recently as well, and it’s paying off, noticing his bigger biceps and toned abs.
then he chuckles from the way you’re observing him, and that smile — that beautifully big smile is what you fell in love with.
one of many things, really.
you remove your basic long-sleeved shirt, exposing your skin before him, enjoying the way he’s looking at the black bra you’re wearing underneath.
you’re seated at the edge of the bed, at eye-level with his chest, which you kiss softly.
he follows your actions like a hawk, unable to keep his eyes off you. he proceeds to move your hair behind your shoulder, his right hand finding your jaw when he kisses you again, lips trailing down to your neck and collarbone.
his touches are slow and sensual. at the end of the day, it’s your first time together, and you both notice the pressure and tension that comes with it.
you’re both aching to touch each other more already, but it feels so much better like this.
he gently pushes you to lay on your back, hovering over you to kiss down your chest and stomach, smoothly pulling down your skirt before his fingers hook onto the fabric of your lace underwear.
“what’d you want me to do, pretty girl?” he asks while getting rid of your panties, looking you in the eye as he does it.
the nickname makes you shiver. “you can do anything you wanna do.”
“wanna eat you out. bet i’m better at it than that motherfucker.”
“not hard to beat when he never does it at all.” you mumble to yourself, but he hears it.
“are you kidding? has he ever even made you cum?”
you just give him a deadpan stare that has a hint of embarrassment to it, which is enough for him to know the answer.
just being aware of how bad that fucker treats you makes him want to prove to you that he can make you feel so, so much better. and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.
he wastes no time, spreading your legs so his tongue can get to work. you shiver at the feeling of his mouth on you, biting your lower lip to not squeal already from sensitivity.
“no. none of that. i wanna be able to hear every sound you make.” he says after taking your hand away from your mouth. “you can pull on my hair if you like.”
“do you like that?”
“yeah, i enjoy a bit of pain.”
that makes you giggle a bit. “you masochist.”
to which he responds with a gentle pinch to your skin. “keep it in mind for next time, baby.”
fuck — you definitely will.
your hands run through his soft black hair. you’ve locked your legs behind his head, hips bucking up a little every time he hits a spot that feels good, his warm breath and wetness of his mouth on your pussy turning you on like crazy.
chan is pretty sure he’s descending into heaven when he hears you moan his name for the first time. he doesn’t know how many times he’s fucked his fist imagining that sound.
so he adds a finger to the warm and wet mess between your legs, sliding in easily, biting his own lip as he watches your reaction to it. you’ve got your head thrown back, one hand fisting the sheets, the other still holding his locks.
then he moves to a second, and not much later he’s got three of his fingers pumping in and out of you, arching them a little to find the right spot, rubbing and sucking on your clit.
“does that feel good?” he asks, just a bit out of breath, which is nothing compared to the writhing mess that’s you. he keeps messing with the pace, edging you a little every time, making you go crazy.
“please, channie, please let me cum—”
“i will if you answer me, baby.”
you whine, nodding at him desperately. “feels s’good, so fucking good.”
“want me to go faster?”
“please. god—need you inside me so bad.”
even he can resist so much. you’re so good for him, so he increases the pace of his fingers, relishing in the way you start squirming underneath him, trying to push him away and pull him closer all the same.
then you pull on his hair almost violently, making him moan against your pussy as you hit your first climax in a long time.
and he doesn’t stop yet — only once he sees you’ve regained focus does he pull his fingers out of you, sucking on them to savor the taste right before kissing you again, your trembling body aching for him.
he only breaks the kiss to reach for the drawer in his nightstand, grabbing a condom out of it, getting off of you to push off the last pieces of clothing still on him. the realization of the fact that your best friend is about to fuck you after god knows how long finally begins to dawn on you, and it makes your heart beat that much harder.
once he’s slipped the condom on, you move your hands to his neck and shoulders, biting your lip when you feel him push your legs behind his waist.
you gasp when he bottoms out of you for the first time. his head is buried in the crook of your neck as he finds his rhythm, sucking at your sensitive skin, not giving a damn whether he leaves marks on someone that’s technically not even his.
yet.
“do you remember that time we went to senior prom together?” he asks breathily, not slowing down even a little bit. “you were wearing that pretty blue dress. god, i wanted to take you home that night more than anything.”
you remember that. it was just before you two graduated high school together — he looked so dashing in his suit. you’d even imagined kissing him underneath the basketball bleachers like some cliche rom-com.
“so why didn’t you?”
“was too much of a pussy to do it.”
you bring yourself to chuckle inbetween your moans. “that’s a shame. i would’ve let you.”
just knowing that his feelings are reciprocated turns him on. he lifts his head up a little, kissing the front of your neck, your jaw, your cheeks — everything, only halting for a moment when he fucks you just a little faster, watching the way your eyes roll back from pleasure.
your hands run over his strong back as he pushes in and out of you at a steady pace, your lip nearly bleeding from how hard you’re biting it.
he hisses and relishes in the burning feeling of your nails digging into his shoulder blades.
“chan—god, harder, please—”
“i know, baby, i know, i got you.” he breathes out, changing up the position by hooking your legs over his shoulders.
it hits the exact right spot when he fucks you again, harder and deeper this time, your hands desperately clinging onto his skin, teeth sinking into your lower lip until they're nearly drawing blood.
beads of sweat roll down his muscular back. he feels you’re getting closer to hitting that release, so he moves one hand down to rub your clit again, aching to see you fall apart underneath him.
“fuck, ’s too much, channie—” you whine, throwing your head back in the pillow for a moment.
but he shakes his head, continuing, knowing you’re close. “you can do it, pretty girl. cum for me again. i wanna feel it.”
and he discovers that begging you works wonders, because it’s enough for you to come undone, clamping on his dick, making it feel so tight that he spills his own release into the condom mere seconds after.
with a layer of sweat on your foreheads, he feels how sensitive you are when he pulls out. he throws the condom in the trashcan, turning his face back to yours and kisses your lips more softly this time.
“how do you feel?”
“a little worn out.” you sigh, proceeding to show a smile. “but better.”
“good. how do you feel about taking a bath?”
“sounds nice.”
chan can’t help himself and leans in to kiss you again. he’s already getting awfully used to this, but one issue remains. “i wanna be with you. i meant everything i said tonight.”
the sentiment warms your heart. he’s always had that effect on you. “i know. i wanna be with you, too.”
he nods, happy with your words. “you go on ahead to the bathroom. i’ll clean things up here.”
“okay.” you tell him, pressing another kiss to his cheek before leaving the bedroom, feeling utterly lovesick.
he shares your feelings — it’s like he’s reliving that exciting feeling of seeing you the first few days after he realized he was in love with you.
there’s something that pulls him out of it, though. a certain vibrating sound. what is that? he thinks to himself.
and after looking around the room, he discovers it’s a phone receiving a call. your phone, to be exact, sitting in the back pocket of the jeans you discarded earlier.
the screen of your cellphone lights up, and he picks up the device, about to let you know someone’s calling — but his voice gets caught in his throat when he notices it’s the asshole who made you cry in the first place.
scoffing to himself, he taps the red button and declines the call.
thank you for reading. x
® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.
#lee chan x reader#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#seventeen fanfic#lee chan smut#dino x reader#chan x reader#chan x you#lee chan x you#lee chan oneshot#seventeen oneshot#svt oneshot#seventeen smut#svt smut#lee chan imagine#dino imagine#lee chan imagines#dino imagines#seventeen imagines#svt imagines#ksmutsociety#svthub#svt fic#lc: treat you better#original post
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The "Top" fics in fandom are not the "Best"
I've seen a couple of posts here in there implying that the ways to find the best fics in fandoms are just to go to ao3, and sort by 'Most Kudoses', 'Most Bookmarks', 'Most Comments', etc. I've also seen some folks say they feel like their fics are failures if they don't make it to the front page(s), or at least near there.
But the simple fact: this is not true.
Now, I'm not saying that the top-rated fics in a fandom are bad.
Far from it! They're often very popular for a reason. Well written, fun dynamics, cool plots, etc. A lot of my own favourite fics have made it to the first page when you sort by "Most Kudos"-- but then, a lot of mine also haven't.
Why?
Because those selections are inherently biased.
What do I mean by that? Just that there are other factors influencing what stories accumulate the most comments/kudoses/etc in a fandom, meaning none of these serve as a neutral metric of quality.
I'm going to explain some of these biases briefly, just so folks get a sense of what I mean:
Age Bias
This, I think, is the easiest to grasp. A fic that is three years old just has had more time to gain views than a fic that's three days old.
Also, consider that pretty much any fandom needs time to grow. If you're in the first days/weeks/months of a fandom, there probably just isn't that much content being made. If there's only 10 fics on the archive, then 11th one stands out. It'll get a lot of attention. But if that same fic were to come out a couple years later, when there were 11 fics published in a single day, well, people are more likely to miss it.
If you doubt me, take a look at the front page of 'Most Kudos' for a fandom of your choice. You'll probably see a lot of the stories there are on the older side- and this is exactly why.
Multi-Chapter Bias
There are a lot of ways people find new fics to read, and one of the most basic is just: look at the front page of the most recent updates.
Now, this way of sorting fics is exactly what it sounds like. A list of fics in order of when they were most recently posted/updated. But, obviously, if a fic has multiple chapters, it's going to appear on that front page way more often. A 50 chapter epic has 49 more chances to get seen this way than a one-shot.
This issue becomes even more intense when you consider the Most Comments sort option. For a one shot, a person is probably likely to only comment once. Maybe if they really love the story and revisit, they'll leave a second or third.
But multi-factor fics? By design, people come back every update. And that means a lot of people leave comments every single time. (Or at the very least, after big plot developments and twists!) This is what leads to long-running multi-chapter epics dominating the 'Most Comments' rankings in most fandoms.
Popular Pairing Bias
Again, this is just obvious. Some pairings are more popular than others. A rare-pair fic can be just as soulful, hot, and well-written as a story featuring the fandom's powerhouse fic, but if only 30 people are interested, well... [shrug] Less people will click on it, kudos it, and leave a comment.
To a lesser extent, you can expand this to any trope. 'Coffee Shop AUs' just seem to be more popular than, say, '1930s Mobster AUs'. That effects what tags people search, and what fics they find. But shipping is such an important element of many fandom cultures I thought it would be the most illustrative.
Positive Feedback Loop Bias
And honestly, this is maybe the real clincher.
Because I've established some of the things that can cause a story to start gathering lots of kudos, comments, and bookmarks in a first place. But once that starts, you get a positive feedback loop going. Because what's one of the first things a person does when they're looking for good stories in a fandom? They sort by 'Most Kudos'. And then they select the first story on the list, and they like it. So they leave a comment and kudos and...
Yeaaaah.
So... What do we do about it?
Well. Nothing really. This isn't really a problem. It's just something to be aware of.
Any attempt to put metrics on something as subjective as art is going to fall short. So don't go rating the quality of your own stories about how well it performs, and don't go chasing those coveted top spots. You'll have a lot more fun if you just write stuff that you enjoy, make some friends, and recognise a lot of factors influence fanfic statistics beyond just quality.
Searching via most comments/kudoses/bookmarks remains one of the easiest and quickest ways to start diving into a new fandom. It's often the first things I do, and found stories I love that way.
That said: I highly encourage you to search for fics beyond just that method. Here are some of my suggestions if you want to figure out ways to get started:
Search up Fanfic Rec Lists. Lots of people put them on their blogs, and websites like TVTropes even have that as a whole feature
Ask for fic recs! Seriously! Post about it in the fandom's tumblr tag, join Discord communities, etc, and just say, "Hey, I'd love to read a story where... [insert the general themes, characters, or plot points you like". People will be EXCITED to share.
Search by specific tags
Like, do you really, really love time loops? Search the 'Time Loop' tag in your favourite fandoms. A lot of specific tropes, AUs, etc. are canonized, so you can find a lot of stuff up your alley that way
Browse the most recently updated fics
Yeah, I know, it's old school. But seriously, you can find some awesome stuff there-- including stories from new authors just starting out, who could really use a boost!
And hey... if you find some stories you like... Consider writing some fic recommendation lists of your own. Spread the love!
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all my dreamin' | hjs
all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.
pairing: joshua hong x reader
summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters.
⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)"
type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut
wc: only 2.5k!
au: established relationship
rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact)
cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration.
a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!)
🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.
Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully.
Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.
“Cricket?” You mumble.
Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself.
A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”
“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.
You don’t know what you expected.
With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.
There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”
You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.
“Hi, Cold.”
“Don’t.”
You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”
Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest.
When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.
His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”
From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.
“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”
Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”
“Bleak indeed, cricket.”
The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.
“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”
Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.
You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”
The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.
The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.
As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.
You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.
When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.
Pinch me. I’m dreaming.
The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.
“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”
You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.
“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”
“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?”
The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.
It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.
You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”
“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully.
To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives.
Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”
With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain.
Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.
You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.
Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh.
Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation.
“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”
“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”
It’s one room over.
The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.
You digress.
The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers.
If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads.
You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them.
When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.
He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.
For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.
As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.
Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.
“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter.
How could you not?
Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.
Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.
It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard.
“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response.
It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel:
“I l-love it when you do that.”
To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.
You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.
Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.
He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.
“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”
In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.
“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”
You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”
#joshua hong#joshua smut#svt#svt smut#joshua x reader#joshua fluff#svt fluff#joshua imagines#joshua scenarios#svt imagines#svt scenarios#svt fic#seventeen smut#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#hong jisoo#shua#jade writes#re: all my dreamin'#kvanity#seventeen
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Little Purple Stars
Part 1 Part 2
Ghost x FemReader x Soap
Content: Soulmate AU, fluff, no angst
Everyone had a soulmate; whether that connection was platonic or romantic was entirely up to those involved. Some people even had multiple soulmates, like you did, which wasn’t that uncommon. It happens whenever a person turns 20 yrs old. They are suddenly able to draw on themselves, and have the picture appear on the skin of your soulmate.
You had two soulmates; one of them rarely ever drew on themselves, and if they did it was only with a black pen. Usually said drawing would also be a little black heart next to something that you or your other soulmate drew. You’ve always called this soulmate, Moon.
On the other hand soulmate number two, or Sun as you called them, was much more open and was constantly drawing little doodles all over themselves.
Sun and Moon; basic maybe, but you’ve always felt that it fits them perfectly.
-
It was your third time entering the Olympics and you couldn’t be more excited. You’re first year you unfortunately didn’t place, second year you won the bronze, and this year you were aiming for the gold. Most of all though, win or lose you hoped that by the end of today you will have made contact with your soulmates.
While getting ready for today you had drawn little stars in various shades of purple around your eyes, making them resemble freckles. Drawing on your face was generally frowned upon, but when events that are going to be televised all around the world exceptions are made.
You tried to give them a hint to watch the Olympics today by drawing the Olympics rings and a TV, but realistically you knew there was no way they could watch the entirety of the broadcast. Even if they did turn it on they could very easily miss your appearance. The only thing you could do now was hope that the two individuals with matching purple stars were watching.
-
Ghost watched as every little star slowly appeared on Soap's face knowing that his face looked the same only that the stars on his face were covered by the mask. It wasn’t until Gaz walked in the office as well and asked about them did Soap even know they were there.
“What do you mean I have stars?”
“Yeah on your face,” Gaz pulls out his phone and quickly takes a photo before showing it to the Scot.
“You knew they were there and you weren’t going to say anything?” Soap turns to face Ghost with a playful grin, “Well now you gotta take off the mask; I can’t be the only one walking around here with star freckles.”
“In your dreams MacTavish.”
Gaz chuckles at the two of them before he sits down in an empty seat, “So I know you didn’t do this,” pointing to Soap, “and you definitely didn’t do this. Can I ask why lucky number three decided to do this?” Directing his question towards the lieutenant.
“I assume it has something to do with the Olympics.”
“Aye, they drew that symbol yesterday didn’t they. I guess that was their way of giving us a warning for this; must be for some kind of watch party,” Soap guessed.
“Sounds like my kind of party, the ice skaters are performing in just a bit and I don’t plan to miss it.” Gaz holds his phone showing them the Olympic broadcast already up on his phone before popping in one of his earbuds.
“I didn’t take you for someone who would enjoy watching figure skating; all it is is watching people move on the ice innit?” Ghost questions, he’s never had any interest in the Olympics before. It was never something he had time to sit down and watch.
“We can go to an ice skating rink ourselves, and watch Soap try to skate if you want to watch more chaotic skating.”
“Oi, I didn’t even say anything, don’t go dragging me into this!”
“You were gonna say something and that’s enough for me!”
“Yeah yeah whatever,” Soap turns back to the paperwork he had been working on, “I’d like to see you try and skate. Let’s see who’s laughing then.”
The men chuckle to themselves and all of them focus on items in their hands. It wouldn’t be until an hour had passed that the silence amongst them was broken.
Gaz’s sudden gasp drew both Ghost and Soap’s attention to him.
“What happened mate; a skater fell down?” Ghost asks with slight amusement in his voice. He couldn’t imagine himself getting this worked up over anything as simple as ice skating. Continuing to watch as Gaz doesn’t say anything; simply sitting in his seat with his mouth slightly hung open.
“Gaz?” Soap questions as he steps towards him.
Very suddenly Gaz shoots up and steps towards him as well, grabbing Soap’s face once he is close enough. Holding up his phone and looking frantically between the two.
“Aye, wha’ the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Soap swats Gaz’s hand away from his face, “Didn’t your mum ever teach you about personal space.”
“Look!”
Soap focusing on Gaz’s phone to see what had the man so worked up. On the screen was a woman dressed in purple elegantly dancing on the ice, but what really caught his attention was the fact that she too had purple star freckles on her face; ones that matched his perfectly. “Oh fuck; Ghost!”
Ghost couldn’t believe what he was seeing for a moment. They had finally found their missing piece. Watching her dance and spin on ice he suddenly understood why people would enjoy watching this. She looks ethereal.
Looking at Soap he sees an awestruck look in his eyes. He won’t admit but the stars are quite cute on him; on both of them. How on earth did he end up with these two incredibly beautiful and talented people as his soulmates?
Later all three men are huddled together over the phone watching the award ceremony. The room had gotten embarrassingly loud when it became clear that you had won; Price had charged into the room asking them what had them all yelling for. He had luckily understood when the situation was explained by a sheepish soap, who was definitely making the most noise out of everyone. He was quick to get his energy back though once Price had left the room.
“We have to let the lass know we know we saw her!” Soap rushes to the desk pulling out multi colored pens; waving them towards Ghost.
-
You had done it! You had really done it; the gold was yours! Standing on the first place podium next to the other medalist you couldn’t help but wonder if your soulmates are watching you. You hope they were proud of you if they had seen your performance.
Trying to subtly check any exposed skin for any kind of sign or acknowledgement that you had been seen, and to your great delight you had been. The sun and moon had found their star.
There on your wrist was a drawing of a gold medal and right next to it was a little black heart.
They had seen you, they knew who you were. That thought both excited and terrified you. The only thing to do now was wait for them to show themselves; to find you.
Stepping down from the podium, and making your way off the ice you give your wrist a kiss and wave towards the cameras.
#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#soap x reader#ghost x reader x soap#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#x reader#fem reader#soulmates#john soap mctavish x reader
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ties that bind ; nanami kento ; march 14th.
pairing ; nanami kento x reader
drabble synopsis ; even the strongest sorcerers need to be saved sometimes.
themes ; fluff, slice of life, established relationship (married), parents au
warnings / includes ; gojo has no sense of boundaries, tiny hint of jealous nanami at the end, and all the jujutsu students are just chilling in this one :) can you tell i'm in desperate need of slice of life content, introduction to the other kids reader has with nanami! yuriko (born 2019), hiro (born 2020), and takara (born 2023)!
series masterlist.
14th march, 2024
With the cold remnants of winter fading into the soft blossoms of springtime, you and Nanami ventured out to the parks with the kids more often. This time, you’d brought the Jujutsu students along to enjoy the day as well—Yuji and Megumi were playing a rather competitive game of catch with a frisbee, Nobara and Maki were off buying ice cream from a cart vendor, and Toge and Yuta were leaned up against Panda, all soaking up the afternoon sun.
Nanami was by the playground, gently pushing Yuriko and Hiro, five and three respectively, on the low kiddie-swings with a small smile on his face. His lips were moving as he spoke to them, but you couldn’t hear from the bench you were sitting a few feet away. You were rocking a stroller, carrying your youngest daughter, Takara. Her soft hair, a shade somewhere between you and Nanami’s own heads, was pulled into a tufty bun, which threatened to come loose with the position she’d fallen asleep in.
Gojo had also invited himself to the excursion, currently sprawled out in the space beside you, having his third—or was it his fourth? You couldn’t quite remember—brightly-colored popsicle. The two of you had exchanged quite a few pleasantries, but mostly it was just him chatting away about his students and the missions they often frequented.
“I still don’t really understand,” you said, which made his head turn your way. “I can’t believe you actually teach these kids how to survive by dropping them in dangerous situations like that.”
The thought of your own children going on to learn in such a way made a shiver run down your back. Nanami would also surely pop a blood vessel if he thought about it for too long.
“They wouldn’t die,” Gojo responded easily. “Not on my watch, at least. I can save anyone. Anyone who wants to be saved, anyway.”
There was a distant tone to his words, but he was wearing a wide smile as he regarded you through his blindfolds.
“Hm…”
“Don’t be worried about them,” he reassured you. “Trust me, showing them the real world is the best way for them to learn.”
“I know,” you said, voice small. Your eyes darted to Yuji, who had leapt an incredible distance up in the air to snatch the frisbee Megumi had tossed. “I just worry for all of them so much. It’s like they’re all my kids too now, you know?”
Gojo licked a long stripe up his melting popsicle, humming. “They’re stronger than you think. Besides, they’ll always have each other.”
Your next words made Gojo freeze in place, tongue still stuck out flat over the popsicle.
“If you save everyone, who saves you?”
Gingerly, Gojo pulled away from the popsicle. He laughed then, but it was slight and hardly genuine.
“I don’t need to be saved,” replied the white-haired man. “I’m the strongest.”
That elicited a soft snort of amusement from you. You weren’t looking at him anymore—instead, facing your husband at the playground, who had taken to helping Hiro and Yuriko onto a see-saw. A fond smile graced the corner of your lips.
“Everyone needs to be saved at some point, Satoru. All we have is each other, in the end.”
There was a long silence as Gojo thoughtfully slurped up what was left on the popsicle stick. He was already itching for another.
He reached out to pinch at your cheek, ignoring your noise of surprise. “You’re so cute, you know. I’m so glad Nanami married you.” His words were high-pitched and crooned right into your ear.
“Ack—Gojo, stop!” You were laughing, nose wrinkled as you swatted at his hand.
Gojo had to pull away eventually, because he could feel your husband’s exasperated glare fall onto him. A second longer, and he figured Nanami would’ve pulled out that blunt blade of his.
#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento fanfiction#nanami kento x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jjk fanfiction#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami kento ff#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami fanfiction#nanami kento fluff#nanami kento drabbles#nanami kento imagines#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff
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a life remembered | l.mh, h.js
wc: 4.6k
genre: soulmate au; reincarnation au; fluff; angst; poly!minsung x reader
cw: primarily Han pov; illusions to suggestive conversation; concert highs; anxiety/panic attack mentions; food/eating mentions; Bee (I feel like they need a warning lol, love them the most); arguing but bc they care (not between the soulmates); please let me know if I missed anything
part one: a life forgotten
Soulmates are a curious thing. Everyone has them, and someway, somehow, they always find each other.
When Lee Minho walked into JYP Entertainment for the first time, Jisung didn’t know what to do or how to react, and looking back on it now, it was comical. Minho was, in Jisungs opinion, one of, if not the most, handsome man he’d ever seen. It had struck a chord in him he’d chosen to interpret as jealousy.
When Chan told him he wanted to include Minho in the group he was creating, Jisung couldn’t decide if he was giddy or nervous. He’d met the other boy twice and couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that they knew each other. It wasn’t until their third meeting, the first one in an official capacity, to learn the song Chan wanted to showcase, that Jisung realized why.
The small space of the practice room they were designated to made the group circle a tight one, Minho rushing in and dropping to the floor in the open spot between Jisung and Felix, accidentally brushing against Jisung in the process and shooting them both headfirst into a memory both could swear wasn’t theirs.
Water surrounded them in every direction, the sounds of laughter filling the air. The ship rocked gently as the waves pushed it along steadily.
Minho took Jisungs hand, leading him to the edge of the ship.
“Where is your beautiful mind right now, my love?”
And although it didn’t feel like he was talking to Minho, and there was no response, Jisung’s smile lit up his entire face, his eyes twinkling in pure content.
“Come back to the group, love. The boys are going to start their whining if you ignore them for too long.” Minho groaned.
Again there was no response, as if a chunk of their memory for this specific moment was still missing.
“You know how your boys can get.” Jisung waved nonchalantly, hand grasping at thin air before the two turned back to join the rest of the crew.
Practice was immediately derailed as they were brought back to the present, everyone looking worried as they surrounded the pair.
“What just happened?” Changbin asked, holding Jisungs shoulder to keep him steady.
“I’m not entirely sure.” Jisung couldn’t stop himself from seeking out Minho’s eyes, which were already on him, holding the softest expression Jisung has ever seen in his life.
“Please tell me you saw the ship too.” Minho whispered, voice unsure, hand grasping Jisungs for dear life and all he could do was nod. Minho started nodding along with him, the two slowly morphing from shock to joy as smiles spread across their faces.
Tears pricked at Jisungs eyes the more the realization hit him.
“We’re soulmates.”
````
Five years.
In five years, so much had changed for Han Jisung. In just five years he’d met not only the love of his life, but also his soul brothers, a realization they came to some time after the soulmate realization, as Minho and Jisung saw the rest of the members in almost all of their past lives.
In five years Stray Kids had also risen to a level of fame not one of them had predicted. They were living a life their younger selves could have only hoped to dream of, and they were so beyond grateful and happy to be able to keep doing music together.
But also within those five years, Minho and Jisung had come to the conclusion that something was missing. They were absolutely positive that they were soulmates, of that there was not even a shadow of a doubt, but there were too many holes in their shared memories, conversations that felt one sided, moments in bed with a gap between them that shouldn't be there if they were at peace with one another. But the confirmation that they were missing a piece came in a memory that surfaced much later than the rest, one with Jisung storming up to Minho’s door, fist banging in anger, wedding band adorning his finger but not Minho’s.
That memory was one of Jisung being angry with Minho and not even knowing who he was, with Minho knowing of Jisung but not knowing him personally, of them both being in love with a person that wasn’t the other. Minho is positive he’d despise cheaters in every life, yet was accused of sleeping with a married person. Neither Jisung, nor Minho could remember Jisungs spouse's name, what they looked like, what gender they were, all they knew was that both of them loved them, and they both loved them as desperately as they love one another, and that was enough to convince them that the piece missing was a third soulmate.
They didn’t know how to go about it, they couldn’t even be allowed to share the truth of their relationship and thousands of Stays were claiming to be each members soulmates daily just for a chance of meeting them. The chances of finding their third and final piece was slim at absolute best.
People always say trust the soulmate connection and that time would bring them together, but that was hard knowing you couldn’t remember someone you love.
Han Jisung spent far too many concerts and fan meets searching the crowd in hopes that you’d be there, that he’d finally find you and the trio would finally be complete. Likewise, he’d spent just as many nights disappointed that you were nowhere to be found. With their fame came the higher likelihood of you being able to find them, but that also meant it’d be harder for them to find you. However, Chan and his soulmate, Riley, gave Jisung hope that he would find you.
Lee Minho wanted to find you just as badly, though he looked for you in the mundane. Whilst his partner expected you to reach out via their fame, Minho hoped more for bumping into you on the sidewalk or in a coffee shop, it made him feel more attainable. Minho knew that whilst Riley and Chan made it work, and even Bee and Changbin, there were just as many people that would be scared off by celebrity soulmates as there are seeking them.
Another concert, another night of Jisung daydreaming about finding you in the crowd and whisking you away after to finally meet you and remember you. Riley gave Chan a knowing glare, the parental figures of the group concerned about their younger friend. Ever since the two soulmates came to the conclusion they have a third one, which isn’t unheard of but is fairly rare, their friends have been doubtful to say the least.
No one likes seeing the kicked puppy look on Jisungs face whenever someone mentions that maybe there isn’t anyone else out there, or the way Minho gets defensive when they try to talk to him about the possibility of their memories just not having fully solidified yet. Both in the firm belief that five years connected at the hip was enough time to remember everything. But that didn’t stop the worried glances and strained smiles when they’d start talking about their ‘other soulmate’.
“They’re gonna be here tonight.” Jisung stated as if it were an absolute fact.
“You said that last night, Sungie.” Hyunjin muttered.
“Yeah, but I can feel it this time. They’re in the crowd right now, I’m positive of it.”
“Ji, you have an incredible soulmate already, why are you so eager to find another one?” Bee asked from their almost permanent place snuggled into Changbin. “I’m just saying, I can’t imagine dealing with more than one Binnie.”
“They’re not another Minho, they’re mine and Min’s missing piece.” Jisung argued. It was a conversation that felt all too familiar, and every time one of his soul brothers or other lifetime friends make comments, he feels himself getting just a little more hostile but also a little more defeated.
Maybe they were wrong, maybe there wasn’t a missing piece and they truly just haven’t had the best relationship in every lifetime. But Jisung couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Seeing how whole Bee and Bin, and Riley and Chan, were, how they didn’t have memory gaps or questionable moments and conversations, made him feel like there was no other explanation aside from another person to fill the void. It wasn’t like Jisung thought Minho wasn’t enough for him, he wasn’t seeking more from outside their relationship, he loved Minho with every fiber of his being, but he knew Minho wasn’t the only one he’d hold these feelings towards. And Minho knew it too, it was a long conversation to have, one that ended in tears but mutual understanding that they would always have each other and weren’t seeking out this third person for any reason other than them wholeheartedly believing they are also their soulmate.
As the time to go on stage got closer and closer, Jisung felt more antsy. He wasn’t sure why tonight felt different, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Minho tried to calm him down, but was just as on edge.
The concert went smoothly, they always did, but Minho and Jisung both spent far more time engaging towards one specific area than they ever had before. It’s like they couldn’t abandon the section for longer than a few minutes and they always ended up right back there the second they could. Jisung felt better than he had in a long time, adrenaline pumping through his veins and a smile plastered on his face. He felt good, he felt whole for the first time in a long time. Jisung couldn’t explain it, but that stage was the most at home he’d felt since he first found Minho.
As they said their goodbyes to Stay and made their way backstage, the overwhelming peace Jisung had felt slowly faded. He couldn’t think of any reason why, but as he watched Riley smother his leader with kisses and Bee put his best friend into a headlock, he felt himself growing more numb.
Minho wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder, relieving the aching feeling sinking in so fast it would have given Jisung whiplash if he weren’t already used to the other boys' affect on him, body and mind. Jisung could feel giggles bubbling up in him with each soft kiss placed on the base of his neck.
“You were radiant out there tonight, my love.”
“And you were very sexy.” Jisung giggled.
“Hey now! There are children present!” Riley scolded, breaking away from Chan to cover Jeongin’s ears. “Go foreplay somewhere else.”
“Yeah!” Bee shouted from Changbin’s back. “There’s dressing rooms for a reason!”
The look of absolute dismay Riley shot Bee was priceless, “That’s not what the dressing rooms are for.”
“It’s not? Did you know that bro?”
Changbins ears were red. “Please don’t call me bro while talking about this.”
“How about we just all get showered and changed and go grab something to eat?” Chan suggested in a tone that left no room for argument, clapping his hands together and pulling Riley back towards his body. “And stop babying Innie, he’s worse than Bee these days.”
“I will never stop babying my baby, but I am hungry.” Riley muttered in agreement. “If y’all take too long in the shower, we’re leaving without you.” Riley pointed at Bee and Changbin, who’s ears somehow got even more red. Bee just winked at their best friend, shiteating grin plastered on their face.
Twenty minutes later, Jisung piled into the van with his bandmates and additional soulmates, Seungmin and Hyunjin discussing what they wanted to eat whilst Felix snuggled into Bee’s side, the two looking at memes while Changbin pouted.
Jisung felt more drained than he had in a long time, his social battery past empty and moved on to completely fried. Minho pulling him into his side eased some of the anxiousness starting to well up.
“No panic attacks after amazing shows.” Minho whispered.
Jisung buried his head further into the other mans neck. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” He kissed the crown of his head gently, smiling softly while tightening his hold. “I’m seriously so proud of you.”
The ride was uneventful out to the opposite side of the city, in hopes less people would recognize them so they could have their meal in peace. Minho and Jisung were the last of the group to venture out of the vehicle and towards the restaurant. They didn’t get too far before a voice rapping along to Han’s part to All In stopped them dead in their tracks.
“Y/n, please, you’re in public.”
“You’re wasting your breath, you know how they are about their spotlight songs.”
Han’s eyes landed on the person rapping his line with such ease it was as if they’d written it themself. He felt excitement flood through him instantaneously, rushing over and joining them, singing along to the song playing quietly in the outdoor speakers overhead.
He watched your eyes light up as the two of you sang along together, ignoring your friends and focusing on one another. Not a thing in the world was registering to either of you as you both turned to Minho, watching as he rolled his eyes, smile already playing at his lips, joining in for the last parts of the song.
Your laughter filled the air as the song came to an end, and Jisung could swear it was already becoming one of his favorite sounds.
“Took you long enough.”
Your voice was laced with amusement.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You know I don’t like singing by myself.” You nudged his shoulder lightly, causing him to wrap his arm around your shoulders and squeeze tight.
“But your voice is so nice!”
A blush lit up your cheeks in an instant, mouth opening to respond when someone clearing their throat behind you drew the groups attention.
“Y/n, um, what?”
“Min! Sungie! Hurry your asses up or we’re gonna eat without you.” Bee shouted from down the way, drawing Jisungs attention just long enough for you to slip out of his hold.
By the time he or Minho could focus back on you, you were gone. No trace of a person having been standing with them, as if you’d been a figment of their imagination.
“Sungie…”
“I know.”
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
Minho was staring off into the direction you had to have gone in, itching to run after you. Jisung stared at his hands, in disbelief that just moments prior he was holding the final piece of his puzzle in those same hands.
You, the random stranger unabashedly performing one of their songs in the middle of the street, were the one person Jisung and Minho had been looking for incessantly. The person they knew they couldn’t remember.
“Do you ever wonder what we’d be like if we didn’t find each other? What’d it’d be like if we don’t keep finding each other?”
Jisung was used to thinking these types of questions, but hearing you ask them out loud hurt more than him thinking them ever did.
“I’d rather imagine we’ll always find each other.” Jisung grumbled, tightening his hold on both of the bodies on either side of his.
“Okay but what if-”
“There are no what if’s, my love. We’ll always find one another, in every lifetime, even if some take a little longer than others. I don’t see a reason to dwell on the impossibility of not ending up right back here every single time.”
You snuggled deeper into Jisungs chest, hand squeezing Minho’s.
“I suppose you’re right.” You mumbled. Minho squeezed your hand comfortingly in response.
Jisungs arms shifted entirely around you, squeezing as he rolled over to toss you in the middle, both of your soulmates wanting to hold you close. You sighed in content, snuggling into your boys happily.
“I am so dead serious right now, you two. We will absolutely eat without you if you don’t- why do your faces look like that?”
“We found them.”
“Found who? Why are you being cryptic.”
“We found our other soulmate.” Jisung said.
Bee’s mouth dropped open and within moments all of their brothers and Riley were there, bombarding them with questions.
“Okay, so is no one surprised that they actually have another soulmate? Is that just me?” Hyunjin said, a smack from Seungmin following shortly after.
“Which direction did they go? We need to find them!” Jeongin said, already shifting from one foot to the other as if he were ready to sprint in any direction in a moments notice.
“We didn’t actually see what direction they went in because somebody distracted us.” Jisung glared at Bee.
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m hungry and didn’t know.” They huffed.
“We were facing that way so they definitely couldn’t have gone in that direction.” Minho cut in, knowing a grumpy Jisung and a hangry Bee is never a good combination. They loved each other like siblings but damn could they argue until they both turned blue.
“Alright, everyone pick a direction and let's find our boys’ soulmate.” Chan said, “Go in pairs and meet here in one hour, no exceptions. Even if everyone comes back empty handed, we have to at least try.” Turning to his first and last children, his eyes and tone softened. “Is there anything we can use to recognise them?”
Jisung immediately jumped into a full description, followed by Minho simply saying, “Ask if they know ‘All In’. They were singing it with us just now.”
Nods all around as people started pairing up.
“Okay, I’m going with Ji.” Riley stated, looping their arm through Jisungs. “Channie, you take Min. Bin and Bee, separate. I am not dealing with soulmates getting distracted and off mission right now.”
Before Jisung could even think about protesting, he was being swept away by Riley in the first direction he would have guessed you ran in. Jisung struggled to keep up with the pace set by Riley as they ducked into shops and restaurants, checking bathrooms and fitting rooms as they went. Riley wanted to cover as much ground as possible in the one hour timeframe given, which Jisung was appreciative of. However, Jisung hoped Minho and Chan were having better luck, or anyone else for that matter.
He wanted to find you more than anything. Knowing he had you in his arms was enough for him to get addicted to you, and if he stopped for a moment and focused on his memories, he was sure you were already fitting yourself into almost every single one..
Every one sided conversation suddenly being completed, all those nights spent with an unnecessary space between himself and Minho being filled by you. Your presence for those four minutes he got with you had already led to a downward spiral of need to be close to you, to hold you in his arms once more.
In combination with the presence of you in old memories, as if you’d always been there, there was also a small onslaught of new memories, ones without Minho but including you. Ones that further solidified your rightful place within his life.
As another memory flashed behind his eyes, he took a seat on a bench outside of a small corner store.
“Are you okay?” Riley asked, always a mother hen.
“I’m fine, just, check this one without me, I need a moment.”
Riley seemed to understand and didn’t ask questions as they pat him on the back and wandered into the store.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” A voice whispered in your ear as hands made their way around your waist. “Because I feel like we’ve met before and I’d like to get to know you again.”
You could smell the stench of alcohol emanating off the stranger feeling you up in the middle of the dance floor. Rolling your eyes, you ripped his hands off you, turning around and shoving him back for safe measure.
“I do believe in soulmates, and you sure as hell ain’t mine. But the guy who is doesn’t really take kindly to strangers touching what's his.”
Before the idiot could open his mouth again, Jisungs arm slid into place across your shoulders, pulling you in for a downright make out session right in the middle of the bars dance floor.
When he finally pulled away, the dude was nowhere to be seen.
“Took you long enough.” You said teasingly.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He smiled gently, and then led you to the booth he’d been watching you from.
You shook your head as you splashed water on your face in the bathroom, your best friend, Lia, pacing behind you.
“I thought you wanted to avoid them?”
Lia was the only person you’d confided in after coming to terms with the fact that your soulmates were not one, but two international superstars.
“I did, but, I don’t know. It was like being like that with them was so natural I didn’t even register that we don’t know each other. It felt right.”
“Do you think they know?”
Sighing, you lightly tapped your head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know. If they don’t yet, we’ve met now, it’s only a matter of time before I start filtering into their memories.”
“Do you want to keep hiding from them? Y/n/n, they know now, there’s no avoiding them not remembering you anymore. Don’t you think avoiding them now will just cause unnecessary pain?”
“I know that! I do. But, I’m not sure I could handle being in their world, and what if they end up resenting me for ruining the good thing they already had? They’ve been together for so long, and then I just blindside them with my existence? What if they didn’t even know they had a third soulmate?”
“Then they do now and they’re probably looking everywhere for them. Those two don’t seem like the type to resent you for coming into their lives, but they might if you enter it just to disappear forever. I get the feeling now that they know, they’ll never stop looking for you. Do you understand that?”
You opened your mouth to answer when the door to the bathroom swung open.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for someone.” The stranger looked flushed, as if they’d been running, but even so you could tell they were stunning. “Um, neither of you happen to know the song All In, do you?”
You and Lia shot each other confused but nervous looks, which seemed to be enough for this stranger who finally let the bathroom door shut behind them, leaning against it and eyeing you both.
“So which one of you is the runner?”
“What do you mean?”
“One of you just met your two soulmates and then booked it while they had their backs turned, which was it?”
Lia threw her hands up in defense, pointing at you in the process and backing up.
“Traitor.” You mumbled, causing her to stifle a laugh.
The stranger blocking the exit landed their gaze on you, “I ran too.”
Of all the things you were expecting them to say, that was definitely not on the list of possibilities.
“It’s scary,” They continued, pushing off the door and walking towards you. “But the separation is worse. I promise you, it’s better than you can possibly imagine. The company takes good care of us, and while we aren’t allowed to be public, we go pretty much everywhere with the boys if we want to. They don’t do anything to risk our relationships.”
“I’m sorry but, who are you and what do you mean by our?”
“Oh! I’m Riley, I’m Chan’s soulmate. And Changbin found his as well, their name is Bee. I went through the running and being scared of falling for someone in the industry but Bee was already in the industry themself when they found Bin, so it was slightly easier for them. Sorry, I’m rambling, but my point is we’re both here for you and we both understand how you’re feeling. And that those men you just left in the dust are two of the best I’ve ever met, and they’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
That comment shocked you to your core.
They’ve been looking for you.
“How could they be looking for me, they couldn’t have even known about me.”
Riley seemed to hesitate. “To be honest, none of us believed them. For a while we really just assumed that they found each other at such a young age they’ve never experienced anything but one another, so the whole third soulmate thing was just sort of a way to come to terms with the fact that they wanted a change of pace or something. But, here you are, and we stand corrected.
“They may not have known you, or known how to find you, but they’ve been searching for their ‘missing piece’ about as long as I’ve known them.” Then Riley quirked their head in a very parental like motion. “You already knew, didn’t you.”
It was phrased as a question, but was completely an irrefutable statement.
“How long have you known?” Where you were expecting harshness or judgment, you received only the sound of sheer curiosity.
“Almost a year now.” You mumbled, arms wrapping around yourself for a sense of security.
Riley blanched. “A YEAR?!”
You just nodded.
“Damn hun, I would’ve lost my mind if I’d known who Chris was for a whole year. How the hell did you manage that?!”
“By convincing themself that Minho and Han were already happy and better off without them, that they’d just throw a hitch in their lives that they didn’t need.” Lia stated, you could practically hear her rolling her eyes at you. Riley’s eyes softened at her words.
Grabbing your hands in one hand, Riley brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face, gently cupping your cheek. “I know exactly how you feel. When I found Chris, I ran too. I didn’t think I could survive his work schedule, the expectations placed on him, all the fans claiming him, but he is so worth every single difficulty and so much more. I know you’re scared right now, and it’s probably worse for you because it’s just Chris and me, but Min and Ji already adore you, they could never be happier without you than they will be with you, I can promise you that much.
“I understand if you’re not ready yet. I wasn’t ready for a long time myself, so if it’s okay with you, I want to give you mine and Bee’s numbers, you can reach out to us with any and all questions, concerns, whatever. Heck, if you just want to use them to get to know us, that’s fine too. I didn’t have anyone to help me, but you have us, we’ll help you all the way. Think about it, okay? All three of you will be so much happier together. You aren’t meant to be apart.”
You felt tears stinging your eyes again. You knew Riley was right, you’d always known you’d be happier with them, but you also knew there was no way for you to get their attention, no way for them to actually find you, now that you had, now that they knew you, you were truly out of logical reasons to avoid taking your place by their sides.
Because soulmates are a curious thing. Everyone has them, and someway, somehow, they always find each other.
next part: a life eluded
a/n: ahhhhhh part two, I feel like it’s been done for a while but I’ve been like nervous about it idk, anyways I hope you enjoyed!! I know it’ll run for at least two more parts with potential for spin off(s) on the others finding their soulmates or even ‘prequels’ of Riley and Chan as well as Bee and Changbin🫣🤭 please feel free and encouraged to leave your thoughts and opinions and also lemme know if you’d be interested in being tagged in upcoming parts? ciao!! 🫶
#stray kids#stray kids x reader#stray kids fics#skz fanfic#skz x reader#stray kids x y/n#skz x y/n#han jisung#lee know#lee know x reader#han jisung x reader#han x reader#han jisung fanfic#lee know fanfic#han x y/n#han jisung x y/n#lee know x y/n#minsung x reader#minsung#poly!minsung x reader#soulmate au#idol au#reincarnation au
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Don’t Blame Me | sugar daddy!jungkook one-shot au
pairing: sd!jungkook x reader
genre: one-shot & yandere au
summary: You can have everything you want and need as long as you have Jeon Jungkook by your side. You were enjoying everything that Jungkook gives you and as long as you’re with him. You’re sure to yourself that you will never fail him but he was the one who failed you. Everything is fine until he gets too much.
content & warnings: sugar daddy & ceo jk, college reader, toxic & manipulative behavior, unhealthy behavior, possessive & obsessive jk, yandere, bitchy reader, jk sabotaging reader’s career.
word count: 12.9K
request prompt
disclaimer: This is pure fiction and I do not condone the acts of Jeon Jungkook in the story. All events and occurrences in here are all fictional and all are part of my imagination.
a/n: to the one who requested this, I hope you’ll like it!
It happened again. You were so busy that you are starting to forget him again. Your reasons were always valid considering that you’re in your 3rd year college yet he can’t seem to accept it. He doesn’t know if he’s just overthinking but he can’t ignore the fact that something was off.
He read your message once again before he closed his phone.
Y/N: Can’t make it to dinner tonight, still have to finish my research paper. Sorry babeee
It was your third time using that excuse for you not to make it to dinner. He’s been inviting you for a week already to have dinner with him yet you always refuse and you’ve already used that excuse a lot of times. This happened before and it didn’t end well. He didn’t want it to happen again.
He rubbed his palm on his face and he brushed his fingers on his hair before he loosened up his necktie. Anxiety of fear is penetrating his body.
He doesn’t know what went wrong because he gave everything to you. Everything you want and everything you need even though you didn’t ask for it. He wanted to make sure that you’ll stay with him and you’ll never leave him yet he got the feeling that you’re falling apart once again.
He opened his phone as he looked for your location and his overthinking got worse. Your location said that you’re not in your apartment but in a cafe. His heart beats rapidly and his hands are starting to shake.
Why are you there and who’s with you?
Jungkook breathes heavily as he immediately stands up from his chair and grabs his coat beside him as he leaves his office.
The thing about you is that Jungkook couldn’t read you most of the time. He can’t predict what’s really inside the pretty head of yours and he can’t see what’s behind those smiles that you always show him. You’re always good with your words but he can’t seem to see the sincerity of it. You always made him doubt you.
You always made him feel that you can leave him anytime you want and that’s the reality that he’s avoiding to happen.
When the day you entered his life, he knew to himself that he will make sure you will never leave.
His heart was beating aggressively when he stopped at the cafe you’re in. He looked at the glass window if you’re visible but you’re not. He grabs his phone to check once again if you’re still inside and it’s clear that you are. You’re meters away from him.
He got out of his black Chevrolet corvette and when he entered the cafe, a lot of eyes were on him. People, especially women, were too stunned to see him. It wasn’t surprising the fact that he has such a good appearance which could make him stand out in the crowd. But he didn’t have time to think of how a lot of eyes were on him because his own eyes were looking around to spot you. However, the cafe was spacious and there were a lot of people. Majority of the customers were students or a group of people hanging out. The cafe was actually busy yet the surroundings were calm. It wasn't as rowdy as normal.
The lights of the cafe were bright enough to finally spot you. Your back is facing him but he already knows that it’s you. And you’re with someone. A guy that he doesn’t know.
He felt like a needle prick his heart and he can’t seem to control his emotion right now.
His eyes were glued on you as he walked towards you. You have your laptop in front of you with a coffee on the side. You haven’t noticed him and the guy that is the one facing Jungkook is the first one to notice him. When he sees him looking at you, he slowly taps your hands to get your attention.
“Y/N.” Jungkook calls you out. You remove your airpods on your right ear as you look at the person in front of you and when you see him looking at your side, you turn your head and you are surprised that Jungkook is standing in front of you.
You stand up from your seat to level him and you swallow down when you realize that he doesn’t look pleased.
“What are you doing here?” You asked him as he tilted his head and glanced at the guy sitting in front of you.
“I’m here to fetch you. Did you forget?” He responded as the side of his lips raised.
He doesn’t like the reaction that he’s seeing in you right now. You look so dense and it felt like he caught you red handed. The way your eyes move rapidly indicates that you don’t want him to be in here right now and as he realized that, he felt like his heart was crumbling.
“Didn’t you receive my message? I messaged you like an hour ago.” You picked up your phone from the table to check whether you have sent the message and before you can even open the chat box, he caught your hand.
“I did not. But I’m now here, babe. We can go now.” He forced a smile and you narrowed your eyebrow in confusion.
“Gguk I can’t—
“Please?”
He hates it. He hates it so much that you can instantly reject him in front of everyone. In front of a guy that he doesn’t even know. You never acted this way when both of you are together but right now, you act like you don’t wanna be with him and he can’t take it.
“Look, I’ll finish this up in a min—
“I’ll be the one to finish that. Please let’s go.” He cuts you off once again as he caresses both of your hands.
The longer that he’s in here, the more suffocated he gets and the moment that you decline him again, he’ll lose it.
You pressed your lips as you turned your gaze to Yuan—your research partner and after a few seconds, you sigh. You released your hands on his hold and you picked up your things.
“Finish your parts and I’ll finish mine. Send it to me asap once you’re done. I have to go.” You said to Yuan and he just nodded while his mouth hung open. You walk through Jungkook and you already know that he’s following you. He keeps on calling your name and you ignore it until you reach his car. You put your things first as you hop in and you were about to close the door when he already did it for you.
“Baby.” Is the first thing he said after a long silence between the two of you.
“A-are you… Mad?” He asked in his low and soft voice like he really sounded guilty from what he just did.
“What was that, Jungkook?” You finally spoke and annoyance is evident in your voice.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I just want us to have our dinner because we haven’t done it for weeks already.” His voice was still low and soft just like a child that was scrolled by his mom.
He doesn’t like it when you’re mad. It rarely happens but when you did, he felt like he did really something terrible for you to get this angry.
“It was our due date this week, Jungkook and we’re not yet done with our paper. We still have a lot of things to do and I don’t understand why you can’t understand it.”
He’s getting anxious with how your voice sounds. You’re so pissed and he immediately regrets the actions he just did.
You sound like you hate him now and that you regret being with him. It’s like any minute, you would open your door and leave him alone.
By just thinking about it makes him crazy.
He held your hands and placed them on his lips and you can feel his hands shaking.
“Y/N baby I’m sorry! I’ll promise that I’ll be the one to finish all your works I swear. You already knew that those things are only a piece of cake for me and I can finish that in no time I promise!” He speaks so fast and you feel his anxiousness within his shaking voice and hands.
“I acted without thinking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He added as he intertwined his fingers with yours and his lips touched the back of your hand.
He’s too scared that he has to feel you right now in order to calm his nerves because when he doesn't, you might drift away from him.
“But seriously, Jungkook. What was that?” You asked after a long silence.
The more that you call him by his name, the more anxious he gets because you don’t call him only by his name.
“When I read your message—
“I thought you didn’t read them?” He looked at you in your eyes and he bites his lips.
“I lied. I’m sorry.” He admits and you become more confused with his actions. You don’t understand what’s with him.
“Baby, I'm uneasy and I felt that something is not right and I saw your location and I saw the guy and I don’t know, I feel like my heart will explode! Babe, I can’t sit well because you’ve been declining my invites multiple times and I don’t know what’s happening and I’m overthinking things.”
Even though he talks too fast, you understand where he’s coming from. You’ve seen this before and you know the reason why this is happening.
“So you thought that I ditched you for Yuan?” You asked, trying to hide your smile.
“Who’s Yuan?” When he asked that, you immediately cracked up.
“Baby, who’s Yuan?” He asked once again.
“The guy I’m with. Jungkook, what the heck!” You can’t take it as you laugh so hard.
“Babe, why are you—
“You’re getting jealous of someone you forgot! Who’s not going to laugh at that?” You speak in between your laughs.
Your laughs continued until you realized that he doesn’t find the situation funny. Your laugh slowly fades when you see how serious he is.
“I was just kidding! Why so serious, Ggukie?” You spoke and you clung to his arm. You still find the situation funny and you tried your best not to laugh since he’s being serious.
After a few moments, he spoke.
“Did you really… Ditch me?” He asked in his low and soft voice and you instantly looked at him in horror while you shook your head.
“Of course not! Why would I do that?” You respond in defense. He looked at your eyes trying to see the sincerity of your words but he’s having a hard time finding it. He looked away as he looked down and you took a deep breath.
“Babe, look at me.” You caressed his face as you moved his head to look at you. His eyes glow in the dark and you love how pleading his eyes look.
“I understand where you’re coming from but believe me when I say that whenever I decline your invites is because I really do have to finish something. Babe, you know how I value my academics and I am aiming for a latin honor. You know that right?” You brushed your thumb off his cheek and he closed his eyes to feel your touch.
“And Yuan? He’s just a research partner and nothing else. And please, don’t be insecure because of him. He’s nothing compared to you. And I don’t like him either.” You lean forward to kiss his forehead.
“Don’t you ever think that I would ever like him because it’s a fucking insult. I have a standard, babe and he didn’t even meet the 1% of my standard.” You spoke in a demeaning tone before you pushed your back at the backrest.
It was absurd that the person that Jungkook chose to feel insecure about is that Hong Yuan guy who is a nobody. First of all, he’s the idiotic person you’ve ever met. If it was not about his idiotic self, you won’t have to be in that cafe and be with him. You have to pay attention to what he’s going to do with the paper because if you don’t, you will fail with him. You would never choose to do his part and give him all the credit that he doesn’t even deserve. And second, he’s ugly as fuck. You would never choose him over the greatest Jeon Jungkook.
You smile as you enter the fine dining restaurant where Jungkook got a reservation. You felt bad that you declined him multiple times because of your school work. You were so occupied with your academics that you made Jungkook feel neglected. But what can you do? Before you even enter into this deal with him, you clear out to yourself that your academics will still be your top priority.
The anxiousness that Jungkook had a while ago is now replaced with a smile on his face that reaches his ears. Other than his money, his smile is your favorite thing about him. If you ever feel unhappy, his smile will make it better. It’s like a contagious virus that can penetrate into your body.
“Y/N, did you remember when we went to Singapore and you saw the bag you wanted but the color isn’t gray?” Jungkook asked you while you were eating.
You pause on chewing as you recall the thing that he’s talking about.
“The LV Nano Noé bag?” You asked and you got excited when he nodded.
“Holy shit don’t tell me–
And before you even finish your sentence, he handed you a Louis Vuitton paper bag. Your jaw drops and you slowly take it from him.
It was really the Nano Noé mini bag that you wanted. It was a cruise 2023 collection and one of the bags you’re eyeing out.
You already expected that he might buy it for you but you didn’t expect that it was now since it’s a limited edition bag from that collection.
One of the things that you love to collect are luxurious bags as you believe that luxury items like bags are a great investment. Other than that, you also thought that it added elegance in you to have a bag that suits you and you are already known for always owning one.
You also love to kill your “friends” with jealousy and bitterness towards you. You find it amusing whenever they think that they can fool you whenever they are with you but the thing that they don’t know is you wrap them in the palms of your hands. It’s unfortunate that the people you call “friends” are all fake ass bitches who're always jealous of you but there are things that you’re out of control. As much as you wanted to leave them behind, your ego couldn’t stand to be alone and to be out of friends because you find it pathetic so the only thing that you can do is to endure their shitty attitude. Well, you don’t mind though since when you’re with them, you’re always the star and they are only there to justify your main-character personality because even if you turn the world upside down, you always outclass them.
“I super love the bag but it’s better if it’s the classic brown color.” Rae Ya, one of your “friends”, stated as she touched your bag that’s on the top of the table.
“Oh girl, you just proved to me how basic you can be.” You responded as you sip your coffee.
Your other friends burst out laughing with your responses towards Rae Ya and you smirk when you saw how embarrassed she got.
It was another week of meeting the girls so that they can keep up with your lavish life and to play plastic with them. The only thing that motivates you to meet them is you feel the satisfaction whenever you see how envy they can get especially with this bitch called Rae Ya. It’s fucking obvious how jealous she can be and you find it entertaining to see every reaction she makes.
“Oh how I wish to have a boyfriend like yours, Y/N.” Mitzi— one of the girls said.
“Didn’t you have Tae-moo with you? He’s rich isn’t he?” You responded and she only rolled her eyes.
“Did you forget? I already broke up with him ages ago!” of course you would forget. You don’t even give a shit about their lives and you always forget everything they talk about. You just simply don’t care, honestly.
“Oh yeah I remember. Condolence. Did you break up because he cheated?” You try to guess.
“Yeah. Fucking hate him so much.”
“But Tae-moo guy is hella rich isn’t he? If I were you, I wouldn't break up with him and just consume all his money. At least you still got a rich boyfriend with you.” You cross your arms as you lean back.
“Are you saying that because that’s how you treat your boyfriend?” Eunjae said— another friend of yours.
You were caught off guard with what she said.
“You’re not serious with Jungkook, are you?” She added.
You suddenly ask yourself; are you taking the relationship you have with him seriously?
You suddenly laugh mentally.
Your relationship with him isn’t a boyfriend-girlfriend thing but a sugar baby-daddy thing. It was hilarious that you made your friends believe that your relationship with Jungkook is a normal thing but it was otherwise. You will never admit it to them that you’re a sugar baby of a 29 year-old CEO of the Power Construction Corporation. The leading Construction Company in Seoul.
Ever since you agreed on being his sugar daddy 6 months ago, your life turned out to be what you wanted. You haven’t regretted agreeing with him. Not yet. But in the present time, it’s one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.
It’s a powerful tool to deal with your “friends” on a daily basis. You know what you want and you only grab the opportunity to make it happen.
Being a sugar baby of Jeon Jungkook is the greatest achievement that you’ve made. Better than having a scholarship in SNU because he can practically provide your education in the same university.
No one will ever think that you’re a sugar baby of his because with how perfect you and him look, everyone will believe that you’re a perfect couple for each other.
“I am serious with him. But if it happens that he cheated on me, I won’t just cry and pity myself. I will use every dollar he has before I leave him penniless.” You answered.
But he can never do that to you. He can never find someone better than you because to him, you are beyond perfection. The day he saw you in his charity gala, is the day his life now depends on you. It may be clear to you the situation you have with him but he sees you more than that. You became his world that it’s perfectly fine for him if you use him to your advantage. Anything for you. He will provide everything for you to stay with him because he may not admit it to himself, you can leave him anytime considering the situation you only have and that’s the thing that he will avoid whatever it takes.
Even if he has to give up an opportunity for his business just for you.
Jungkook may be whipped for you but he’s excellent when it comes to his work. Everyone admires his capabilities and believes in his principles. Other people, especially in the business industry, desire to become as wise and successful as he is; however, behind closed doors, no one knows that the only thing that can shake his knees is you.
“The materials that will be used in that project will be supplied by the Linyang Corp. Their materials are compatible with the construction of the project.”
Jungkook discussed with Yoona—the marketing head of the upcoming project of PCC.
“Great. But will it be better if the company that will supply this project is Trion Infrastructure?” Yoona responds as she stands up from her seat and proceeds on walking towards him. He remained in his seat as he tilted his head and narrowed his brows. Yoona leaned forward to come close to him while she placed a folder on his table.
Jungkook raised his brows before he responded. “What do you even know, Ms. Lim Yoona?”
Before Yoona can even respond, the door suddenly opens.
Jungkook’s eyes grew wide as his body froze.
You’re standing tall in between the double doors of his office. Your eyes darken and your lips were in a thin line. Behind you was Tina—his secretary. And suddenly, he was nervous.
“Sir Jeon, I’m sorry I can’t stop her. She was—
“N-no no. It’s okay.” He immediately jumps on his swivel chair and walks towards you.
“So this what it’s all about, huh?” You scoff as you glance at his secretary before you turn your head back.
“Tina, can you accompany Ms. Yoona outside?” Jungkook looked at his secretary.
“But Jungkook, we’re not yet done discussing the project?” Yoona responds in confusion.
You looked at Yoona from head to toe as you crossed your arms. She’s wearing a low-neck black sheath dress that perfectly hugs her body and the slit of her breast is insanely visible. You were also amused with her pair of silver stilettos and you already knew that she was up for something, especially the way she positioned herself in front of Jungkook.
You’ve known her ever since you met Jungkook and you’re perfectly aware how she’s madly infatuated with him.
“My bad. I didn’t mean to distract you with your ‘meeting’.” You said sarcastically and you even act the quotation mark with your two fingers.
You’re about to walk away when he suddenly pulls you inside his office and he gestures to Tina to get Yoona out of the office.
Yoona was saying a lot to Jungkook but he wasn’t listening and Tina was already leading her out of the office. Before she closed the door, she caught you looking at her and her blood raised when she saw how satisfied you looked at her.
Jungkook’s heart was pounding as he looked at you. No one’s around except the both of you and no one can see how he looked so vulnerable right now.
“I didn’t know that you would come.” Jungkook started.
You didn’t respond immediately as you checked out the books that’s on the shelf near his office table. He didn’t know what to do now that you’re not even responding. He walked towards you as he closed the space between the two of you. He placed his gentle hands on your tiny waist and he inhaled your scent from your neck. You smell so good that it’s so addicting. He should be the only one that can smell you like this and touch you like this. Just thinking that another man can do this to you makes him insane. No one can have you like this.
“What’s your meeting with her all about?” You asked as you passed your fingers out of all the books on his shelf.
“About the materials to be used with the new project, baby.” He answered in his gentle tone.
Materials huh? You utter a ‘tsk’ before you remove his arms around your waist and you push the inside of your cheeks with your tongue.
“You’re discussing constructing materials with a marketing head and not an engineer?” You asked sarcastically.
“We’re only talking about the project implementation, that's why she came to be the representative.” He responds as he sounds gentle to convince you.
You walked towards his office table and sat on his swivel chair before you looked at him.
“Do you want me to tell you something about that girl?” You speak in an orotund voice.
You place both of your hands in the arm rest and you caught a picture of you place on the top of his table. You stare at it for a second before you stretch your arms to get them. You find it amusing that the picture that he chose to frame to his office table is a picture of you in your younger years. You were smiling genuinely in the camera wearing a dress and a reading glass. You used to wear them until you decided to wear contact lenses. You suddenly miss wearing the large glasses because the last time you remember wearing them is before you graduated in your senior high.
“She likes you, Jungkook. So so much.” You added and you placed the frame back to where it was. You returned your gaze back to him and he’s still standing to where you left him looking like a little puppy who wants to be petted. “Are you aware of that?”
“Why are you saying that?” He asked.
“Because I want to know if you know.”
“No and I don’t care. You know that I don’t give a fuck, baby.” He answered.
“Really?” You raise the side of your lips. “Why?”
“Because I have you, Y/N. Why are you even asking that?”
“What do you mean by having me? We’re not even together, Mr. Jeon Jungkook. Let me remind you of that.” You intertwined your hand and rested your elbow on the table.
Your words went straight to his heart. As the seconds went by, your words were slowly sinking in him until he finally realized what you just said. He took a step back as he couldn’t believe what you just said.
But it was true, wasn't it? You weren’t really together. He doesn’t have something to hold onto you and all of it is coming to him like a massive landslide. He already treated you like the love of his life but you? You’re questioning the thing that you have with him. But there’s nothing wrong with that because you were right. You were so damn right that he wishes that you’re not.
You still know the reality of the two of you while he’s locked up in the fantasy that he owns you.
“Why don’t you try to go out with her? I’m sure that she would love that.” You rest your chin on the back of your hands while your eyes are still focused on him.
“Why are you even—
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Jungkook. You can still keep me even if she’s with you.” You smirked.
“Stop.” He turned back and pressed his fingers on his temple.
“What? I’m just giving you an option. Besides, you seems to like the view of her breast—
“Shut the fuck up, Y/N!” You were taken aback with how his voice echoed at the four corners of the room. He’s now facing you once again and you are suddenly scared of how his eyes darkened. “I don’t fucking want her! I don’t even give a shit about her so don’t you ever push me to her!”
You weren’t able to respond. It was your first time seeing him this angry. You never see him get mad. Hell, you didn't even hear him scream once. And you know what’s crazy? You find him ten times attractive that you want to provoke him even more just to see how hot he is.
It takes a long silence before he realizes what he just did. His darkened eyes suddenly turned soft as he bites his lower lip in guilt.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” He spoke.
He was wrapped in fear. He immediately regrets losing his temper. He didn’t really mean it.
His fear intensifies when you suddenly stand up from your seat without breaking eye contact with him. He was holding his breath while you’re walking towards him and when you’re now standing inches away from him, you gently stroke the black tie that he’s wearing.
“It’s not good to get her hopes up if you don’t really like her, babe. I don’t like that.” You finally spoke in your low and seductive voice. “It’s better to cut her off before you can even hurt her.”
One thing that you don’t know about him is that he can do anything that you say. He always listens to what you want even though it’s not the best decision. He was blinded by his love for you that he can risk anything just for you. He’s already drowned in you and he can’t get out of it. He even welcomed the feeling of it.
He never tries to understand the reason why he’s been like this to you and the only thing he knows is to do what you want because he knows that it will make you happy. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to him.
He will do anything you want. Whatever it takes. Just for you.
“Jeon Jungkook, what did I just hear that you pull out the project that we have with the Linyang Corp? Is that true?” Namjoon, one of the directors of the company, asked after he stormed into Jungkook’s office. It was clear how his voice was steaming in anger.
“Yeah.” Jungkook answered without looking at him and continued on reading the files that he’s holding.
“For what reason?” Namjoon walked closer to him and when he reached his table, he placed both of his hands and leaned forward. Jungkook only gave him a glance before he returned his gaze down to the files.
“I made that decision last 2 weeks. Why did you ask that now?” He asked without looking at Namjoon.
“You made a decision without discussing it with us! Do you know how I found out? The company’s sales decreased significantly. You know how Linyang Corp is one of our biggest clients, Jeon.” The disappointment is evident in his voice yet Jungkook chose to still ignore him.
Namjoon’s blood rose up. He knows that Jeon Jungkook won’t decide on something that will risk the company. One thing that he knew about him was he handled the company very well yet the results of his actions contradicted what he expected from him. Namjoon is the financial director of the company, the reason why he is affected in the situation.
“I’m talking to you!” He stomped his feet as he walked aggressively to Jungkook and he pushed the backrest for Jungkook to face him. His eyes were burning with anger as he looked at Jungkook.
Jungkook is getting annoyed already. He doesn’t want to deal with him but he can’t tell him straight in his face why he pulled the project out. It will make the situation even worse.
He throws a look at Namjoon before placing down the documents that he’s reading and standing up from his seat.
“You want to know why I pulled out?” He spoke in a gruff voice as he looked at Namjoon with intensity. “Their funds were illegal and I won’t allow that my company will be at risk just because of them.” He added.
Namjoon raises his eyebrows as he scoffs.
“What are you talking about?! They have been our client for years already! It’s impossible that their funds suddenly became illegal!”
Jungkook was taken aback. It was true and his excuse was irrelevant.
He pulled out the project because of you. You wanted it didn’t you? You told him things about Lim Yoona and he believed you. It was true, wasn't it? You were right about it all. He doesn’t like Yoona after all and he doesn’t want to get her hopes up and that’s what you keep on telling him.
He doesn’t want you to misinterpret things between the both of you. He doesn’t want to do things that you don’t like. He’ll do everything just to avoid problems between the two of you. Everything he does is for you.
“Jungkook, tell me the truth. Is it really because of illegal funds? People saw you with Ms. Yoona the day before you decided to pull out the project.” Namjoon spoke again but this time, his voice calmed down.
“And what does she have to do with it?” Jungkook scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.
“She’s one of the marketing heads of Linyang Corp and everyone is thinking that you have a thing with her. I know you, Gguk. You have the tendency to mix up your work and personal life.” Namjoon exhales as he rests his hand on the backrest of the couch placed in front of Jungkook’s office table.
“Who spread that?” Jungkook clenched his jaw as he looked at Namjoon. He breathed rapidly when Namjoon didn’t answer him immediately.
“Who fucking spread that?!” Namjoon got surprised when Jungkook suddenly punched the office table in anger.
“Look how you lost your temper by just mentioning her!” Namjoon answered back.
“I don’t have a fucking thing with her!”
“Then why are you acting like you have?”
Jungkook curled his fist. rage flowed through him as he looked at Namjoon. He’s trying to control his emotions the moment Namjoon enters his office yet Namjoon is getting the best in him.
“I don’t even feel the slightest thing with her and I never will. That’s the thing that you should mark to the head of yours and the fucking people around.” He responded emphasizing every word he said.
“If it's not Yoona, then it’s probably someone. Someone that’s close to you and despised by Yoona.” Namjoon spoke—trying to provoke him.
Jungkook didn’t speak but he didn’t avoid Namjoon’s eyes.
“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”
And when Namjoon saw how Jungkook clenched his jaw by just mentioning your name, he smirked. He looked around before he looked back at Jungkook.
“Gotcha.” He said as he placed both of his hands in his pocket.
“What the fuck do you mean? She’s out of this!” Jungkook lashed out.
“But with how I see you, she’s involved in this. The situation that you have with her is still ongoing. I know Y/N, I know you and I know Yoona so stop making me a fool out of it.”
Kim Namjoon is the financial director of PCC and a friend of Jungkook. He has known Jungkook ever since he’s still inside the tummy of his mother and he knows everything that’s going on with his life.
He’s a great friend actually. He will always take the side of his friends but when it comes to his work, he has no exemption.
“Yoona despises Y/N so much just like how Y/N also despises her. With the result of your decision, you have to eliminate one and you choose to eliminate Yoona.” Namjoon concluded with a satisfying smile.
“Can you hear yourself? You’re being absurd!” Jungkook raised his voice as he breathed rapidly.
“Oh yes, Jungkook! Yes! I can hear myself as clear as the window glass you have right now!”
Namjoon smirks as he looks at Jungkook with intensity.
“Tell me, why did you do it? Is it because Y/N tell you to do it? That Y/N doesn’t like Yoona that’s why you pull out the project?” He added.
“Get out.” Jungkook’s lips grew thin and firm as he spoke in his low voice.
“Jungkook, wake up! You’re not even together and you throw away Linyang Corp just for her?! She’s just using you and you should be aware of that!”
“I said get out!” Jungkook loses his patience as he screams. He cannot hold his emotions anymore.
“Not until you realize how fucking stupid you are! Don’t risk your company just for her! She will leave you the moment she gets bored!”
Namjoon was taken aback when Jungkook suddenly went to him and grabbed his collar. Jungkook glared at him as he grasped Namjoon’s collar firmly.
“Who are you to fucking say that? Huh? You know nothing!”
With how confident Namjoon was seconds ago, it was suddenly replaced with fear. In his whole existence, he never knew that Jungkook could be this mad. He never saw this side of him.
He never expected that he could be like this. Mad and violent.
He only knew Jungkook to be calm and serious at the same time in any situation. He can get mad but never like this.
“She will never leave me. You know nothing.” He spoke emphasizing every word before he threw Namjoon out of his office.
After the argument with Namjoon, Jungkook was anxious the whole day. He can’t focus on his work and he can't achieve anything. Namjoon’s words never leave his mind. He was trying to avoid thinking about it but he just can’t and it makes him insane because his overthinking got worse.
He’s biting his nails as he looks at the photo frame of you placed on his table. He’s been thinking of you a lot more than usual. He extends his hand as he brushes his fingers on your photo frame.
‘She’s just using you and you should be aware of that!’
‘She will leave you the moment she gets bored!’
No, you wouldn’t do that. You won’t leave him. You need him. You can’t leave him.
He pushed his hair back as he sat on the horns of his dilemma.
He grabbed his phone to dial your number and he rocked his legs back and forth while waiting for you to pick up.
But your phone’s been ringing and you won’t pick up.
He felt that something was blocking his chest to prevent him from breathing properly. The longer the phone keeps ringing the harder he can’t breathe. He wanted you to pick up because you are the only thing that he needs. He knew that the moment he hears your voice, he will be calmed.
“Baby, pick up. I need you so much.”
And with that, you picked up greeting him with your softest and sweetest voice.
“Hey, daddy. How are you?” There was a tease in your voice and just like that, he felt like a lump in his chest was removed.
“Babe! What took you so long to pick up?” He responded as he pushed his hair back and slightly pulled it.
“Hey. I was in my last class, okay? What’s up?”
Your voice is the softest and sweetest voice he has ever heard and he will never get tired of listening to it. It was the only thing that he needed to hear. You are the only thing he needed.
“How’s your last class?” He asked as he played with his bottom lips.
“The usual. Boring. Who would like to listen in a history class?” You spoke in a high tone and he immediately smiled at that.
You’re being cheeky again and he loves it. He loves everything about you.
“Baby, I miss you.” the longing in his voice is evident. He touched your photo frame once again.
“Aw. We saw each other the other day and you already missed me? Poor Ggukie.” He smiles as he imagines you pouting on the other line. “Oh babe, by the way, I’m wearing the heels you’ve bought me! I super love it! I’ll be sending a photo!”
“You do?” He can’t stop smiling and before he can utter another word, his phone chimes and he already saw the photo that you sent. “They were perfect, baby.”
“I know right! Hey, I gotta go. I’ll be hanging out with the girls.”
“Wait, Y/N!”
“Uhm?”
“Stay with me tonight.” He said as he bit his lower lips. “Let’s have dinner at home. I’ll be cooking your favorite pasta, baby.” He sounded like he was begging and he really is.
He will lose it when you decline him.
“Uhh, I’ll see.”
“Baby please. I missed you so much. I want you so bad.” He’s begging already. You may not say it directly to his face but he knows that you’re declining him. He has to beg because if he doesn't, he’ll lose it.
There’s a long silence between the two of you. He was waiting for your response while you didn’t expect that he’s pleading to you.
Actually, you don’t understand why you didn’t expect that because he’s begging you all the time. You knew that it’s a normal thing he does yet you were still confused. Maybe because he does really missed you or he wanna fuck. Either way, you have to be there for him, after all, that’s your job.
But you have to admit to yourself that you like it when Jungkook is acting like that. Whenever he begs, he acts possessive and obsessive towards you because you felt like you own him even though the situation of the both of you says otherwise. You needed him more than he needed you. You can have his wealth but not him because if the time comes that he gets bored of you, you’re now worthless. But that’s not yet happening so you should enjoy his company and his money.
“Okay, Ggukie. I’ll be there.”
Jungkook is too much but he doesn’t know that and if he ever knew, he will not admit it to himself. He doesn’t know what boundary is as long as he has you. When the day you appeared to him, he knew that you were all he needed.
You’re different from others. So different that he can’t have you like his past girlfriends. You know what you want and being in love isn’t part of it therefore, he offers you something that you would like and at the same time, he will benefit from it.
But that’s not what he wanted from the start. He can give you anything you like, anything you need. Everything. He can give you the world that you wanted even though you didn’t ask for it. You don’t have to be his sugar baby because he can give you the world without asking in return. You just have to be present to him and that’s it.
He loves you so much.
That night, you come home to him. You may be late but it doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re now with him. That’s all he needs.
But he still can’t stop thinking about what Namjoon has said earlier. His words were coming back to his head and it’s killing him.
He was bothered by the thought that Namjoon was right. He can’t admit it to himself because he was scared that it was the reality of you and him.
You have nothing to hold onto because you weren’t committed to him. He will go insane the moment you decide to stop everything with what you have between the both of you.
He was at the comfort of his bed while you were beside him. You’re already asleep but he’s wide awake as he stares at your stunning face. You were so beautiful that it scares him. What if other men can have you like this? Touch you like this? There are a lot of possibilities and it terrifies him because he doesn’t own you. You’re so young and beautiful. He wanted to own you so bad.
He caressed your cheek as you were in your deep sleep. It was so soft and smooth. So Beautiful as ever.
“I want you to be mine, baby. So bad.” He whispered.
He brushes his fingers down to your neck, to your shoulders until it reaches your palms. He slowly lifts your palms and kisses the back of it.
“You will never leave me, right? You will stay by my side, right? You have no idea how I love you so much baby. I can die for you.” He slowly places the back of your hand to his cheeks and pecks it. He smiles because you didn’t even move an inch with his touch. You were obviously in your deep sleep.
This is the only thing he needs. You, beside him in the comfort of the bed.
He slowly placed a peck on your forehead before he lowered down his body and wrapped his arms to your waist and decided to close his eyes.
He was suddenly awakened in his sleep and when he tries to feel your body, he can’t feel anything.
His eyes grew wide as he suddenly felt a shortness in his breath when he didn’t see your body beside him. He’s trembling when he gets up.
“Y/N!”
He was screaming your name in fear. He ran towards the comfort room to check and he got more panicked when he didn’t see you.
‘She will leave you the moment she gets bored!’
Namjoon’s words repeated in his head.
Baby, did you leave me now? Did you get tired of me already? You can’t leave me alone!
He immediately got out of the bedroom and when he found you in front of him while holding a glass of water, he was immediately all over you.
“Jungkook, what’s wrong? I got scared by your scream!” You said as you tried to calm him down.
“You weren’t beside me, baby!” He said as he suddenly sobs.
“Wait wait. What happened?” You were trying to let go to see his face but he squeezed himself even more to you.
“I got scared when I didn’t see you beside me. I thought you left me in my sleep, baby.” He said as he buried his face into your neck.
“Why would I leave you? I just got thirsty so I got up to get a glass of water.” You respond in your soft voice. This time, Jungkook loosened his hug and he allowed you to face him.
You were weakened when you saw how fragile Jungkook looked. His eyes were watery while his face and lips were pale. He grabs your hand and places it on his cheeks.
“Y/N, please don’t leave me. I’m scared to be left alone by you. I don’t know what to do if you decided to leave me, baby. I’ll go insane.” He said as he hugged you again.
—
One thing you love to do is to not give a fuck of what others will say. That’s the fact that you always mark it in your head. You always remember to enjoy your life to the fullest even if there are circumstances that hinder it. For you to be able to do all those things, you always need a lot of money so you have Jeon Jungkook.
Having him is always the best because with him, you do and get all the things you want. Travel, shopping, name it. He can provide it to you in a snap of a finger.
And now, you are with him in Italy as he does his business trip while you enjoy shopping. His money was limitless and you were always amazed by how he did it.
There are other things that you like about him other than his money. It’s given that he has the looks. He’s so damn handsome that sometimes, you cannot believe that you have him. He gives you everything you want and he treats you right. So right that sometimes, you tend to believe that you’re not just a regular sugar baby of his. He’s too good to be true.
Of course there are things about him that are unusual for someone like him. You feel like he’s dependent on you, like he can’t function well if he doesn't see you for a day. He gets jealous easily and tends to be obsessive towards you. The fun part is, you seem to like it.
You don’t really mind his actions towards you but this time, you notice that it’s too much.
“You went out wearing that?” His eyebrows were narrowed as he pointed out your outfit. You were back at the hotel you stayed in with him and you were surprised that he’s back as well.
“Yeah. And?” You respond as you shrug while the paper bags are still in your hand. You walk towards the bed as you place the paper bags beside it and remove your heels.
“Your breast is literally sticking out! And you show too much skin!” You rolled your eyes at his explanation as you sat down on the side of the bed.
“Jungkook, this is what I wear on a daily basis and you just noticed it now? What the hell?”
“Yes but you are alone without any bodyguards. What if there are men out there who disrespect you?! Harassed you?! Baby, we’re in another country and you’re alone.” He walked back and forth as he pushed back his hair aggressively.
“What do you think of me? Weak? You know damn well that I can fight back!” You answered back.
One of the things that you hate the most is when people think that you can’t handle yourself. You may be young but you are smart and strong enough to handle things. Yes, you are young but you are independent and you know how to control a situation that you’re in.
“I know! But you are alone! There are things that can happen. Just please don’t wear clothes like that.” He rubs his temple as he looks at you with his pleading eyes.
You raise your left eyebrow as you glare at him. His words get on your nerves. You walk towards him while you keep your eye contact with him and when you’re now in front of him, you speak.
“I will wear what I want and I won’t adjust for others.” You said emphasizing every word.
“I know that you’re strong and you can fight back but that’s not always the situation, Y/N. I don’t want to risk it.” He slowly gets your hand for him to hold.
“Don’t worry, Gguk. I can handle myself.” You pull your hands in his hold and you turn your back but before you can even walk out, he caresses both of your shoulders and rests his head on your neck.
“Please tell me that you won’t wear that kind of clothes again when you’re not with me.” He begs in his gentle and low voice.
“I can handle myself even without you. You don’t have to worry.” You remove his hands on your shoulder and walk away but before you can even take a step, he suddenly hugs you from your back.
“N-no no. Just please tell me, baby please. I don’t want others to look at the way I look at you.” He hugs you tightly and you can feel his lips from your neck.
He sounds like a child that’s begging. Your heartbeat increased rapidly.
“I can’t stand the thought that other men can see the things I see in you, babe. I just can’t.”
You slowly understand where he’s coming from. He’s possessing you again. He wasn’t like this before. He let you wear whatever you want and now, you don’t understand what got into him and you’re not liking it.
“Just imagining it makes me want to kill them.” He adds as he slowly brushes his lips on your nape.
—
It’s almost a year since your situation with Jungkook happened and everything is fine. You wanted to believe that everything is fine but it’s far from that. You were trying to ignore the red flags that he’s showing you but it’s getting too much already. He’s too much.
You’re with him in his penthouse while drinking a glass of champagne. You weren’t fond of wine but you learned how to appreciate them when you met him. Moscato is your favorite out of all the wines you’ve tasted. With its unique bouquet of floral sweet aroma, you would love to consume multiple glasses of it.
You’re swirling your wine glass as you observe the bubbles inside while Jungkook is in front of you. You’re resting your back at the gigantic window of his penthouse while he stands meters away from you.
“I’ve thought about this a lot of times, Y/N. Why don’t you live with me?” You didn’t expect what he just said and you were waiting for him to say that it’s a joke but he was dead serious while he looked at you.
“What? Why?” You asked and you prevent yourself from raising your left eyebrow.
He walked towards you and held your left hand before he spoke.
“There are a lot of reasons but the top of them all is your life would be better if you lived with me.” He looked at you like your answer will change his life. You are hesitating to respond and you keep on staring at both of his eyes. You’re anxious about his reaction with whatever you’re going to answer but you don’t want to get his hopes up. And with that, you take a deep breath before you answer.
“I don’t need to live with you to have a better life. I’m fine with living on my own, Jungkook.” You answer in a low and soft voice afraid to offend him.
But he’s getting persistent. He squeezed your hand before he kissed it.
“Baby, you don’t have to pay your rent if you live with me and it’s better that you have someone with you.” He spoke, still convincing you.
“My mom’s paying my rent and bills, Gguk and my university is near my apartment. It’s–
“I’ll drive and fetch you. It’s just 20 minutes away from here. It won’t take much time.” He cut you off. He’s getting desperate and it shows in his big and doe eyes.
You don’t understand why he suddenly wants you to live with him. You’re not in a relationship with him to begin with. His actions and decisions are getting out of hand and he’s starting to scare you. Both of you discussed the boundary between the two of you before you even agreed with this but now, he seems to forget everything about it.
You know what you want and you don’t want to have a serious relationship with anyone even with him and most especially, you don’t want to live with him.
That’s totally fucked up.
You remove your hand to his hold and you step away to take a deep breath. “Jungkook, that’s unnecessary. I’m fine and I can handle myself.” You responded before you looked at him and sipped your wine.
“Babe, I’m thinking about your safety–
You cut him off.
“Jungkook, I’ve said I’m fine.” You can’t help but to have a strong tone of voice. He’s getting persistent and you’re not liking it.
He was taken aback with your response. He didn’t move an inch and after his long silence, he finally spoke.
“Don’t you want to live here?” He asked like he’s guilt-tripping you.
The thing about you is, you can easily distinguish the people who're trying to manipulate you and you don’t like that.
You slowly walked towards him without breaking an eye-contact and when you’re now in front of him, you take a sip of your wine before you speak.
“I don’t. I can live on my own, Jungkook.” You said emphasizing every word.
Jungkook is slowly losing his mind and his own thoughts are consuming him alive.
Anxiety of fear is filling him because he knows for sure that you’re slowly slipping away from his hands. With the way you think and the actions you’ve made, he knows that there is something wrong with you. He’s getting scared by the thought that maybe one day, he’ll wake up and you’re already gone.
He knows that he doesn’t have the right to keep you and that scares him the most because you can leave him without a notice.
He doesn’t know what to do anymore and the only thing he knows is that he wants to keep you for him even though he knows that you will hate him for that.
But that’s okay as long as you’re with him. He can endure anything for you.
Just when he thinks that everything is already messed up, you’ve told him something that he never expected.
You’re leaving.
“I got accepted to the internship I applied to in Switzerland!” You said with enthusiasm as you jumped in your excitement. You’re giggling and you can’t stop yourself from smiling.
You were so occupied in your celebration that you didn’t notice Jungkook sitting in his swivel chair of his office looking like the world fell into him. He can’t speak and he can’t even think of saying something.
“I can’t imagine that I’ll be working in the most luxurious hotel for 5 months! I can't wait!” You add and you sit on the couch as you take a deep breath. You look at him and you tilt your head when he doesn’t say anything. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” You asked.
“I didn’t know that you continued to submit an application?” Jungkook responded with an answer.
You narrowed your eyebrow in confusion. “Huh? I did. You even motivate me to apply. Duh.”
It was true, though. During the time that you’re planning to apply for an internship months ago, he was the one that pushed you to go.
“You’re… Going?” He bites the inside of his lower lips.
“Of course! Why would I not go? That’s literally a good opportunity.”
You’ve been dreaming of having your internship in another country as it will be a great record for you once you’ve graduated college. You’ve been establishing your future ever-since because you wanted to have a bright future ahead of you.
All your life, you’ve been living in a life where you don’t have the means to enjoy it because you weren’t born in a wealthy family. You may enjoy your life right now because you have him but you wanted to taste a success that you’re the one who made.
You have your dreams and you will do anything in order to achieve it.
“You’re… You’re away for 5 months?” Jungkook slowly stands up from his seat as he walks towards where you are.
“Yeah, Gguk.” You answered and you rested your elbow on the top of the backrest of the couch as you looked at him.
“But isn’t it too long for you to be away?” He sat beside you.
“That’s just 5 months. It’s not that long, honestly.”
“Why don’t you have your internship here, baby? There are also five-star hotels here?”
Here he goes again. He’s opposing what you want again and you’re already getting tired of it.
“I know but that’s literally Switzerland, Jungkook. That’s a big opportunity.” You stand up and cross your arms as you look at him.
“Won't you have a hard time there? You’re far away and you have to live for yourself.”
He doesn’t want you to leave the country, to leave him. Even if it only takes months. He doesn’t want you to be away even for a week. He doesn’t want it.
“I’ve been living on my own for years already, Jungkook. Being away and having an internship in Switzerland is just a piece of cake for me.” You answered.
“Y/N, that’s not a piece of cake. That's a thousand miles away and Switzerland is different from here.” You rolled your eyes. He’s starting to annoy you once again.
“Jungkook, I’m literally 22 years old. I can handle myself like I always did.” You said, stating a fact. You then walk towards him and sit next to him before you lightly brush your fingers to his side hair.
“You sound like you don’t want me to go because you’re gonna miss me.” You said as you smirk.
“Baby, that’s not just it—
You cut him off, once again. “I get it. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” You place your arm on the top of his shoulder and face him as you slowly play with his right ear.
“You can pay me a visit if you want. You got the money and resources, daddy.” Your smirk didn't disappear as you kept brushing his hair.
“Y/N, I’m serious. Switzerland is far away. I can offer you more than that. I can speak with luxurious hotel owners here in Seoul and give you an offer. I can even give you a bigger opportunity—
“Jungkook, stop.” You cut him off with your stone voice and after a few seconds of silence, you distance yourself from him before you stand up.
“Nothing is bigger than an offer in Switzerland. I know that you can provide me with everything but I don’t want you to interfere with my future.” You spoke in a somber tone.
“I know that you’re concerned but you have nothing to do with this. If you ever interfere with my plans, then I’ll be forced to stop whatever we have.” You added before you walked towards the door and opened it. You turned your head to give him a last glance.
“I’ll go now.” And with that, you step out of his office and you leave him dumbfounded.
His chest tightens and he tries to breath heavily but he still feels suffocated. His mouth runs dry and he starts to sweat buckets. He wanted you back but he can’t move his body to run after you.
You’re going to leave him and you’re already sure of that. He doesn’t know what to do anymore because you’re already unstoppable.
He doesn’t understand you because he’s willing to give you everything he has just for you to stay but you can’t do it for him. You are leaving him and you plan it like it’s the most natural thing to do.
You can’t leave him. Not in this state. He’s already so sure of you and he’s determined to ask you one day to be his but he hasn't done it yet and you are already planning to leave him. From the day he first saw you, he knew that you’re something else and he’s determined to find out everything about you. His time is important to him but he can waste it for you. He can drop everything just for you.
He already established everything for you and he opted to continue it that way. He can provide you with anything and you can get and do everything you want except for leaving him. He loves you so much that he can’t allow you to slip away.
Everything that you want, you get and Jungkook is making sure of that but this time, he can’t grant it for you because he can’t fucking take it if you are going to leave him.
He knew how important your future is to you. You always tell him about your plans and before the thing with the both of you happened, you’ve already made it clear to him that everything that you’re doing is for your future. Maybe one reason why he’s so crazy over you is because you know what you want and you know how to reach them. You’re so certain with your plans and you will do everything for it.
The thing that you don’t know is that you can establish your plans in a snap of a finger. You can reach your dreams without doing anything as long as you’re with him. He can do everything for you and just like what he said, anything for you.
You don’t have to go to another country and exhaust yourself for the dreams that you want to reach. He can provide it to you just like how he provides you the basic things you need. You don’t have to suffer because you have him.
And do you think that he will let you suffer in another country? Do you think that he wants to see you being consumed? You’re too precious that he can’t allow you to do all those things. He treats you like a princess and he won’t allow you to just be a servant in another country. He knows your worth but he doesn’t know why you don’t.
You are again in his office. Beautiful as ever. Stunning as always. But the difference is, you don’t wear your smile that captivates him the most. The smile that will spin his head round and round. Instead, you were stiff and your eyes looked like it was aiming for its target. You look so serious. Almost mad. You weren’t like that.
But he didn’t overthink it.
“The company where I applied for my internship pulled me out.” You’re standing in front of him as you said in your stern voice. “They said, my profile was mixed up with the profile of the people who’s qualified.” You added.
“So you’re saying that you’re not qualified?” Jungkook asked you while he’s still seated in his swivel chair.
“I don’t know. They just called me this morning.” You said as your voice is getting suspicious.
“I’m sorry to hear that—
“But they said something. They offered me an internship but it was only in the Four Season Hotel.”
“Then it’s a good opportunity as well, babe. That’s one of the top luxurious hotels in Seoul. Don’t you know?” Jungkook is starting to understand why you came. He stood up and took a step in front of you.
“But the thing is, how come that my profile will be mixed with the others if I am not qualified? And it was sudden now that my flight is next week. That’s so impossible.” You said as you were trying to prove a point.
Jungkook brushes his thumb on your cheek and if it was the most normal day for you, you would like his touch. However, it wasn’t.
“Baby, that’s possible especially since there are a lot of applicants. You're not just the only one who applied.” He sounds so gentle but you caught the sarcasm in it.
You step away from him and you cross your arms.
“That’s so fucked up, Gguk. I already have my tickets and everything is already planned. The only thing that I have to do is wait until next week comes so I can go.” Your tone is rising and you’re starting to get annoyed.
“Everything is so skeptical, like something is wrong. It was obvious.” You said incredulously and you continued to look him in the eyes.
“So you know what I did? I did my research, Jungkook. Everything that I have to know. And you know what I found? JCC is one of the investors in Bürgenstock Hotel, Gguk. The hotel where I am going to work.” You walk slowly towards him as you still keep your composure.
“What’s your point?” He asked as he leaned his buttocks on the front of his office table and crossed his arms.
“Do you have something to do with it?” You asked straight to his face.
When Jungkook used his power to pull you out in that internship, he already knew that you’re going to confront him with it but he didn’t know that you'd blatantly ask about it.
“What do you mean?” He asks, pretending to be clueless about it.
You curled your lips before you spoke. “I am going to ask you again, do you have something to do as the reason why Bürgenstock pulled me out?” You asked as you emphasized every word.
“Babe, why would I do that? I’m not going to do that to you!” He was about to caress your cheek but you moved your face away.
“Jungkook, tell me the truth.” You haven’t raised your voice but it’s evident that you’re starting to get furious.
“Baby? Why are you blaming me?” You scoff at how he plays the victim card.
“Because that’s how I see it! You’re basically an investor in Bürgenstock and you are capable of doing that knowing that it’s obvious that you don't want me to go!” you Indignantly said, unable to control your emotion.
“That’s ridiculous, Y/N! I am not going to ruin your plans—
“Then why did they pull me out? Huh?!”
He can’t tell you the truth because you will despise him. He knows how important your internship is to you but he can still provide it to you. He can give you a better life and opportunity and the only thing you will do is to stay with him.
“Maybe because you’re not competent enough, Y/N.”
He was stupid for not preparing an excuse for you. He was so occupied with planning how you’re going to not leave him that he forgot to even think on what to say when you confronted him. He thought that you won’t give it a big deal but when you suddenly got stunned to speak, he instantly regretted what he just said.
“Y/N, what I meant is—
“The last person who I expect that to say is you.” You said resentfully as you cut him off. You turned your back at him and started to walk away.
“Baby, wait! That’s not what I meant! Where are you going?” Jungkook rushed to get your hand but before he could even hold your wrist, you pulled it out.
“I’m done with you.” You glared at him before you walked away once again but he pulled you in your wrist.
“Y/N, I swear, I didn’t do anything! Believe me! I won’t do anything to hurt you, babe. I swear.” Jungkook raised your wrist as he kissed the back of your hand trying to convince you.
But you’re incredulous. You’re in this game for years already and you know to yourself that everything happens for a reason. You’re sure of it.
“You blatantly lied straight to my fucking face, Jungkook! You know how I value my passion and you fucking ruined it!” You said as anger flooded his veins.
“Please believe me because I didn’t do it! Where are you going?! Y/N, please!”
Everything is happening all at once and Jungkook is starting to get anxious about what's happening. He panics even more when he sees that you’re about to leave. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect the reaction that you made and most importantly, he didn’t expect that it’s easy for you to just leave him just like that by just saying that you’re done.
You faced him once again. “You know what I hate the most? Liars. I hate liars, Jeon Jungkook. So much.” You said emphasizing every word with disgust.
His lips twitched as his jaw trembled in fear. It was like an ice cold water splash onto him.
“Y/N baby, Don’t leave! Let me explain!” He pulled your palms once again and you gave him a look. Like you just caught him.
“So you did it, didn’t you?”
“I’m just thinking about your safety! I fucking swear! I did it to protect you!” He speaks so fast without even thinking—afraid of you leaving him.
“So you really did it.” You stated and that’s how he realized that he just spit to you the truth of his wrongdoings.
“Y/N, let me—
And before he can even finish his sentence, your palms meet his face. You slapped him so hard and he didn’t immediately recover.
“Who are you to do that?! Huh?! Who the fuck are you?!” You breathe heavily as you tremble with rage.
“Y/N, let me speak.” He responded in a low voice but he received another slap from you.
“Who are you to sabotage my plans?! You don’t have the right, Jungkook! You don’t!” You screamed in anger. Your hands are shaking and you didn’t notice that a tear escaped your eyes already. It was messed up.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm—
“Oh shut the fuck up, Jeon Jungkook! What?! You only did it to protect me? Did I even ask you to do that in the first place, huh?! I don’t fucking need your protection! Fuck you!”
The only reason why you chose to live is because of money and your dreams. You may be a mess as an individual but you have a dream just like an ordinary person. It was the only thing that you hold onto and yet, he ruined it. The least person you expect it to do is him and you can’t even put into words how disappointed you are. It was beyond fucked up.
“You know how I value my dreams, Jungkook. It was the only thing that I held into.”
You tighten your throat as you take a short breath. A great sob escaped you as you covered your face with shaking hands. A pang of guilt immediately rushed to him. He never saw you cry in eleven months that he met you. You’re always confident and strong like no one can ever hurt you. But unfortunately, he was the one who put tears in your eyes.
He slowly walked towards you and was about to hug you but you immediately pushed him back. His heart crumbled when you pushed him but he was the one to blame.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!”
“Y/N, Four Seasons hotel isn’t bad. It’s a better option—
“Better? Are you seriously fucking kidding me?! Not because you used your fucking power to sabotage me by letting me in that god forsaken hotel doesn’t mean it’s a fucking better option! And even if you offer me the best opportunity, I will not give you the right to do so because who are you?!” You said as you harshly pointed out an index finger to his face.
“And not because you’re qualified for your Switzerland internship doesn’t mean your life will go any better! Y/N, I am giving you a life where you don’t have to experience hardship!” He argues without knowing that he is just fueling the fire.
“I don’t fucking need your help! Stop making the things you did to me as an excuse to ruin me! And also, not because you’re giving me everything doesn’t mean you have the right to control my life! You don’t have the audacity!”
“And what? You will suffer there and expect that after you suffer, you will eventually succeed?! Y/N, I am making your life easier! Why don’t you understand that?!”
His words made you stunned to speak. You didn’t know what to say nor to act because you’re speechless. He was beyond fucked up and you never imagine that he is like this. You never imagine that he can be this messed up. You just couldn’t believe it.
You threw him with a disgusting stare before you spoke. “You’re unbelievable. You did great on disappointing me, Jungkook. I don’t even know you anymore.” You said and disappointment is evident in you. “Or do I even know you?” You added.
“Y/N.”
“You don’t have the right to look down on me just because you have everything. And do you know what’s wrong with you? You’ve been fed with a silver spoon all your life that you don’t even know what the reality of life is.” You said aggrievedly and you gave him a hostile glare.
“I don’t fucking want to see you again.” You finally said before you turned around to leave the room but before you even got to hold the doorknob, he caught your hand.
“You’re not going to leave.” he demanded in his baritone voice.
“You don’t have the right to tell me what to do so put your hands off me.” You glared before you pulled your hand in him but you were surprised when he suddenly hugged you so tight that you could hear his heartbeat.
His heart thundered in his chest as he started to shake. He was suddenly panicking and he himself couldn’t even control his emotions.
His nightmare came to get him and he is scared.
He’s losing you already.
“Y/N, no no no. Please, you can’t leave me, baby.” A tear suddenly raced down to his cheeks and he’s already losing his mind. He pulled you for an embrace but you immediately pushed him away.
“Fuck off!” Is the last thing before you leave the room.
He was blinded by love for you that it was already consuming the both of you. He loves you so much that he can’t allow himself to let you leave him even for your own dreams. You’re like the air that he breathes and without you, he will die.
He was blinded by love for you that he didn’t notice that he was also the one who made you leave him.
You made him like this. Your love for him made him the person he is and you can’t blame him for loving you too much that it already suffocates you.
You can’t blame him.
#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook au#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook scenarios#jungkook yandere#yandere!jungkook#yandere jungkook#possessive yandere#possessive!jungkook#yandere bts au#bts yandere#yandere#yandere bts#bts#bts au#bts fanfic#bts x reader#sugar daddy!jungkook#don't blame me
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what if abby's father and the reader's father were friends and the like to hangout and play tennis a lot ; one day jerry anderson tries to convince his daughter to play a game with him, his friend and his daughter (reader) who has just returned home after two years of travelling ;
both girls accept their father's invitation! then the big day arrives and abby finds herself in front of reader in her pretty tennis set (and maybe something could happen in the locker room, after a heated match 👀)
I'm baaaack!
Sorry this took me so incredibly long it's been a weird few weeks. I hope I did your idea justice, she's a long one.
word count: 3.3k
content warnings: enemies to lovers, mean, competitive Abby, thigh riding, fem! reader, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, modern au where Abby's dad isn't dead obvi, no use of y/n
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You were sitting at your kitchen counter sipping on a glass of ice water and gazing out the window, watching the summer breeze rattle the trees. It had been a few weeks since you’d gotten back from Europe, but ice still felt like a luxury. Europe was so beautiful and you wouldn’t trade it for anything, but after a few years you started to yearn for air conditioning, cold water and disgusting greasy fried food. Your first bite of a McChicken back in the states was orgasmic.
You also missed your family, your dad would call you every other day and talk about his day in incredible detail. He joined a country club and got into tennis while you were gone, he even made a few friends. You were especially happy about that because you were worried about him getting lonely while you were gone. You didn’t want him rotting in an empty house while you went out and traveled the world. Even though your dad’s days were mundane and repetitive you just liked listening to him talk. His voice was the only thing that could dull the feeling of homesickness.
The front door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Your dad walks in clearly having just got back from the country club, he was dressed head to toe in tennis gear including a visor. You can’t help but giggle at how stupid and preppy he looks. You didn’t exactly grow up going to country clubs, and dressing in brand name clothes. Luckily your dad had gotten a new job so he could splurge on himself. It made you happy to watch him treat himself for the first time in his life.
“What? Why are you laughing at me?” He looks up and down checking his clothes for stains or any wardrobe malfunctions.
“Nothing, you just look a little funny dressed in your tennis uniform. Not exactly used to you in country club attire.” You smile as he acts mock offended.
“I think it suits me, thank you very much.” He dramatically marches over to the fridge to fill up his water bottle. He’s really not gonna let go of this.
“You’re right, you were born to wear exclusively Vineyard Vines and sip wine on the balcony of your third beach house.” You say with a smirk.
“Sounds pretty nice to me.” He smiles and leans on the counter across from you.
He hesitates before saying “I’ve been meaning to invite you to play with me and Jerry, I think you’d have fun, it’ll be like the good old days on your high school tennis team. You’d probably deeply humble both of us.” Jerry was your dad’s best friend right now, one of the first people that welcomed him into the country club.
“Dad, I haven’t played tennis in three years I don’t kn-”
“Jerry said he’d bring his daughter too. She also used to play a lot of sports in high school. We could do father daughter teams or daughters vs fathers. It’ll be fun.” He sounds so excited, you would feel way too guilty turning him down at this point.
“Ok, ok. Have you met his daughter? Is she like.. Nice?” You didn’t want to have to fake getting along with her for your dad’s sake, if you were being honest you would probably end up doing that anyway. Your dad wasn’t exactly good at finding you friends.
“Yes, she’s incredibly nice, and respectful. She’s a few years older than you, about 25 I think, and she works for a construction company.” He pauses trying to recollect the little information he knows about his friend’s daughter. “She’s so strong I’m pretty sure she could pick me up bridal style.” Your dad laughs at his own joke, but now you are a little nervous. It’s starting to sink in that your dad essentially set up a playdate for you with an incredibly buff woman. You just hope you don’t end up noticeably ogling at her, maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll be incredibly mean.
You woke up bright and early the next morning, your dad bribed you with a fancy breakfast before the match. The food was delicious, but you couldn’t stop your nervous movements, constantly tapping your fingers or feet. Your dad noticed and reassured you there was no reason to be nervous, and that there’s no pressure. To be honest your nerves weren’t completely because you were out of practice. Meeting new people always made you anxious, especially when it was arranged like this. There was an unspoken expectation for everyone to get along and enjoy themselves and you liked to keep your expectations low.
Before you knew it you and your dad were walking to the tennis courts. Your dad noticed you were starting to get all up in your head.
“Hey, loosen up kiddo this will be fun, if it’s not you let me know and we can leave. I’ll just tell them I’m not feeling well and we can get ice cream. Jerry will understand.” He messes with your hair a bit and you feel mildly relieved.
Once you get to the tennis court all of the relief you felt drained from your body, immediately replaced with pure anxiety. As you walk onto the smooth green court you see a middle aged brunette man, no doubt that was Jerry, and a tall strong blonde standing next to him. She towered over him, every muscle chiseled to perfection by what must have been some higher power. As you got closer you could see her biceps straining against her blue t-shirt, her thighs were barely visible, but from what you could see they were just as muscular as her arms. You were beginning to ogle when you’re snapped out of it from the sound of your dad greeting Jerry. Your dad shakes hands with Jerry and Abby and you begin to do the same. Abby’s blue eyes pierced right through you, a neutral expression adorning her face. She was incredibly intimidating considering she could clearly snap you in two. You shake Jerry’s hand “I’ve heard so much about you, hope you still remember your stuff from high school. Your dad and I have gotten pretty good.”
You smile and reply “It’s been a while, but I’m sure I’ll warm up in no time!” You liked to stay humble, but honestly you were pretty good at tennis. You had won a lot of games and you were one of the best on the team. You didn’t talk about it much though because you were self aware enough to know literally no one cares about tennis. You were also as a result extremely competitive so you were hoping you would be able to tone it down in order to not scare your dad’s friend away.
You move to shake Abby’s hand “I’m Abby, nice to finally meet you.” From her tone you would have assumed she thought it was indeed not very nice to meet you. But you nod and smile as her calloused hand engulfs yours. You can’t help but notice how warm her skin is to the touch and how large her hands are.
She was incredibly attractive.
“Alrighty you guys ready for an ass whoopin?” Jerry jests.
“You bet.” Your dad replies.
You and your dad make your way to the other side of the net and get into your ready positions. Abby serves the ball first and her swing was strong, but it was no match for your speed. You quickly learned the harder Abby hit the ball the louder she would grunt, so naturally you attempted to rile her up further. You would smirk arrogantly at her every time you and your dad gained a point, and take an extra long time getting ready to serve on the rare occasion she and Jerry would score a point. You and your dad rack up points quickly and the blonde was growing visibly frustrated. She was starting to hit the ball even harder, her jaw was clenched and her expression was so serious. It was adorable.
Eventually Jerry calls for a break and sits on one of the benches with you dad, leaving you to sit with Abby. Alone.
You sit down next to her on the wooden bench and start sipping from your water bottle. She does the same and you sit in silence for a bit. You notice the sweat on her brow and how her shirt is starting to stick to her skin. You can almost make out her abdominal muscles through the thin blue fabric.
“I’m not usually this bad at sports, not used to losing.” Abby says, looking straight ahead. You can’t help but smile at her discontent, she seems just as competitive as you.
“I’m sure your strong muscles get you pretty far in most sports, but apparently tennis is not one of them, especially when you're up against an expert like me.” You say trying to joke around to lighten her mood.
“I wouldn’t classify a varsity tennis player as an expert, but okay.” She says with a smug look, still not facing you. She definitely did not understand your humor.
“Clearly enough of an expert to beat you.” You shoot back. Abby grows silent and continues to sip her water.
You sit in silence while your dad chats with Jerry, giving up on trying to make conversation with Abby. Eventually Jerry and your father stand up ready to finish the game. You and your dad beat them miserably. The game only ended because the sun started to go down, the country club quickly emptying out for the day.
Your dad and Jerry suggest you all get washed up in the locker rooms before leaving. They walk away from the tennis court side by side talking and laughing while you and Abby walk behind them in almost total silence. Once the group reaches the locker rooms the two dads turn to you and Abby.
“Would it be ok if me and Jerry grab a drink together? Abby can take you home in Jerry’s car.” The absolute last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a small car with this mean blonde, but you smiled and nodded.
“See you later kiddo.” Your dad smiles and tussles your hair before walking into the locker room.
You walk into the locker room as well, planning to just keep your distance from Abby for as long as you could until you were stuck with her in a tiny car. You can hear her heavy footsteps follow behind you and you quickly put your bag down, grab a towel and walk towards the showers to avoid facing her. You walk into one of the stalls and turn on the shower. The warm water helps to calm you down and soothes you. You lather on the soap massaging your muscles to relieve any soreness or tension, making sure you washed all the sweat away from the match. Unfortunately you have to be quick because you don’t want to make Abby any more annoyed than she was.
As you step out and begin to dry yourself off you realized you forgot your change of clothes.
Fuck.
You wrap the towel around you tightly and make your way to the lockers. Abby is sitting on the bench in the middle lacing up her shoes. Thank god she was looking down. You scramble over to your bag and grab your clothes out. You turn to head back to the showers to change in peace but Abby’s voice stops you.
“You took fucking forever.” She’s not looking at you, which you have observed to be a habit of hers.
“Didn’t want to stink up your car. Is that ok with you?” Abby scoffs, but says nothing in response.
“Seriously what the fuck did I do to you?” You blurt out, exasperated. You’re not usually this confrontational, but you felt like you deserved an answer. “I have barely had a conversation with you and for some reason you seem to have a problem with me or something.”
Abby stands up angrily to face you and you had almost forgotten you were wearing a towel until she looked at you up and down with wide eyes. “You weren’t even gonna get dressed before asking me that question?” She sounds genuinely pissed off. Was everything you did an inconvenience?
“Doesn’t matter, just answer it.” You look her straight in the eyes, challenging her.
“Fine. You really wanna know?” You nod “I barely had a conversation with you and I could tell you were a brat.” As she’s talking she starts walking towards you, you didn’t even realize you were backing away until you felt the cool metal lockers against your skin. “You have an attitude problem, you know that? You don’t know when to shut the fuck up” She’s close, too close, she’s looking directly down at you daring you to respond.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You were the one who started being rude to me.” You refuse to break eye contact with her, trying to intimidate her from your height was ineffective, she wasn’t backing down. “What are you gonna do?” You ask boldly, tilting your head inviting her to answer. “Teach me a lesson? We both know you’re not gonna do anything, so just let me get dressed so I can get home and never see you again.” She doesn’t respond, the only sound was you and Abby’s synchronized breaths as she stared at you with a fire in her eyes. Her stare somehow made you feel more naked than you already were, making you overly aware of the fact that you were wearing a towel that was starting to slip down.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for sweetheart.” She says almost breathlessly. The anger in her eyes quickly turns into a hunger when she looks down at your towel slowly slipping off your body. You’re holding on to the towel for dear life.
“Fuck.” Abby says breathlessly before doing the absolute last thing you could have expected. She kisses you. Hard.
You let out a surprised squeak and quickly back away, both of your chests heaving. You look in her eyes and see a desperation and hunger that’s almost scary, but for some reason you kiss her back. Abby melts into you and threads her fingers into your hair. You place your hands gently against her chest as she pushes you further against the lockers with her strong body. Her hands slowly travel down to the towel barely maintaining your dignity. She gently pries your hands from the soft material and rips it off throwing it across the room, keeping her lips on yours the entire time. You barely notice the cool air against your bare skin, she is so close to you you can feel her body heat radiate through her clothing.
Abby uses her foot to move yours outward, spreading your legs enough for her to slot her thigh between them. You moan into her mouth the moment her strong thigh makes contact with your bare cunt. You start slowly writhing against her, trying to relive the ache that was growing in your center. Abby breaks away and looks down at you desperately grinding on her thigh. “You’re already so wet for me sweetheart. Barely had to do anything.” She smiles smugly as she watches you become a moaning mess, her thigh creating a perfect pressure against your clit.
Abby starts kissing you down your neck, occasionally sucking on the sensitive skin, the feeling of her rough tongue causing you to whimper. She begins circling her fingers around your nipples, teasing them, before pinching them and rolling them between her fingers. You begin to move faster against her thigh and the pleasure in your belly begins to build. Your moaning starts to become louder as you begin to reach your high. Abby notices and moves her thigh further against you, putting even more pressure on your sensitive bud. “You close baby?” You nod and whine, desperate for any kind of release. You start moving faster against Abby’s thigh and your pleasure quickly hits its peak. It comes crashing against you in overwhelming waves, forcing loud moans from your lips. Abby eventually puts her leg down and backs away slightly, before kneeling in front of you. Before you can ask any questions she grabs one of your legs, hooks it around her shoulder and licks a stripe up your soaking cunt. You hiss through your teeth, sensitive from your first orgasm. She begins teasing your clit with her tongue and you have to thread your fingers into her hair for something to hold on to.
You barely manage to whimper out, “Abs-fuck- I-I’m too sen-senitive.”
She stops for a second and looks up at you. The sight of her kneeling between your legs is nearly enough to have you coming again. “You can take it baby, gonna make you come until you can’t give me that attitude anymore.” And with that she starts lapping at your cunt once again. She sucks your clit into her mouth, her tongue circling your sensitive bud. You let out a surprised whine, your chest heaving from the intense sensation. Abby’s hands grab hold of your hips, bring you closer to her mouth.
You can feel another orgasm building as Abby rubs her thumbs in circles against your skin. You begin uncontrollably writhing against her tongue, but Abby quickly uses her grip on your hips to pin you firmly against the lockers forcing you to remain still. The action caused your pleasure to bubble over. “Abby-”, you whine out “-ffuck-fuck.”
She keeps assaulting your clit through your orgasm, not slowing down. As you begin to come down, you become sensitive again and try to wriggle away from her. She pins your hips against the lockers and looks up at you with a stern look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to stop until you couldn’t even hold yourself up.
She shoves two fingers inside of you causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion. Her digits slid in easily, your arousal now dripping down your thighs. She curls her fingers forward causing you to have to bite your lip to keep from screaming.
“Don’t you fucking dare bite your lip I want everyone to be able to hear you screaming for me sweetheart.” You clench around her thick fingers at her words and Abby takes that as a sign to keep talking. “You’re taking me so well princess. Think I can add another finger?” You nod eagerly at her in response. “Use your words baby.”
“Y-yes pl-please yes.” With your pathetic reply she adds another finger, filling you to the brim. She fucks you at a steady pace occasionally looking up at you to watch your face scrunch up in pleasure. She begins sucking hard on your clit causing you to let out a pornographic moan. She speeds up her fingers, hitting your g-spot with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers were escaping your lips every time her fingers hit that spongy spot. Your walls began clenching around Abby’s fingers and she knew you were close. Your orgasm hit you quickly and caught you by surprise, your whole body feeling the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt. You’re not even sure what noises you were making or what you were saying, the pleasure was so blinding all you could do was buck your hips into Abby’s mouth. You were being held up exclusively by Abby’s grip on your hips. She stands up and quickly scoops you up bridal style to sit you down on the bench. She helps you get dressed and you could barely protest, she reduced you to jello. Abby stands up and offers her hand to help you up. You oblige and as you stand up she says “Need you to teach me your tennis skills sometime.” Weirdly she’s smiling.
You can’t help but smirk, “Yeah? Well it’s gonna cost you and I don’t take sexual favors as payment.”
#abby anderson#the last of us 2#abby x you#abby tlou#abby x fem!reader#abby smut#abby anderson smut#abby anderson x reader#the last of us smut
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