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gamerwoo · 2 months ago

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Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part One)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, angst, a tiny bit of fluff if u squint ig (chan takes care of reader's injuries), some humor toward the end, mentions of blood, violence, mentions that reader is from america and moved to korea, reader doesn't know korean [dialogue in bold is meant to be korean]

Word count: 4,317

Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

a/n: this is a part of the TftP universe, which is a Seventeen series!! if you haven't read that, some of this series might not make a lot of sense, but it can still be read on it's own! :) [if you do read TftP: this series also takes place after the events of Jeonghan's part, which is currently still ongoing]

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Your face was scratched up, your arms were sore from trying to push the werewolf off of you, and you were pretty sure the warm liquid dripping down your chin and onto your chest was blood, but you couldn’t tell where you were bleeding from. You limped your way through the forest, glad to have subdued the werewolf long enough to get away. You were out getting berries when you were attacked, so you only had the tiny pocket knife on you for defense. God, your family was going to have your ass for sure for not being prepared for this.

But you were currently not going toward town, you were going away from it. You just needed a place to hideout and patch up. Maybe you’d look a little better in the morning and your father wouldn’t berate you as hard as he would seeing you in your current state. How could a hunter not be prepared for a werewolf attack? That was the first thing your parents had warned you about when you started hunting alone. They let you in on the fact that werewolves weren’t just mythical monsters made up to scare kids into being good lest they be dragged off into the woods and eaten by one. But that was something you needed to know if you were going to go out hunting. You had to be aware of every creature – mythical or otherwise – that was out there.

Were you a werewolf hunter? ...Sort of. But you still were supposed to be ready to fight back if one attacked. You kept 3 silver bullets on you at all times, and yet…

The house you saw pulled you from your thoughts. It was made out of tree logs and seemed fairly big but not so big that it looked odd for it to be here in the small clearing. It seemed cozy and all of the lights were off, so you figured it must be abandoned. Who in their right mind would live out in the middle of a forest anyway?

You dragged your bum leg toward the house – you were pretty sure you twisted your ankle while running because you really had to prove you’re the worst hunter in the history of hunters that night – and in through an open window. That was a dead giveaway it was abandoned because nobody would just leave their window open like that.

The window brought you into a kitchen, specifically on top of a counter next to a sink. You slid down quietly and crouched down to your hands and knees. It was just precautionary and instinct to hide, so you crawled your way around the large kitchen table and out of the kitchen to a hallway. You saw a door wide open across the hall, seeing a sink and a toilet in there.

Jackpot. The bathroom has to have some medical supplies, right? Even if it was abandoned, maybe the people left some of their stuff there. Maybe they were eaten by bears so their belongings were left untouched. It was best to check for any sort of supplies just in case.

You carefully crawled your way over and through the door. Once inside, you closed the door silently and stood to look through the cabinet behind the mirror. Just as you hoped, there were bandages, peroxide, cotton balls, and other first aid things. You immediately got to work, cleaning off your face of the blood before tending to the small scrapes and cuts that had filled with dirt. You knew cleaning them would sting but it still made your teeth clench and sharply intake a breath.

A few seconds after the small noise you made, the bathroom door was flung open, making you gasp and leap toward the opposite wall. A younger looking guy – he could’ve been a teenager for all you knew – with fluffy brown hair stood in the doorway, dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and some loose shorts. His angry, golden eyes slowly shifted to red as he glared at you, and you knew you really fucked yourself over now.

“Shit…” you cursed under your breath, your hand fumbling in your pocket for the only small weapon you had.

Before you could even wrap your fingers around it, the wolf lunged at you, bringing you down to the tiled floor with a thud as your head hit the cool tiles. It hurt but thankfully it wasn’t enough to disorient you. The wolf’s claws grew, pinching at the skin of your arms. You lifted one foot in the space between you and kicked against his abdomen, throwing him off of you. In the process of him being flung away, his claws scraped against your biceps, making you wince slightly. It wasn’t anything too bad but it definitely broke skin. You quickly pushed yourself up and raced to get out of the bathroom, leaping over the wolf on the ground.

Just as you had jumped over him and ran to the open door, he grabbed your bad ankle and tugged you down onto the floor, landing on your stomach but catching yourself with your hands. He dragged you back to him as you tried to dig your nails into the hardwood floor. You knew this is how you would die but you were going to fight the whole time. It’s what you were taught to do.

He roughly flipped you over and straddled you. You punched him straight in his cheek with all the strength you could muster, but you knew your strength was nothing against a werewolf.

He let out a loud growl that had you cowering for a moment. He took that opportunity to claw roughly into your left side, making you cry out in pain now. But he apparently didn’t like how loud you were because he pinned your wrists above your head, and leaned down with his fangs extended, roaring in your face. The sight sent a chill down your spine, and tears pricked your eyes when he dipped his head down to your neck, mouth open wide and fangs extended.

You knew this was it. You had no way to fight back or run away. You weren’t strong enough in this state, and you didn’t have any weapons to help you. In a case like this, it was better to just have a quick death over one that was drawn out.

You squeezed your eyes closed and braced for the end, requesting through clenched teeth, “Just make it quick.”

You knew you had no way to fight back or to run away. This was it. All you could do was wait until it was over. You weren’t backing out of this. You never backed down, and even if you were facing death, it would be no different. The last thing you were doing was dying a coward.

But his weight was suddenly lifted off you, and you heard him hit the wall with a crash. Your eyes flew open to see a man a few inches shorter than the wolf towering over you, but his back was to you and his stance was protective. A wild, defensive growl ripped through his chest, the warning aimed at the wolf that was on you. He turned his head just enough to look back at you before his focus was in front of him again.

When your eyes met, that was when you felt it. The draw that you were told about by your father when he was telling you all about werewolves. He said both parties would feel it, but it was stronger for the wolf. For both, it was almost instantaneous as soon as their eyes landed on their mate. And you felt exactly that.

It felt like being in love, but it was like it was all at once instead of falling slowly. It hit you like a train instead of floating down a river. It felt…exactly like–

“Seungmin. Don’t,” the man’s voice was a low rumble that pulled you from your thoughts and had your blood turning to ice. The threatening tone to it was enough to make a grown man run for the hills, but you were frozen in place, trying to make sense of it all.

You didn’t even notice the other wolves that had rushed down the stairs to see the commotion, golden eyes going from your attacker, to your...mate, to you.

“Chan?” a new voice asked, their deep voice gravely from sleep full of concern. “Did you…?”

He had. He had imprinted on you. A werewolf-hunter-in-training was now the mate of a werewolf.

The stunned silence that followed was short lived when the front door a few yards behind you slammed open, and a familiar, beaten body dragged himself through the door. His golden eyes landed on you before turning red and narrowing.

It was the wolf you had just fought and gotten away from. This was just your shitty luck.

“Minho?” one of the wolves from the stairs recognized him. "Where the hell have you been? It's late."

His eyes just stayed glued on your body on the floor, “You?”

Despite the fact the situation could probably only be made worse by you opening your big mouth, especially when you didn't really understand the language they were speaking, you spoke up against your better judgement, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You were literally carried to your mate’s room, kicking and screaming despite the fact your body was screaming back at you to stop. Your injuries were burning with intensity, and you were sure you were bleeding all over your mate’s naked torso – especially from the cuts in your side. He didn’t seem to care, so neither did you. Then again, you wouldn’t care even if he did fuss about it.

“Put me down!” you demanded, slamming your fists into his bare back. “I’m not going to be your captive!”

The little Korean you knew wasn’t going to help you in this scenario. Your family had moved to Korea about half a decade ago after a freak accident involving the death of your mother, but you didn't pick up on a ton of the language since you didn't interact with other humans that often – speaking wasn’t necessarily important for your line of work. Instead, there were a few words and conversational phrases that you had picked up on in town or from other hunters – mostly about hunting, trading, and buying.

“So you want to go home and get humiliated by your family in front of the rest of the town? Maybe even worse for all I know,” he questioned, though the last part was a bit softer. His voice wasn’t as menacing as it was when he faced his pack brother but he was still definitely annoyed. “Believe me, I don’t find this situation ideal, but I have to protect you. It’s instinct. We both know it.”

You were too stunned to say anything for a moment. You didn’t expect him to respond, let alone understand you. But he replied in perfect English with a thick accent you didn’t recognize. Not many foreigners had moved to your country since before The War, but the numbers had only gone down even more afterwards. Even other Americans had moved away after The War, but your family stayed until grief struck.

“Th-Then–” you slowly began, finally remembering you had to say something otherwise he would win the argument. “Then I’ll run away.”

“I’ll just come find you and bring you back,” he promised with a chuckle. It was weird to you how your heart fluttered at his promise. It was something that never happened before. “No matter how many times you try to escape, I’ll always find you. You know that.”

He finally set you down, but it was on a bed. Once the blood rushed away from your head, you noticed that there were a few curious wolves standing by the open door. Your mate paid them no attention as he went to a corner of his room in search of something.

“Felix,” his voice was sure, like he already knew the person in question was there.

Sure enough, a thinner wolf with blonde hair that flared out around the back of his neck stepped forward. “Yeah?”

“Could you get the bandages and a towel? Jisung, you and Jeongin go collect the herbs, please,” Chan’s voice was soft as he walked over to you with a very large t-shirt. He placed it on the bed beside you and mumbled for you to change before he went over to address his packmates at the door. “The rest of you need to give her space unless you want the angry hunter on your ass.”

He seemed to be over his anger toward the other wolf who attacked you – Seungmin, apparently. And you were also surprised to hear him address another one of the pack in English.

So maybe Seungmin had understood you before.

“Chan, I’m concerned,” one of them spoke up. “Seungmin and Minho–”

“Keep them as far away from this room as possible,” the alpha stated urgently. “You know how they are, and the last thing I need is another fight. They’ll both take their grudges to the grave.”

“Why was she in here?” another asked, glancing at you from behind the alpha.

Chan just moved to block his view, “Considering I haven’t gotten the chance to ask her after Minho came running at her, I wouldn’t know.”

While Chan spoke to his pack, you took the time to really look at him, and you noticed something about him. Other than the obvious things like his good looks, chiseled jaw, and perfectly carved torso, you took note of various scars that scattered seemingly his entire body. They all seemed to be healed, but there were just so many of them. He had a handful on his face and even more littering his torso, arms, and hands. You saw about half as many on his legs, just off of what you could see from his shorts that were low on his hips. You wondered just what kind of trouble this guy got himself into on a daily basis to have that many scars.

The first one that spoke sighed and ran a hand through his black hair that was messy from sleep. “Alright well...we’ll leave you to it. Let us know if you need anything.”

Chan sighed as well and nodded, his voice softening. “Thank you guys. It means a lot.”

He softly closed the door and turned to look at you, his eyebrows scrunching together when he saw you, “You didn’t change clothes?”

You looked at the shirt he set beside you as if you were looking at food you found disgusting, “Am I supposed to?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I got it for you.”

A knock on the door had him turning away from you again – not before he caught you rolling your eyes – but he called over his shoulder for you to at least remove the bloodied and torn shirt. His broad frame blocked the door from the blonde wolf that had gotten the medical supplies to take care of you, so you peeled the shirt that was stuck to you with sweat, and both wet and dried blood off of you, leaving you in your bra, and beaten and dirty leather pants. Chan closed the door with the supplies in his arms, turning to face you again. You noticed something glint in his golden eyes, almost like they were shifting for a second, but the change was too quick to notice. They were the same gold when he knelt down in front of you, only worry was showing clear in them.

“It’s pretty deep…” he murmured as he examined the large claw marks that tore across your side. “How’s your ankle?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “My ankle?”

“I know it’s injured, you couldn’t even get away from Seungmin,” he chuckled, beginning to mix various herbs together in a bowl. “I’m Chan, by the way. Or Chris, if you want. What’s your name?”

You stayed silent, not even looking at him. Instead, you looked at a spot on the bed to your right, looking away from your wound.

Chan noticed your silence, looked up at you and let out a playful sigh, “Nothing? You don’t have a name?”

“Why would I tell you that?” you quizzed, still not looking at him. “Ever heard of ‘stranger danger’? Or do you not encounter that since you live in the woods and only talk to squirrels or something?”

He chuckled, “Is that what you think we do all day? Stay in the middle of nowhere and talk to squirrels?”

“You realize we’re enemies, right?” you pointed out to him suddenly, finally looking down at him. “Why do you even think I’d let you know any personal information?”

“Because I know you feel it, too,” he informed you in a gentle tone, his eyes soft like he was trying to comfort you. “And I know you want to be stubborn about it because of instincts and whatever, but the very least you can do for me is tell me your name to make it slightly easier.”

“Nothing about this mating thing is easy! We’re opposites; we’re supposed to be killing each other but you’re treating my wounds and saving me from your pack – one of which I tried to kill!”

Which was true. Maybe he was nice, sure, but that didn’t mean anything when you had been training for almost a decade to kill his kind and had been force fed all of these narratives that told you you had to hate him and his pack, regardless of if he had saved you from death and was now treating your wounds. You came from a family that would kill them and you if they found out you showed any sort of kindness toward them.

You were missing. The realization suddenly hit you that you wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon, and your father and brother would both get worried and come looking for you. And if they found you, the first thing they’d do is kill every last wolf in this house.

…Why did that thought hurt as much as it did…?

“That’s how this works,” he sighed, sounding and looking tired, pulling you from your thoughts once again. “Do you think I’m happy about this? I’m not. But I can’t fight the instinct to protect my mate, okay? So this is just how it’s gonna be, and, as level-headed as I want to be so I don’t make it worse for you, I suggest you don’t test me.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah, whatever. You’re not that scary.”

The low growl resonated in his chest, but it only made you laugh as you looked down at him. He continued to just stare back before he went back to mixing medicine to help your wound, dropping the mating subject, but picking back up on your name, “So, who are you, hunter? I told you my name so it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

You sat back on your hands, letting out a deep sigh and speaking as you let it out, “_____. It’s _____. Happy?”

It was his turn to smile now, glancing up at you through dark lashes as dimples appeared on his cheeks, “Very.”

It was only then that you had realized the door had opened with two wolves holding clear jars of various plants and herbs. Both of them just stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable at best.

“Um…” one of them with round cheeks and shaggy brown hair spoke up timidly, “i-is this a bad time?”

Chan was half-surprised to find the entire pack still awake, gathered downstairs in the cramped kitchen. And of course, the topic of conversation was you and their alpha. Jeongin and Jisung, who had mixed up the herbs to help heal your wounds, were giving out all of the information they had gathered from the few minutes they were in the room.

The pack had moved to a tiny cabin quite a few miles away, but they had recently decided to move back to their cozy little hole under the giant tree due to lack of space at this new place they’d found. They were still in the process of packing up to move back to said tree, but they now assumed plans would change since you had quite literally crawled into the picture.

All eyes darted to Chan as he walked in, carding a hand through his hair.

“Is the menace finally asleep?” Minho asked, venom in his voice as he tended to his cut-up arm.

“Yeah, I had Jisung mix something up to get her to sleep,” Chan breathed. His thoughts were running at a million miles an hour but he was trying to hold himself together in front of you despite his own confusion, and conflicting emotions and instincts. “I figured if I helped with the pain myself it might freak her out, and she’s already been through a lot tonight.”

“Her?” Seungmin spat, icing his cheek as he sat in a chair opposite Minho at the table. “I wake up to go pee just to see some hunter in our bathroom! And she’s got a fucking right hook, let me tell you.”

“It’s not like she broke your jaw,” Jeongin reminded him, rolling his eyes. "You're not even gonna bruise."

Seungmin shot him a dirty look and opened his mouth to snap back, but Changbin was faster to speak.

“What’re we supposed to do now, by the way?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin looked almost scared, “this is the first time we’ve…had…a mate in the house. What happens next?”

Jisung snorted, elbowing his brother in the upper arm, “What, are you afraid of girls?”

“No!” Hyunjin glared at him. “We’ve just never had a mate here before! I’d be confused no matter the gender!”

“I meant,” Changbin interrupted, “with moving, taking care of her, sleeping situations – stuff like that.”

“Well, moving is obviously on pause,” Chan sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to organize his thoughts.

Changbin was right, there was a lot to consider now. You were taking Chan’s bedroom, but he was sharing a room with Felix, which meant they both had nowhere to sleep now. There was also the matter of sharing a bathroom, but that was a bridge they’d cross when they got to it, he figured.

“Um…any way Felix can crash with one of you guys?” he asked once he’d removed his hands from his face. “I’ll just take the couch.”

Minho gave him an incredulous look, “No!” his exclamation sounded almost like a question – a very loud question. “You think we can cram a fourth person in either of our rooms?!”

The house was small, and Chan knew it was already a tight squeeze fitting three grown werewolves to one bedroom. Him and Felix were the only paired roommates just because their bedroom was the smallest. The other two bedrooms weren’t much bigger, but he had to figure out something for Felix.

Jisung could tell Chan was obviously stressed, so he quickly spoke up, “W-we can make it work, though. Don’t worry about it.”

Minho’s head whipped around to look at him like he was insane, “How?!”

The younger wolf shrugged, “We could…share beds?”

Minho’s face was quickly transformed into a smirk as he leaned over in his chair, looking up at Jisung, “You just want an excuse to sleep in my bed.”

“I–”

“I accept.”

Felix made a face as he eyed the two, “I think I’d rather crash in Seungmin’s room.”

“I don’t care who sleeps where or with who,” Chan stated, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Everyone just please go to bed now.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Jeongin began, “but how are we supposed to sleep with her in the house?”

“She is a werewolf hunter,” Felix agreed a bit timidly, not wanting to upset the alpha more than he already was, but he was wary about having you in the same house as them – especially with how small the space was. “Doesn’t that make her our enemy? I don’t want to sound mean, but…she could…kill all of us in our sleep.”

For the nth time that night, Chan let out a deep sigh, “I mean…technically, no. I barely sense any werewolf hunter on her, so she’s not a huge threat. But…she’s definitely trained to be one, I won’t lie. Still, I don’t think she’s a threat to us.”

“Oh, so we’re just supposed to trust her based on vibes?” Seungmin spat.

“She has the training of a werewolf hunter but do any of you even sense werewolf hunter?” he countered. “But…yes, you’re right. She’s not really an ally either. She definitely knows she shouldn’t feel…how she does toward me.”

The room was silent as Chan’s emotions seemed to finally weigh down on them. They could really see the hurt in his eyes when he said that, and despite how angry or nervous they might’ve been, they felt bad for their alpha. They knew what being denied by your mate could do to a werewolf, so not only could they not even imagine the heartbreak he was feeling, but they feared for his health and his life.

“So…” Minho spoke up slowly, “what you’re saying is…I could maybe take her in a rematch?”

A few of them chuckled, and the room felt lighter again. Even Chan cracked a smile and felt thankful for his snarky brother for at least getting him to do that.

“Just go to bed.”

»»————-　　————-««

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astridthevalkyrie · 9 months ago

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oh my god, bakugo's kind of my friend! | k. bakugo x reader

----> summary: You'd never dare tell anyone that he was your friend. You'd never be so bold. Katsuki agrees. He's definitely not your friend.

----> warnings: quirkless university au, video game violence, fluff n feelings

----> a/n: title blatantly stolen from the office—"oh my god, dwight's kind of my friend!"

----> word count: 2k

God, no, you’re not friends with Katsuki Bakugo.

No one is.

Yeah, okay, that’s not totally true. He’s sort of friends with Ochako, that’s how you met him. He’s actually fairly close to Izuku and Eijiro, his roommates. He tolerates Shoto, might even begrudgingly respect him. And he’s got some weird mutual-depression pact going on with Kyoka.

But you’re not any of them. And you vehemently deny it when people ask, lest he, heaven forbid, think you’re going around telling people he likes you. You saw what happened to Neito last year when he, just once, said something about his friend Katsuki. You’re pretty sure it was the reason behind his switching majors, too, just to avoid being in the same classes with the terrifying blonde.

Sure, you’re in his apartment. Neito’s never stepped foot in here (aside from The Incident). And you’re well acquainted with the people he does clearly consider not-enemies. Earlier today, you and Momo had been out getting chips and soda for tonight. Just half an hour ago, you’d been playing blind karaoke with Eijiro, Izuku, and Ochako on Kyoka’s old laptop and mic that somehow both still had really good audio quality. Not to mention, you and Mina have had at least one class together every semester since you both started—she always races to slide into the chair next to you on every first day.

And you’re currently sitting on Katsuki’s couch, two feet away from Katsuki, playing a battle royale on Katsuki’s console.

“Behind the building,” he mutters, and you hum in acknowledgement, running to the spot he generously marked on the map.

It started a long while back. You and Denki had been playing some shitty racing game, and you’d very easily kicked his ass, leaving him groaning and flopping back onto Kyoka’s lap, where she offered no pity, rolling his head off with a light shove. As you were laughing at the display, Katsuki had taken Denki’s place on the floor, and all but demanded you pick up the controller once more.

(You’d won again. Terrified, you simply claimed that your controller must be broken before racing out of the room.

Imagine your surprise when, the next time you visited, he’d barked at you to assist him with a multiplayer, ordering a pouty Denki off the couch.)

You like playing, and you don’t have a console with as much storage back home, and you’re too broke to be buying multiple games anyways, so you don’t mind taking advantage of Katsuki’s appreciation for your skill. It’s usually a nice way to end the night, whether you and Ochako end up leaving or if you fall asleep right there on the couch.

Shivering, you bring your feet under the wool blanket you’d brought with you. You’re the only one who finds the apartment freezing. Everyone else typically sheds their extra layers, while you once hunted down Eijiro’s sock drawer to steal a pair of He-Man stockings for the night.

“Up in the window,” you warn, at the same time he says, “Oi.”

Both of you meet each other’s gaze for a second in bewilderment, before rapidly turning your attention back to the TV. He dodges the shot from the window, and then continues.

“You been tellin’ people I hate you?”

“What?” Your hands almost drop the controller, but you regain control just quick enough to roll out of the way of a grenade. “No.”

“Kirishima said Tetsutetsu told him that Kendo told him that Tokage told her that you told her I hated you.”

If you weren’t nervous, you’d tell Katsuki you were surprised he even knew all those names. “I didn’t say that. I just said we weren’t friends.”

There’s an awfully long pause. You can still hear the sounds from the game, and the chatter of everyone else in the apartment—Hanta’s trying to rap?—but not a word from your couch partner. If it weren’t for the screen in front of you, you’d be nervously biting your nails or just full on escaping, honestly. Not that you’re scared of Katsuki, at least not more than one should be, but…

Well, the truth is you did see him as a friend. Or, screw it, as more than that, if those little arrhythmias you observed in yourself every time he would raise his hand in greeting when he passed you on campus were any indication. And you know it’s going to hurt—it already does—to hear him confirm the same thing that you told everyone when they asked. That you meant very little to him, in the long term.

“We’re not friends, huh?” he finally says, as more of an inquiry than you’d expected it to sound.

Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t stop staring straight ahead, spamming X to whack someone over the head with a bat. “Um. Are we?”

“Isn’t this your favorite game?” he shoots back, as though that answers your question.

“Yes? So?”

Another pause. You climb up to the roof of some building and emote pointlessly before hopping down and ducking behind a bush to heal. Katsuki lets out a mix of a sigh and a grunt, dashing across an abandoned minefield.

“So,” he snarks, “I only bought it after you told me it was your favorite.”

Faintly, you feel the tips of your ears grow hot. Is that true? That can’t be true, can it? The timing does line up. You think it was back in the first week of October that you mentioned it, and then by Halloween you’d already played several rounds. Between that and losing to Momo in several games of pool, finals month had flown by.

But…

“I didn’t even tell you that.” Your voice comes out meek, and even though you’re in a safe space now, you’re still too nervous to turn your head and look at him. “I was talking to Shoto.” You’d even been half sure that Shoto wasn’t really registering what you were saying, with Ochako an inch away from him shrieking starships were meant to fly-y-y-y-y directly into his ear.

Katsuki grunts. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

If you wrack your memory, you can sort of remember it. He was…on Ochako’s other side? When she got drunk, she usually wanted to whack something, and Katsuki’s arm had been her victim that day, her palm smacking against his elbow at every other sung word.

The heat from your ears travels down to your neck. Over the singing and over everyone else’s conversations, was he paying attention to…you?

“I appreciate it,” you squeak quickly, wincing when you’re shot in the leg, “I mean, that was nice. Thank you. I just—I didn’t think you wanted me telling people we were friends, after what happened to—”

“If you bring up Monoma, I’ll take away your blanket,” he threatens; it makes you chuckle weakly. “You’re not that shithead. He pisses me off. You’re…you know.” You don’t know, actually. “You.”

Yeah, you’re you. You play games with him. You know his friends. You’re the only one who can try to outdance Eijiro to Rasputin in Just Dance. What does any of that have to do with…

“Do you think I ever fuckin’ carried that dick’s bag to class?”

“I don’t—”

“Do you think I had his stupid long ice cream order memorized? Pistachios, on the sides only,” he mimics, and you huff in an affronted sort of way, defensive of your topping choices. “Telling people to shut up so that I could hear what he was saying? Turning up the heat and burning up everyone in the apartment just to keep him warm? Was I inviting him to my place every two weeks just to fuckin’ watch him play Kingdom Hearts 3?”

And so, you finally look to the side. Katsuki’s cheeks are red, and his gaze is still on the television. His thumbs move furiously against the controller, and you have to bite your lip to prevent a quiet you’re really cute, you know that? from carelessly slipping from your mouth.

“But, to be fair,” you attempt, still confused, “you don’t exactly do all of that for your other friends either, Katsuki.”

At your words, he slouches into his seat more, the creases on his forehead deepening as an uncharacteristic frown—a frown, not a scowl—forms on his face. One would think you’d just told him you hated his guts.

“Yeah.“ His glare flickers over to you for a moment. “Exactly.”

There’s a blast from the TV and a realization that hits you at the same time.

You’re not his friend. He doesn’t see you as a friend.

The heat finally reaches your cheeks, and your mouth falls open slightly.

Then, realizing something else, your head immediately snaps back to the screen to see that blast sound had actually been your character getting blown up.

Your mouth falls open. You’d looked away for a few seconds at best. Which aces are in the lobby tonight?

“I lost,” you tell him, crestfallen.

Katsuki snorts. “I didn’t.”

He keeps playing, and your cheeks don’t take any time to cool down. Instead, you stare at him while he’s distracted trying to escape the same vicious bastards who hunted you down, and you note that his face doesn’t look any less heated either. For once, it’s clearly not because he’s just getting into the game.

You wonder if that was ever the case at all, or if he just felt the same striking little jolt you did everytime you two accidentally bumped into each other while playing on this exact couch.

“I think I’m done for tonight.” The announcement comes out a bit louder than you expected. “I’ll probably head back.”

“I don’t think so.” Without breaking his eyes away from the TV, he nudges his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “Uraraka’s dead on her feet, and you’re not walkin’ back alone.”

Has he always purposely caused the fluttering in your chest? “Okay, well. Izuku’s still awake, I’ll just take his bed for now.”

Katsuki’s tongue clicks in a fuck-around-and-find-out kind of way. “Alright. Put the controller back before you go.”

“Fine. Where’s the, uh…” You turn your head this way and that, looking for the little box that they all go in.

“On my right,” he offers casually, not a hint on his face that he essentially just confessed to you.

Feeling a little spiteful, you reach to the side, blanket and all, instead of just standing up and going behind the couch like you would any other day. Purposefully blocking his view of the screen as you reach over him to toss the controller into the box, you smirk slightly when another blast signals that he’s died as well.

Only to yelp when a firm arm shoves you down against his chest.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs, red eyes glittering in amusement as he watches you struggle on his lap, “I lost too.”

Tokage is going to hear a very different story tomorrow. “And how’s that my problem?”

His grip tightens, fingers gently digging into the thick cloth of the blanket that’s draped over you. “I wanna play again. And I’m cold.”

There’s a small, dumb grin on his face that you’d consider kissing off if it wasn’t mirrored by an equally dumb one of yours. You’re pretty sure Katsuki’s never ever complained about the cold in his apartment. But then, he’s never complained about the heat either. If he wants to be a sauna under you, who are you to deny him? Besides, you’re feeling cold too, you might as well just take advantage of the free insulation.

From the table, in the midst of pouring something that looks like cookie batter into a bowl, Kyoka raises her brow at the sight of you, then pats Tenya’s arm and points.

He mouths something like, “Finally.”

Face burning once more, you bury your face in Katsuki’s neck, and relax in his hold while he presses X to replay.

#bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #valkyrie stories

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bl00dlight · 4 months ago

Text

Maiden

Aemond Targaryen x OC lyseni brothel worker {NSFW} {RQ}

Warnings ● Misogyny, Classic harmful Westerosi male bullshit, canon Aemond incelness, smut, not proof read, mother issues, general woman issues, awkward ass vibes, mentions of violence, UNEDITED, etc etc

Word count ● 5.6k

Author's Note • This isn't QUITE the same as the request, but after ep3... well let's just say it's pretty clear Aemond really ain't the type to uh, treat sex workers with respect. I mean he never was... but this really plays into the whole incel book thing. Sorry y'all. Enjoy the fucked upness. Also sorry for any typos.

Masterlist

The few nights that Aemond Targaryen had spent visiting Madame Sylvie, were indeed - strange ones.

He had never thought he might return here; never thought he'd stomach the sight of the woman whom his brother had coaxed him to lay with all those years ago. It seemed as though Aemond could remember that fateful day, his thirteenth name day; down to the very last detail. What he had eaten to break his fast that morning, the feeling of his mother's weary smile beaming down at him softly, the bitter taste of the ale his brother had poured down his throat before pulling him towards the seedy streets of flea bottom.

He could remember all, but the memory of entering into Cock Inn, meeting the Madam. That, he'd somehow forgotten, only the knowledge that it had happened remained.

Yet, the first night he returned to Cock Inn, suddenly all returned. The aching saccharine scent of the perfumed air, the soft flesh of bare whores dancing and of course, the peaked eyes of the Madam as she looked upon him.

All were things that seemed to bring him back forcefully to the night Aegon had first brought him here, the night he first lay with a woman. There was still a hardened ache of disgust and humiliation in his chest regarding the matter, for it had not been an experience Aemond enjoyed. Even now, upon returning, he wasn't particularly certain he enjoyed fucking the Madame as he thought he should.

For he hadn't touched a woman since his name day, and strictly returned to the Madam for she felt familiar, known to him.

The prince rather preferred taking comfort from the older woman, laying upon her soft lap, the thick flesh of her arms and thighs cradling his bare body, her hands stroking his hair. She was soothing, understanding - of course only in a way a whore could be. Afterall, Prince Aemond was no fool to think the Madam's affections extended beyond the coin he paid her. Though it was clear she held some level of care - which for Aemond was more than enough to warrant his actions.

He needed to be soothed, cared for - especially after what happened with Lucerys. Especially since he could not bear to see the glimmer of disgust in his own mother's eyes. After all, Aemond had done for her, the sacrifice he had made in honour of duty. After all the years Alicent had willingly chosen Aegon to give attention to over himself. He had been starved of love, starved of affection. So, he sought it in the one place he knew he could get it: Sylvie.

He sighed, laying his head gently upon her lap, her fingers grazing his scalp. For a moment Aemond pretended the Madam was Alicent, that it was she who cooed and praised him softly. Who's touch was soft like silk upon his taut flesh.

Aemond closed an eye, taking in the warmth as the two lay upon a large circular bed, in which candles draped all around the stone ledge behind it. Despite the fact, he knew the brothel's surroundings to be the mastery of artificial comfort, lulling drunken men even further into depravity - he still could not help to take comfort in it. It was a welcome change from the often dreary halls of the Red Keep - which seemed more like the Sept these days.

The prince coiled himself even further upon the Madam, cuddling into her so that he might feel the plushness of her belly upon the back of his head. She felt warm, safe - in an odd way. She made him feel as though he was allowed to rip off the mask of strength he had so thoroughly integrated onto himself. Sylvie looked down upon him, slightly bewildered yet pitying the young man before her.

It was not until the familiar sounds of her protégé entered the room did her eyes wander from Aemond's silver hair. She looked up, noting the tray the young woman held. Upon it a small copper cup in which she had carefully begun to pour milk within its confines. Sylvie gave her a nod, watching as the young woman filed in, placing the tray near the bed.

The Madam rarely took in women and girls to mentor into the trade; however, her current protégé was undoubtedly one which was most promising. The day she had been bought by the Madame was a most memorable one as it was the first time she had ventured to Lys to select girls of a more prestige history - in order to attract patrons of noble birth.

She had remembered laying eyes upon the girl, Sierra, she was called, a girl of ten and two - born in a Lysene pillow house to one of the women who serviced there. She was a strange thing, soft spoken - unsure. She even looked particularly peculiar given the Valerian appearance of most Lysene citizens. Sierra did not bare the silver hair nor purple or pale blue eyes of those whom she lived amongst- instead her hair like aged gold and her eyes stormy.

The girl was odd indeed, not quite as lush or alluring as most Lysene, but rather moony. However, she was prized possession, most commonly sought by older noble men or the sons of Lords recently betrothed. Sierra was easily controlled, unintimidating, so in that way she seemed more like a Lady of the court that a brazen a brothel worker. Sylvie often sent her to men who wished to fuck a maiden and Sierra was most perfect for such desires as in all sense she truly seemed to be one. In that way she was perfect for Aemond, unthreatening as so many young whores could be – and most importantly would not remind him of whatever depravities he stifled down within himself.

“Come.” Sylvie gestured to Sierra, hailing for her to bring the prince the cup.

As she approached the two upon the bed, the prince peaked his head upwards, slowly sitting up and taking the cup from the young woman’s hand. Aemond had remembered her from his name day, remembered her wide eyes observing him and the Madam for a moment before ducking behind the silken drapes. He had always wondered what such a young girl had been doing in a brothel, remembered the coils of her golden curls flickering in the candlelight. Now, as he looked upon her after all those years, it was a reminder of how much he had grown too. She was a woman now, though still seemed just as uncertain of herself he remembered her to be.

Aemond downed half of the milk, his eye scanning her as he placed it back upon the tray, he caught the way Sierra averted his bare body. As he settled back upon the Madam, he rested his head right on her breasts, taking in the comfort of her warm flesh.

As he did so, Sylvie caught note of another worker peak her head through the silken curtains, her eyes wide as if to signal there was trouble that needed to be attended to, the Madam nodded and then caught the gaze of Sierra who approached the intruding brothel worker. Sylvie watched as the two young women were caught in a brief exchange, and it seemed that Sierra had been passed a small note – which soon made its way into the free hand of the Madam.

Patron trouble. Girl left bloodied, after a refusal of payment.

Sylvie then gave a nod to the waiting brothel worker, sighing softly as she knew this would be no easy task. The known rule of Cock Inn was for no harm to befall her girls, lest there be a tax placed upon any patron for the coin she would be unable to make in her recovery. Though it wasn’t uncommon for patrons to become… unruly with her girls, and such behaviour was not tolerated at the Cock Inn as it was to be one of the finer establishments – meant for pleasure, not outright degeneracy. For the most part the tax alone dissuaded most men from harming the workers, though for the ones that did – it was an arduous task getting them to meet the agreement of the tax.

Aemond closed his eye when he felt the warmth of Sylvie’s hand come to his chin, guiding his eye to meet hers.

“My prince…” Her voice soft, cooing, “It seems I must attend a rather urgent matter regarding one of the girls. I shall see to it that some of your coin is returned.” The Madam lowered her head, shifting away from him as Aemond raised his brow in curiosity.

He sat up, then, extended back to lean upon the stone ledge, “Hm, I shall wait your return.”

The Madam shook her head, rising up to her feet as she readjusted her robe, “This particular matter shall not be easily solved, I fear. I may not return for quite a time.”

Her head turned to meet the gaze of the waiting brothel worker, she then found herself pondering upon Sierra. Who meekly awaited the Madam’s next instruction, she cleared her throat before speaking to the prince once more, “Very well then… please allow for Sierra to amuse you in the meantime. She is particularly popular amongst many noble men as yourself.”

He shook his head, averting his gaze, “I’ve no use for her in that manner.”

“Indeed…” A small smirk came upon Sylvie’s face, she lowered her head, raising her brow as she chuckled briefly, “I mean for her to take my place... to satisfy such particular tastes of yours as you would have me?”

Aemond met Sylvie’s gaze, almost like a boy stubbornly resisting his mother’s advice, the Madam tilted her head, moving over to Sierra who stood; wide eyed and unsure. The Madam gripped Sierra’s arm, leading her closer to the bed, “She is most gentle.”

His eye narrowed and Aemond took a deep breath in, his chest raising in apprehension as he scanned the young woman before him. Her cherubic face, slightly trembling demeanour. He gritted his teeth and nodded, “Very well.”

With that Sylvie gave him a small nod of approval, before gently grazing Sierra’s lower back as she left. As the older woman made her way through the drapes, Sierra quickly followed; gripping her forearm softly causing the Madam to snap her head towards her. The young whore stuttered as she whispered, meeting the concerned eyes of her mentor, “Madam I…”

Sylvie sighed and brought Sierra closer, whispering firmly, “Just hold the boy. Do as you’ve seen me. Go, girl.” She pulled herself way, giving the other worker a subtle nod as she was led away.

Sierra turned, taking a deep breath in to centre herself. She had never been with a man as powerful as the prince, never known such fear which coursed through her at the thought of what might happened to her if she was to displease him. Her hear thumped as she took that fateful step back through the haze of silken drapes, as she entered she felt the harsh gaze of that lonesome eye upon her, scanning her.

Aemond sat up freely, leaning back upon the stone ledge – uncaring that he was completely exposed before her. He let himself take her in, her willowing form which held a peculiar softness to it. The roundness of her breasts and hips which clung to the silk robe draping her form – the familiar flicker of her flock of curls which had turned a rich gold with age, a few bronzed and silvery strands peppered through them. He watched as her fingers delicately began to disrobe herself but her looked away. “Don’t.” The prince muttered.

As Sierra heard the smooth sound of his voice ring, she froze slowly looking up to him as she thought how odd he was to refuse her bare. Instead, he merely signalled awkwardly for her to join him upon the bed, in which she obliged.

She sat carefully upon the end, feeling the gaze of him boring into her back, Sierra lowered her head, “Do I displease you?” A soft tinge of her Lysene accent still lingering.

A small sigh left the prince as he shook his head and mumbled once more, “No.”

“You… you wish for the Madam.” Her voice soft as she turned her head to look upon him.

“We share a history.” Aemond spoke plainly, his eye narrowing as he gazed upon the young woman before him.

The soft flush to her cheeks, her skin plump and face still retaining the kiss of girlhood upon it, there was no mistaking the difference in her appearance to the Madam. He had noticed how despite the womanly graces Lady’s his own age possessed, they hardly appeared as grown at all in comparison to the older counterparts. There was something distinctively different to a mature woman, the way her cheeks sunk in a tad, or her skin would be softened with lotions to mask the tautness that comes with age. How their voices are deeper and eyes brimming with confidence, as if they know you all too well. In a way it was a comfort for Aemond, to have a woman understand his desire – to have seen so many men before that harboured similar needs, that for once, he did not feel so different in his depravity. The Madam knew just how to sooth and ease him, without judgement that so many younger women may possess. Indeed, there was no mistaking how Sierra was likely no older than himself.

He suddenly spoke, “What age are you?”

Instantly she felt her cheeks go red, her voice soft, girlish, “Eight and Ten, I believe.”

The prince raised his brow at this, slightly shocked at her coyness. He had never seen a whore blush before, it almost seemed like a jest, “You believe? You do not know how old you are?”

She let out a gentle breath before shaking her head, beginning to turn away before a sudden fierce grip clutched at her wrist. Seirra turned upon the bed, her eyes wide.

“Do not look away. Speak.” Aemond commanded softly, though a slight unease filled him at the sight of her uncertainty.

“I… I do not know of my name day?” She replied.

He tilted his head, once again shocked by her flustered appearance, and of course that she would not know of her name day. “You do not know?”

Sienna felt the soft satiny texture of the sheets below her, her eyes drifting downwards as she spoke, remembering her fractured girlhood, “I was born in a pillow house… my prince. My mother perished but a few years into my youth, I remember little.”

He bit his cheeks, studying her, “Hm, and your father?”

The whore looked up, her voice soft, “A mystery.”

As Aemond continued to scan her, he noted the way she altered herself in his presence – making herself appear small, less intimidating. A strange, amused look fell upon him as it found it both titillating and frustrating. He spoke sternly again, changing the subject, “Your accent…tis strange.”

“I am from Lys.” Sierra replied.

The prince hummed, seemingly surprised, “The Valerian freehold? You appear more like a Lannister than Lysene.” He watched her as he shrugged, and he hummed again, “Hm.”

The energy in the air was rife with tension, not to mention a cloying awkwardness Sierra had seldom felt with other patrons. As though he was waiting for her to be the one to approach him, and that he was.

Fed up with his inaction she moved closer to him, noting the flicker of discomfort in his gaze – still the young whore pushed forward, positioning herself beside him. Aemond gave her awkward glance before slowly sitting up, looking out onto the lewd paintings on the chamber walls. He couldn’t help but feel a sudden nervousness, he had never been with anyone but the Madam, never touched a younger woman. He felt a vulnerability like none other, his face hardening as he began to withdraw back into himself.

“My prince?” Her voice faltered, exhaustion over the situation making her voice all the meeker, she didn’t wish to pursue him if he was to be like this. It was too much, she risked too much – the mere throughout of displeasing him and what he might do was enough to have her tense. But the mere fact it was he who seemed nervous, he who seemed unsure of himself – made the matter all the worse.

She reached out, attempting to draw him back, her hand brushing his shoulder.

“Don’t.” Aemond shifted, refusing to meet her gaze as he felt the touch of her fingers.

Another silence bloomed, and Sierra moved back, contemplating on what seemingly had set him off in such a manner. However, the thought soon occurred to her that she had never once seen the prince with any other but the Madam recently, that never once had she noticed or even heard of the King’s younger brother gracing the Street of Silk. It had only been that night all those years ago, a slight pity bloomed as she understood he was likely uncertain of how to even engage with a woman of his own age, so stifled by his own propriety, “You have been with no other… haven’t you?”

Aemond did not respond to this of course, only growing more angered and overwhelmed by the situation he found himself within. In fact, he began to regret even returning to Sylvie, he ought to have dealt with his feelings as a man would, focus on the war, on sharpening his mind and training his body. Readying himself to lead forces to take Harrenhal, not simpering like a boy in the arms of a woman… not even just a woman… a whore in fact. His thoughts were broken by Sierra’s silvery voice, “It would bring me much disgrace if I were unable to please you. The Madam would not have asked this of me, if she did not think me… fit.. for you.”

Her words though, seemed to tempt him once more and though he wished to resist it, he also feared the idea of her finding him so weak to be unable to face both his desire and lack of experience. With a small puff of his chest and stretch of his neck, he found his gaze hardening and mummering lowly, “Move.”

The younger woman followed his command, moving herself to the position in which Sylvie usually encompassed upon the bed, Aemond turned his head gazing over her swiftly before he moved to lay upon her hesitantly. Sierra looked down, her mind reeling as she had never seen a man behave in this way towards her… it was odd, though not displeasing. Slowly she brought her hand to his silver locks, gently threading through them, attempting to mimic what she had seen Sylvie do upon him. As the prince laid his head upon her chest, he felt himself unable to find the same kind of comfort as he usually did, his eye remaining open, the thought of giving in to such vulnerability in front of a woman such as she, seemed unthinkable. He couldn’t relax, shifting and readjusting himself endless and Sierra could sense as such as she cringed internally at the sheer gracelessness of it all.

As the prince finally settled upon her lap, he had managed to find a semblance of relief from the tension that made him restless. It was the familiar softness of her thighs, that same sweet and musky perfumed skin that it seemed all the whores, the Madam included doused on their skin. Gradually he had managed to close his eye, letting himself be taken by her hand making contact once more with his scalp.

“I… remember you.” She whispered.

Instantly his muscled stiffened at her words, Aemond didn’t reply, he only opened his eye.

“From all those years ago… and yet never again since.” Sierra whispered again, her voice sweet and girlish as she looked down upon the gleam of his silver strands.

The prince cleared his throat quietly, “Hm. I had no need to return.”

“And now?” She countered, though the prince did not reply, he closed his eye once more, ignoring her and focusing on the soothing pleasure of her fingers against his scalp.

“You have only been with the Madam-” Sierra began again before being swiftly interrupted.

His head turned upwards slightly, Aemond suddenly gripped her wrist, forcing her hand from his hair as he snapped, “I do not pay to have my intentions dissected freely.”

Sierra found herself suddenly stammering as she nodded fiercely, feeling his grip loosen upon her wrist as she slowly brought it back to his hair. Aemond gave her a warning glare before turning his head back, nestling his head further into her lap before he closed his eye. Silence bloomed… and awkward one at that.

As the prince lay there, awaiting for her to further such affections upon him he huffed, “You may do more.” He mumbled.

The young whore looked down upon him, unsure of how exactly to approach furthering her touch, nonetheless she lowered her head, her head turning slowly to look up to her. Sierra cupped his jaw and forced herself closer, straining her body slightly from the awkward positioning. Gently she let her lips kiss at his forehead and cheek, her hands moving his face slightly awkward and soon the prince himself shifted his frame to a more accessible position. His head now once again resting upon her chest, tilted upwards as she gazed upon his softly, he noted the way her eyes flickered as they lingered upon his sapphire eye.

Sierra went to kiss him away, but Aemond suddenly grew discomforted – feeling a particular sting of insecurity of his face. He had never been so close to a woman of his age. Never been touched by skin which was plump with youth. His jaw clenched as he pulled away slightly, but the feeling of her cool hand came to his face once more drawing him near, “You are unsure.” She read him.

“No.” Aemond replied firmly, though it was a lie.

Sierra shook her head, scanning him carefully, “Do you not think I might know when a man might feel…tentative? You have not known the touch of others; I do not blame- “

“I am not some simpering boy who has not fucked a woman. Do not presume to know the reason behind my hesitation.” The prince snapped in response, his temper flaring as her words struck a chord so exact it made him reel, for he knew she was right. Knew that he had indeed never been with another but the Madam, and even that had been a affair spurred on by recent events. The Madam felt easiest to approach, easiest to reveal himself to. She had already seen him at his weakest, frozen with fear and disgust as a young boy. Spurred on by the taunting of his brother. Who else was he supposed to turn to with such desires, who else would give him comfort in the way he needed?

He stiffened attempting to regain the well curated mask of infallibility though he could not stifle that familiar nervous restlessness which dawned upon him again the wake of her silence.

Sierra let her gaze fall, seemingly thinking on his words. Though she ignored them all together knowing they were merely the deflections of a young man who felt his ego wavering at the notion of his inexperience. The young whore looked up softly and before she could stop herself, “I wish to show you.”

Prince Aemond merely blinked at her, shocked by her sudden request. The two shared what felt like an eternity in stillness and like that he nodded, no other words being exchanged.

Sierra almost couldn’t believe he had agreed so… easily? There was a small moment of uncertainty between them as their bodies shifted once more, Aemond sitting upwards gazing at her expectantly as she disrobed herself. His eye couldn’t help but scan her tender form, the peaks of her breasts, the blooming swell of her soon to be developed hips; a young maid’s body – not yet enhanced by motherhood.

She settled back into her spot where he could coil upon her again and that he did. Her gaze lowered as she noted how his soft strands felt upon her bare skin. Slowly she brought his hand into hers, guiding it to her breast, letting him knead the soft flesh. Aemond found himself unable to fight against his desire carefully watching the way his fingers grazed the bud of her breast. A soft moan escaped her, making him buzz with desire, he did not resist when feeling her other hand guide his head closer, he wet his lips before leaning in further to clasp them upon her nipple, suckling softly.

The young whore let out a soft whimper, moving his hand lower, “You may please… a woman by touching her.” She guided his hand between her wet folds, letting his fingers graze her clit.

The soft mewls which left her lips set off a fire in him, the feeling of her wetness on his finger made him want to work to pleasure her more. His lips clasped her nipple harder, his soft suckling intensifying as his fingers rubbed quickly, inching to stick themselves inside her. Sierra grabbed his silver hair gently, pulling him away, her eyes meeting his lonesome one.

Aemond felt his cock stiffening greatly and slowly she let her hands come to his chest, his body shifting as he cradled himself against her. Sierra found herself grasping at the length between him, stroking it gentle to gauge his reaction – which was all but enamoured with pleasure as he shut his eye, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

Her hand moved, stroking at him feeling the softness of his skin in her palm – as she did so, her lips peppered small kisses upon his forehead. Sierra was gentle with him, despite the lewdness of the act – her touch and tenderness was a comfort the prince was indulging in. He raised his head up; a soft groan left him as he forced his lips into hers. For a moment he would pretend she weren’t just a whore, but a woman who’s feelings were that of true care. As her hand increased its speed, Aemond let out a low whimper into their kiss, moving to force his lips on her neck.

Sierra tilted her head, closing her eyes as she too found herself letting go to the heady feeling between them. He was much different than the usual man who might use her, he seemed less interested in fucking her and more interested in being tended to. So that’s what she did; slowly Sierra pulled her hand from his length, a soft muttering of protest leaving him.

“Lie back.” She whispered, and Aemond obliged.

His eye was narrowed with need as he gazed upon her, watching as her soft frame now hovered over his own. Slowly he raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the smooth skin that flushed pink upon his touch. He watched her with a keen eye as she lowered herself down further, settling between his legs. Aemond shuddered a breath, his eye growing wide as he felt his heart thump wildly; suddenly he felt like a boy again – struck by an awkward inability to verbalise his desire. Though Sierra already knew, as she lowered her head, kissing softly upon his hip as her hand wrapped around his length once more.

The sight of her doing such a thing made him furrow his brow, her lips pressing so gently into his taut muscle made him feel a tad unmanned; mainly because he enjoyed it. Aemond brought a hesitant hand to her hair, deciding that he would indeed take control for once, that if he were going to let a whore take him – he would attempt to assert his desire.

As his fingers laced his spindly fingers into her curls, forcing her head lower until he felt her lips graze against his aching tip. “Take me.” He grumbled.

Her eyes looked up to his as her mouth came to clasp his tip, swirling her tongue upon him; the fleshy, yet salty taste that dripped from him filling her mouth. Aemond’s own mouth dropped, his jaw slightly slack as his head tilted back, he felt his fingers tightened their grip in her curls, slowly moving her mouth to take more of him. The prince opened his eye, looking down as a strange satisfaction brewed from the sight of it, her mouth taking as much as he wished it to.

Another groan left him as she moved her lips up and down him, gaining traction as the moments passed, his hips now bucking – fucking himself into her mouth. He forced her head upon him faster, and Sierra let him as she hollowed her cheeks – siphoning him to the point where his moans turned to pants. Her own sounds falling from her as she too felt a strange enjoyment from seeing him take so much pleasure.

He kept pushing, his cock now an ache in which he needed relief from, Aemond’s mouth hung once more as he mumbled, “Faster.” To which the golden haired whore before him did so, her hand now enveloped around the tail end of the base of his cock, stroking it so that the orchis’ which hung between him were grazed – sending him into a further frenzy. Thoughts of wanting to push himself between her thighs filled him, a fantasy of what she may feel like around him, how her arms would wrap around him, cradle him; it all made him huff. The pressure that built in him felt more than pleasurable, it felt like a burning flame had been set off in his loins; at this point he could hardly care about the comfort Madam Sylvie brought him, now all he could think of was how he longed to see his seed force its way into Sierra’s mouth.

Then a tinge of anger filled him, frustration as his grip intensified as he fucked himself into her mouth – edging at his release. He felt like his brother, depraved, hungry with a force he had stifled for so long. But the thought of a whore striking such feelings in him suddenly left him feeling slightly conflicted, almost angered by the sight of her bringing him such pleasure. Aemond’s hand tugged harshly upon her hair making her wince and she looked back, confused by the sudden streak of aggression, to which in her uncertainty she began to pull away.

“Keep going.” The prince choked out, his voice low and soft… yet, oddly threatening.

Aemond reeled at feeling small snaps of her curls break in his hand. Sierra slowly finding her mouth back upon him, siphoning him as quickly as possible though she began to tremble slightly. Afterall, this was no common patron, she could not warn him of the brothel’s code of conduct – for he could very well burn the place to a fucking cinder or worse, have their heads for an accused treason… or in an effort to purge Kings Landing of its sin. The Gods know it would not be the first time whores were blamed for the depravity of men’s desires.

It filled him with a familiar streak of satisfaction as he watched her buckle beneath him. Glory flooding him as the pleasure of her mouth brough him finally to his peak and the events of recent flashing through his mind as he rode out his long awaited release. That flash of fear upon his face reminded him of who he was, and what he was capable of. Afterall even his uncle… The Rogue Prince himself had sought for him to be slayed in his sleep.

Daemon feared him, his mother feared him, his grandsire… the Blacks…and now the whore between him feared him. They should. He thought.

The sentiment lingered as he felt his peak slash through him, spilling into Sierra’s now hot mouth. He looked down, satisfied though disgruntled. He was quick to force her off of him, interrupting her as she went to speak. It was clear Aemond did not wish to hear what she had to say.

Uncaringly, he rose to his feet, his cock still stiff and buzzing, he reached to dress himself – feeling the soft, unsure gaze of the whore who still sat upon the bed boring into his bare back. He ignored her, unwilling to admit the pleasure he had brought her, or the vulnerability that had been seen of him. It was gone, just like that. Done away with.

As he felt himself calm, a focus coming over him as the blood rushed from his length. Without another word he abandoned her, sauntering through the Cock Inn, the sounds of passing moans flooding his ears and perfumed air attacking his senses. Clarity. Is what he thought.

Clarity that he did not need to bury himself in a whore like his brother. He had greater control; he was indeed a man of finer stock. What need did he have to give in to not only a young woman… but a whore. Born so lowly she was conceived and birthed in a pillow house. No, Aemond would take the pleasure and comfort he had gotten and focus his mind elsewhere.

At least until such desires demanded easing again.

#hotd #aemond targaryen #targaryen #house of the dragon #got #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #helaemond #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x brothel worker #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon season 2 #aemond targaryen x oc

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junedenim · 3 months ago

Text

when you're so pretty and i'm so shy

when banging into somebody only leads to more banging

warnings: fluffy smut, fingering, eating, and the regular shmegular

word count: 3k

The first time Alex talks to you, he breaks your nose. You had known each other nearly your whole life but you lived on opposite sides of town and ran in different groups. The closest you ever came was when he sat two seats over from you in English and you passed a note to him once. Then, in physical education, during a rousing game of basketball, he crashes into you. You aren't even playing the game.

You're standing on the sidelines, talking with Gemma, and paying little attention. Lost in gossip and the drama of Gemma's rivalry with Daphne Pritchett when the blur of Alex runs right smack into you. You hear the crack. You reach up and blood is pouring out. Your heart is pounding and your face is red but mostly you're too embarrassed to look up and make eye contact with anyone.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Are you okay? I'm sorry," Alex profoundly says.

"Yeah," you mutter, even if it isn't true. You look up slowly at him.

"Shit," he whispers.

You panic and grab your nose. You wince in pain. "Is it bad? Am I missing a tooth or something?"

He shakes his head. "You're just...your nose...it's bleeding a little." A lot. There's a puddle on the floor and you can taste it, all metallic in your mouth.

"You broke her fucking nose!" Gemma shouts.

You cringe and curve your shoulders over. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry." He's all meek and he has his hand on your shoulder trying to soothe. You or him, you aren't sure? "I'll take you to the nurse. Right? You good to stand?"

You nod and gradually stand up with his help. Your teacher hands you a pile of tissues that you hold close to your face groaning in pain. Alex's hand is on your back trying to guide you the best he can.

"I'm sorry. I just...I wasn't looking. I was an idiot and, and—I don't know."

"Not perceiving?"

"Yeah, that." It's brought a smile to his face and that makes you feel better. You don't want him to hurt too. He's always been a sweet guy.

"It's broken."

"Fuck," Alex mutters.

In the following days, with a piece of tape secured on the bridge of your nose and a bruise giving you an undereye coating, you catch Alex's eyes on you throughout the day. They're always filled with concern, desperate for forgiveness even though he won't accept it.

"You're fine," you reassure him in the hallway on the way to the cafeteria. "It was an accident. Besides, it's my new excuse to get a nose job."

"At least let me buy you lunch." You nod and walk together for the first time since your bloody walk to the nurse. "Is it healing alright?"

You shrug. "I think so. I can't really tell. Bruises mean healing."

His hands are stuffed in his trouser's pockets. He's slumped over and somber-eyed. "Sorry about all of that."

You laugh at his constant apologies. "It's fine. I swear. I like bruises. That sounds like I'm a freak."

"Kind of."

You gasp and turn to look at him with a cheeky grin and dirty Reeboks, the only personality to his school uniform. "Hey! You're the inflictor. You're in my debt. You're lucky I'm not suing you. I meant it in an I-Got-Into-A-Fight kind of way."

Alex chuckled. "Are you the type to get into a fistfight?"

"I think I'm more likely than you. You couldn't hurt a fly."

"I hurt you."

You toot. "It's fine. You upped my street cred. Anyone who knows what happened feels sympathy for me and for those who don't I can say things like 'Oh, you should see the other guy.'"

"Okay, then should we continue this routine and I break your leg next time?"

"No, I think I'm good on broken bones but maybe you'll allow me a punch at you."

He toys with you, "Threatening violence? I should tell on you."

You tell him through giggles, "I'd kick your ass if you do."

After he pays for your lunch, he walks you to your lunch table like a poor stray dog. You should start calling him Sandy in the vein of Annie's shaggy orphaned dog. "Thanks, Al."

"My pleasure." He gives a crooked smile. "Oh, and don't get a nose job."

Unsure of what he's said, you question, "Huh?"

"Back there you said..." he points his thumb behind him then shrugs. "Anyway, I like your nose."

You furrow your brows. "Thanks?"

He's blushing and it makes your cheeks flush and you feel like he's attacking you with his cuteness. Like he's a cute drug you're overdosing on. You want to crush him up in between your teeth and digest him completely. (Maybe you've taken too many painkillers).

"You're pretty. That's all."

You smile back at him, overwhelmed by his flirtatious shyness. "Well, thanks." He turns to walk away but you stop him with "Do you want to sit with us?"

"I don't want to intrude and I've got me friends." He points over to a table in the back corner filled with rowdy boys tossing food at one another.

You shake your head. "You owe me."

"So, I'm gonna be in your debt forever."

You think, tapping your finger on your chin. "Hmm, well, at least for the rest of the year."

He chuckles and sits down beside you. You do have lunch together for the rest of the year but by Day 3 your table and his table mesh and suddenly you're intertwined.

The swelling is gone in a week, the bruises are gone after two weeks, the fracture healed in four weeks, and Alex and you date after 5 weeks. You think he first kissed you a week after your doctor told you it was healed for fear that his nose would hit yours and somehow dislodge its position again.

He has a guitar in the corner of his room that you tease him into strumming for you. He looks embarrassed the whole time and it makes it even more charming. He tells you his secret ambitions and you encourage the way his mind moves. It's the perfect Hollywood teen romance.

One evening, you fall onto his bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and your mouth opens under his. Your skin sears as you spread your legs wider to make room for his body. You feel mindless. You move against each other a little while making out. Uncertain shifts and searching grinds, friction, fervency. You've never done this before, what you're about to do, unlike him. You like him being more experienced. It makes you feel as if he's your guidepost.

Your kisses are all tongue, broken by moans and desperate gasps. Your nails dig into his back and you try to stifle the sounds forced from your mouth. He turns his focus onto your neck, licking and sucking, bruising you like a peach. "Let it out."

It's erotic and troubling how much you throb. “I—I want—”

“You want what?”

You roll your hips up against him for real, starting to shake when you feel how hard he is beneath his jeans, and his grip tightens on you like that’s too much for him. You do it again, moaning some more but as loud as you want this time, and find a rhythm. “Fuck,” he rasps, “I’m—fuck. Don’t do that, baby.”

He stops you by the hips. You grunt, “Why not?”

"'Cause if you do I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans."

You force yourself to meet his eyes and hold his gaze as you push your skirt down, before grabbing his hands so they’re pulling your panties and tights down together. He finishes the job when they get to your thighs, and you're suddenly aware that you're wearing nothing down there.

His attention drifts low. His expression takes on weight, and he whispers, “God,” almost like a 'Thank you.' It dissipates any insecurity. He spreads your legs a little wider and then trails his hand down from your knee to your center, stopping just an inch and then moving it back down again. He does it a few more times, and it’s torture. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yes,” you manage, throaty and raw. “Please, do it.”

He grins at that and keeps teasing you, but then gets close again, and this time he doesn’t go back down. Instead, he strokes you, just a brush of a thing, not even inside of you and you're still gasping. Fuck, fuck. “Alex," you manage as some strangulated thing.

“I know,” he whispers, keeps stroking, all infuriatingly slow. "You’re so good.”

When he slips a finger in it’s done carefully, but it has you gasping. You're hit with it: you're really doing this right now. You're in his bed and he’s fingering you. The thought alone is enough to make you lose it.

“Let me know if it hurts,” he says.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t. I—more, I want more—”

A second finger and your back arches. It feels like you're on fire when he finds your clit. The first brush has you whimpering, somehow overstimulated with just that ghost of a touch. He makes it worse by pumping his fingers in and out at just the right angle. He keeps stopping too, building pressure, and the third time you grab his hand to make him keep going. His fingers stroke a spot that has you crying out, and so he keeps going right there, and you hold his wrist, gasping and wanting what you can feel building so bad that you nearly scream.

He won’t give it to you, instead leaning down to kiss you again, smiling through it like maybe he’s enjoying the tease. You bite his lower lip in revenge and he laughs. “Feel good?” he asks.

You can only nod. He smooths your hair back and keeps going, keeps doing both; affectionate strokes and intimate ones with intent, the angle precise and the movements deliberate. When you come, his pace quickens a little and that feels so perfect, and your head falls back, and for a second everything just kind of whites out. Your legs shake and his thumb ghosts your temple. You blink and manage to utter, “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes, head tilted, fond. Alex kisses your cheek once, twice, three times. “You liked it?”

There’s a tiny bit of anxiety in his voice, which is ridiculous. “I loved it,” you correct.

His responding grin is like a spark to kindling. He says, “Me too.” When he sucks his fingers clean you get a burning fire inside you that you've never felt before. Your lips part.

Your breathing is shaky as you inhale. “Can we…?”

His forehead falls against yours. “I don’t have, uh—”

“Rubbers?” You ask, coming back to yourself a little now. “That’s okay, I do.”

Alex leans back. “Do you, now?”

“Shut up,” you say, face on fire as you sit up. You find your backpack on the floor and part of this feels ridiculous that you're doing this after school before his parents come home but it feels like the most romantic thing you'll ever get the chance to experience. That first love feeling. “Here.”

Alex takes them with a, “Huh,” and an infuriating grin. It falls a little as he looks back up at you, and his eyes are so brown and comforting. “You really want to? You’re sure?”

You nod. “I wanna.”

The fear is just an underscore to the want, which overpowers everything else. You're safe with him and he’s beautiful and you think if you don't sleep with him right now, tonight, you'll explode or something.

Alex kisses your cheek and then rips open the wrapper with his teeth. You sit on the bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. “We don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“No, I know,” you say, your school cardigan falling off your shoulder. You tuck your hair behind your ears, a nervous habit. “I know that I just want it to be...”

“Perfect?”

“Not perfect." You shake your head, “Good? I don’t wanna look back on this and think about how I was cold the whole time, or how I was insecure, or—”

“Don’t be insecure.”

You give him a dry look. “Yeah, okay, I fixed that problem.”

Alex gets you on your back and nuzzles your nose with his. “I’m just saying I think you’re beautiful.”

Your face scrunches up. “Liar.”

His jaw drops with exaggerated affront. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just trying to butter me up.”

He snorts and glances down. “Pretty sure I already did that.”

“Oh my God, you gonna hang that over my head forever,” you say, all laughing as you wriggle underneath him, and you wrestle like kids for a minute, and then you're just kissing. The rest of the world falls away. It’s just you and him in this bed, and the way you fit underneath him, and the sounds you make when he presses into you.

He pulls your top off and you can barely breathe before you come back together. He wants to see all of you so fucking badly, wants to touch every square inch of your body, wants to find every freckle and map out the distance between them like a cartographer with kisses.

You yank his shirt over his head and then sort of still, running your hands down the length of his abdomen memorizing it like your flashcards. Then you kiss him with complete need. Your arms wind around his neck and he wraps his around your body, hands searching for the clasp of your bra. He undoes it and leans back to pull it off slowly, eyes on you until it’s gone, and then his gaze falls to your chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, ragged, you're so— there isn’t even a word. Divine is the only thing that comes close to his mind. He starts kissing and doesn’t intend to stop, insatiably craving your taste. He sucks your skin to bruise, on your collarbone and sternum, right above your heart. He can hear it pounding, an erratic busting beat. He brushes his lips over your left nipple, kissing it softly and feeling it perk, hardening in his mouth as he plays his tongue over it. You start to tug on his hair and he's obsessed with the feeling.

“Alex,” you beg, “please, please—”

He’s listening, but he doesn’t respond. Just moves lower and lower still, running his open mouth down your stomach and only stopping when he’s settled between your legs. Alex eats you out slowly, stroking your thighs and squeezing your hips while you moan and whimper and gasp various words of the ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ variety. He decides that he fucking loves this, it’s his favorite thing on the planet maybe, and he can’t help grinning while he does it.

When he starts to move back up you try to push him down. “No, no, I’m not done—”

Alex laughs. “I know that, knobhead. Just wait." He knows he’s infuriating you but that’s on purpose too. He fucking loves it when you get all wound up like this. He strips and puts the condom on as quickly as he can manage, and you watch all fascinated, cheeks flushed when you catch sight of his dick. You're sort of sitting up now, so he tugs you back down with a murmured, “Come here.”

He slides in and being inside of you feels ritualistic. You're so warm, and you wrap your body around him as you start to move together. You hide your face in the crook of his neck and he cradles you, wants you to feel so safe, and relishes in every sound you make. Alex pulls your leg over his hip for a deeper angle and your head falls back. “Oh, fuck, yes,” you whine.

He stays right there and fucks you so good and so raw he feels sweat start to bead on his back because he’s been waiting for this for so long and if it doesn’t last for at least a few minutes he might as well die. You're so goddamn pretty under him too, with gentle curves and soft skin as you moan. He does too, can’t help it, doesn’t wanna, just wants to feel this and never forget it.

Your back arches when you come. You grasp at the headboard and cry out and so he lets himself too. You pile on top of one another like that heap in which you first spoke. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

You let out a weak noise. Alex turns to you, your faces less than an inch apart. You're all flushed and dazed and he loves it. He bumps his nose against you. “You alright there?”

“Shhh,” you say, with an ineffectual whack to his arm. “I’m...”

He grins. “Me too.”

You nod. You turn onto your side and so he pulls you into him, gathering you up to hold. He pulls the blanket over your bodies as goosebumps rise on your arms. You burrow against him gladly. “Mmm. Warm.”

Alex hums. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” he urges, watching your eyelids flutter shut.

You snort. “So I take it you’re a total girl after sex, huh?”

Alex shrugs. “I was just trying to save you the bladder infection, but I guess I’ll just fuck off.”

That has you scurrying out of his arms with an, “Oh, shit,” and his eyes follow your body shamelessly as you leave him.

Later, when you're all dressed and pretending to do homework, you shamelessly ask him, "When can we do that again?"

He looks up all shaggy. He's dressed in his home clothes with a T-shirt and jeans. You're stuck in your school's uniform skirt but with his old sweatshirt overtop, all cutesy in a way that has him biting on the eraser of his pencil. "Oh, no, I've created a sex addict."

You toss your pencil at him, making him chuckle as he catches it. "You seemed to enjoy it just as much as me."

He has a cheeky smirk and looks deeply at you. Then, suddenly, he turns serious, clasping his hands with one another and sitting up straight. "I could pencil you in for Saturday," he says as he flips through his desk calendar.

"Shut up or I'm withholding the goods."

"Exhortation now?"

"I can be one and done. I fear you'd crumble without seeing me naked again. I'm trying to spare pain."

You're so cute it makes everything in him a desperate, clingy spirit and he's not sure how he's going to be able to let you go back home after today. You're so far away, curled up on his bed while he's over at his desk. What is he doing over at his desk?

So, he stands up, walks over, and kisses you.

a/n: it's a quick, sweet fic. plenty of other things cooking...thanks!

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner #junedenim

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

AITA for venting to my friend about my fiancée?

I (24M) have been with my fiancée (26NB) for about 3 years now. I try to avoid venting to my friends about it when I’m having little relationship annoyances because I used to do that for a while and it ended up with them just getting a horrible image of her because when good things happen that make me happy I would be responding IRL with my fiancée or gushing about it publicly e.g. on Twitter which most of my friends don’t use, vs when bad things happened I’d go to them to vent directly so they were only seeing the shitty moments. They would just always tell me she sucked or to break up with her which just wore on me because I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t think I need to. Our relationship is super affectionate, has helped me massively in improving mentally and socially and in my confidence, makes me genuinely happy, and is for the most part, with certain problems we’ve been working on aside, healthy.

It’s not a communication issue or anything, I’ll address any issues with my fiancée directly as well and we’ll resolve it between us, just sometimes I’d feel the need to vent out my upset first while calming down or talking through what to say to her before I brought it up etc.

However this changed recently. my fiancée has always been a very physical person, she’s cuddly and loves kisses and just general touching, and that also translates into her playfully hitting me a lot, which I’ll do as well. Smacking each other on the ass when we pass each other, jokingly hitting each other’s arms (gently) when we’re making fun of each other, stuff like that. Very occasionally this will bother me (the other day she pinched my face hard enough that it hurt for like 20mins afterwards) but for the most part I genuinely could not care less and I take it as all in good fun.

She has never hit me in anger before, until today. She was playing a video game and died, and I laughed while sitting next to her when I saw it, and she just turned around and hit me full force. Like, harder than she’s ever hit before, and causing genuine pain. Usually I would just brush it off because like I said she hits me in a joking way a lot, but when I kind of gave a startled “ow” she just looked at me and hissed “Don’t laugh” through her teeth and she looked genuinely pissed off, and the force behind the hit just caught me completely off guard. It was also very very sudden because we’d been talking normally and light-heartedly, had even been cuddling a few minutes before, and although she was pretty clearly exasperated at the game (sighing, saying “oh my god” when the fight was going downhill) I didn’t think it was serious anger, so her abruptly whipping around and hitting me like that was so sudden and whiplashy I didn’t even have time to register it.

I have PTSD (C-PTSD? don’t remember what the specific diagnosis was) from my last relationship which was abusive in pretty much every way you can think of, and one of my biggest triggers that has been relevant in this relationship as a result of it is raised voices/anger around me (not necessarily At me, just like when my fiancée is getting frustrated or stressed and she’ll start hitting her keyboard or shouting and it’ll make me start panicking), but this is the first time I’ve had to confront being triggered by a physical violence thing. I started dissociating like hell so I left the room when she was distracted by the game and ended up slipping out of the house to call one of my best friends via Discord and lowkey cry about it

I genuinely don’t really remember what I said, the gist was just that I’d been triggered by my fiancée hitting me in anger and that I needed to calm down before I went back. This may have been a dick move because this friend is a mutual friend of me and my fiancée - I knew her first and am closer to her, but she recently met my fiancée in person for the first time and they seemed to get along well, and we’re in several servers and stuff together.

After I was done I went back in and my fiancée apologised for hitting me so hard. I said thank you and we moved on

But afterwards she confronted me because my friend had sent me a message after that basically just checking in on me and my fiancée had seen the message on my laptop that she was using to game. I usually have my Discord on Do Not Disturb when she’s using my computer just so she’s not bothered by notifications beeping at her constantly so I’m not sure if it wasn’t on for some reason and it popped up on-screen or if she minimised the game and saw it somehow, but she was incredibly upset with me because she said I’d made her out to sound physically abusive. I did explain that I’d made clear to the friend she’d never seriously hit before this, but she said that didn’t matter because it was still giving off that impression and that it was unfair because her hitting me was done in a moment of frustration/anger and I shouldn’t have laughed at the game.

I apologised and we dropped it but I do notice that since then she’s been on my computer/phone more often and she’s slid into a few of my friends’ (and I mean My friends, not ones she talks to or knows and not ones I’d said anything about this to) asking if I’ve ever spoken about her and if she can give her side of the story. My friends came straight to me about it because they felt uncomfortable with what they saw as being prompted to talk about me behind my back.

Reasons I don’t think I’m TA: She hit me, and I know she vents about me to her friends too, and although it does bother me that her friends don’t like me because of it (for I assume much the same reason some of mine don’t like her for, AKA only hearing about negative stuff) I’ve always maintained she has the right to do it. I think everyone should be able to vent to friends about partners or family and vice versa in private because venting is normal and as long as it’s not dishonest or just pure shit-talking them I think it can be helpful and even healthy.

Reasons I think I might be TA: I went to a mutual friend so she also has something to lose if this friend forms a negative opinion of her, I laughed at her dying in the game even though I know she gets incredibly frustrated and competitive in games, and I’ve never had an issue with her hitting me more playfully before so she may have just misjudged how hard it was.

So AITA for telling my friend my fiancée hit me / getting so upset about it or is it just PTSD acting up and making me overdramatise something that is basically on the same level as the joke hitting?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ak4e7a · 5 months ago

Text

sweet sugar venom — PSH (teaser)

street racer!sunghoon x street racer! reader

"pick me up and take me like a vitamin, 'cause my body's sweet like sugar venom, hell yeah..."

"so alive, i could die, give me some sweet venom..."

cw: i honestly don’t know. mentions of cheating, violence, somewhat illegal street racing. there’s no dark content lol that’s all i’ll say otherwise i might spoil something

smut cw: daddy kink, brat tamer!hoon, brat!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, spitting, choking, dacryphilia, heavy aftercare <3 ... more tbd

thank you to @karinasbaby for the sexy ass banner ... stella ILYSM my baby doll for life

taglist: open! request to be tagged so you know when i finally drop this 😋

preview under the cut, let's get this show on the road.

“Hey, Y/N! Nice wrap,” Riki says, waving his long arms at you like he’s drowning. The tall, newly-turned 21-year-old bounds towards you before tackling you in a hug that sends you almost crashing into the ground, your hands flying to tug the hem of your skirt down lest your protective younger brother scold you about not dressing for the weather. It’s a cold spring night, as proven by Riki who’s in a loose, knitted navy blue sweater and destroyed light wash jeans.

“Jeez, Riki, I just saw you yesterday, no need to suffocate me,” you grumble affectionately, reaching up to muss his black-and-silver hair before sitting back down on the hood of your car. You’ve been fond of the boy since Jungwon brought him over one day, his first new friend since losing his best friend (and yours, honestly) in a betrayal that still hurts to speak of to this day. Riki clings onto you like you’re his older sister, too, and you reckon it probably has something to do with missing his own sister back home. “You saw me finish the wrap on the car, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it looks good even at night! Very professional. Maybe you can wrap the GTR next?” he says, to which you side-eye him, and he adds, “I can pay you.”

“You can pay for my meals every time we go out to eat for the next three months and I’ll call it even.”

He laughs. “Okay, deal. You eat less than Jungwon hyung, anyways.”

“Why are you talking shit about me to my sister again, freak?” your younger brother demands, making his way up to the small crowd that’s starting to form around you, Riki, and Jaeyun. He looks taller today, you think to yourself, and when he comes into full view, you see that he’s riding on the back of an unfamiliar person, a tall man with a sharp jawline and a pretty nose, whose bangs droop over his eyes. He’s wearing a white tank top and jeans, with a black and blue leather racing jacket covering his torso from the chilly Seoul air.

“Well, did I fucking lie?” Riki snaps back, arms crossed. You hide your laugh in the crook of your arm, eyes locking with the man who’s got your brother draped over his broad shoulders like a backpack. He looks at you intensely, in a way that makes you feel like he’s got x-ray vision or something. What’s his deal?

“Whatever, cricket legs.” Jungwon jumps off the man’s back, shaking his hair out of his eyes. You notice that he’s yet again stolen one of your oversized hoodies. “Oh, hyung! This is my sister, by the way. Noona, this is Sunghoon hyung. He’s joining Enigma.”

He’s cute, pretty, even, and you like that. You’ve always preferred pretty boys. And up until about five seconds ago, you would have said that—even though your ex-boyfriend is a cheating bastard who deserves nothing but suffering—he was still the prettiest man you’ve come across.

But this one, this one in front of you right now, this one takes the cake. He’s got full, thick brows that frame dark almond eyes, and his cheekbones flow into his jawline in a way that makes you think his face has probably stopped traffic at least once in his life. Before you stare at him for way too long, you reach into your purse and pull out one of your mango-flavored Hi-Chews (from your personal stash) to give him. “Hi, Sunghoon. Nice to meet you. Welcome to Enigma.”

He repeats his own version of your greeting a bit too curtly for your liking, but you don’t care either way, he’ll be under your thumb in no time, just like everyone else, just the way you like. Rolling the wrapped cube in his hand, he asks, “What’s this for?”

To which you reply, “Oh, nothing. I just like candy.”

“I feel like ‘like’ is an understatement,” Riki snorts, sticking his hand in your purse for something he can snack on. You sigh and hand him your purse for him to rummage around more freely.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at that, but turns to you anyways. “Do you race, too? I don’t want to assume or anything.”

You give him a coy smile, translucent bubblegum-pink-manicured fingernails clicking against the hood of your car as you drum your fingers against it. “Yeah, sometimes. I’m banned from racing right now, though, until the end of the season at least.”

He cocks his head like a curious puppy, blinking slowly at you. Oh, no. He’s cute and probably doesn’t know it, but he’s definitely dressed like he knows he’s hot. “Why’s that?”

Your smile turns into a smug smirk as you answer, “Because I go too fast.”

“Fourth-gen Supra,” he muses, glancing between your bare legs at the titanium Toyota emblem on the hood that you’d had imported from Japan. For some reason, you have to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together. “Cute.”

“Oh? And what’s your ride?”

“Beamer M8 Comp,” Sunghoon says, an air of nonchalance about the answer like it’s nothing special. It kind of pisses you off.

#🀄️ssv #🀄️fics #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard thoughts #enha smut #enha hard thoughts #enha jake smut #enha jay smut #heeseung smut #i fucking hate making tags i won't even lie

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peachdues · 1 year ago

Text

Phantasmagoria (Part II)

Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)

Sanemi x F!Reader • Modern AU • NSFW

A/N: read the fucking warnings before you report.

Massive TW: grief • loss of a parent • canon character death • drug and alcohol abuse • panic attacks • implied attempted sexual assault (not described, happens off-page • non-consensual photos being texted around (very briefly described, and then it’s just a mention of a bite mark) • violence between characters • brief description of Douma getting his face pounded in (deserved)

CW: 14k words. MDNI. explicit sexual content ahead (opens mid-fuck) • creampies • oral (f! and m!receiving) • rough oral • throat fucking • cum eating • ass-smacking • hate(?)fucking • toxic ass FWB • swearing • angst

I promise Part III will have angst BUT also lots of fluff/intimacy/care.

Without further ado!

Three weeks had passed since Sanemi first brought her home with him when Y/N realized she was utterly fucked.

Sure, at that moment, the platinum-haired man had her bent over his kitchen table, arms pinned behind her back as he pounded mercilessly into her, but she realized that she was also fucked because nothing had ever or would ever compare to the way Sanemi made her feel.

It had started only as an occurrence whenever they were out at night, with Y/N tugging Sanemi into Kizuki’s seedy bathroom to bounce against his lap. Sanemi had been forced to muffle his groans by sucking harshly on her breast as he fucked her against the bathroom wall, only for her to succinctly pull off him the moment he finished to return to her friends, Shinobu discretely handing her a napkin to wipe the remnants of his pleasure as it dripped down her thighs.

Then, she started letting him bring her back to his apartment from the various clubs and bars their groups visited. She grew content to let him lay her over the side of his bed to swirl that sinful tongue around her needy, demanding clit as his thick fingers steadily pumped in and out of her aching cunt while he fucked her mouth, his seed spilling down her throat with a force that threatened to obliterate any dwindling part of her that had not been utterly consumed by him.

But that still had not been enough for Y/N — or for Sanemi, apparently.

Because their late-night trysts had quickly evolved into near-daily rendezvouses, both stone-cold sober and texting each other in the middle of the day, in desperate need to feel the other’s body pressed flush against their own. And as wrong as it was, Y/N loved it; she craved it more than any pretty Wisteria pill or sticky fruity drink.

Because all it took was one taste for Y/N to end up right back in the scarred palm of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand, begging him to fuck her back to life.

And fuck her he did. The top of her sundress had been pulled down to her waist, and the wooden grain of his kitchen table bit into her bare breasts as Sanemi’s hips slapped roughly against her ass. Y/N was close to sobbing because god, it felt fucking good when he got rough with her like that, when he made her feel anything other than the crippling numbness that seemed to spread through her with each passing day.

He released her arms to lean forward and ghost his lips up her spine, all the way to the back of her neck, and Y/N came hard, just like she did every time they came together because Sanemi knew how to set every nerve in her body on fire with his addicting touch and addicting kiss.

One rough hand made its way under her jaw to twist her head back so he could claim her lips with his, coming as he did so, his groan of pleasure muffled by Y/N sliding her tongue into his mouth.

She hated how much she loved him.

—————————————————————————

They’d been sleeping together for nearly a month when Sanemi decided to test her patience.

“So, are we gonna talk about it?” Y/N cringed, because no, she most certainly did not want to talk about it; not then, not ever, and especially not with him.

“Why would we?” She responded flippantly, twirling the straw in the dregs of her drink. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit,” Sanemi snapped at her. “You’ve spent the last two years running away from us, and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”

Y/N met his stare hard, her own returning glare cold. “Running implies effort.”

“D’you really think I didn’t try to find you?” Sanemi grabbed her wrist, keeping her from getting up and leaving the bar. “But god forbid you be vulnerable, huh?”

————————————————————————-

“Oh, God forbid you be vulnerable, ‘Nemi,” Y/N gave him an exaggerated eye roll as she leaned her head against Kyojuro’s shoulder.

“You’re sayin’ you would let yourself get that…close with someone?” Sanemi argued, and with a sigh, Kyojuro paused the movie.

They weren’t supposed to be watching a movie with such steamy scenes, but Y/N’s mother had stepped out to cover a shift for a friend, and the trio of teenagers had been left without supervision.

Really, the movie hadn’t been that bad; but the film’s shining sex scene had been several minutes long, each of the teenagers shifting uncomfortably on the couch as the sound of moans filled the basement where they’d gathered to watch.

The scene had passed, but Y/N’s and Sanemi’s argument over a particular detail had not.

“If you’re already having sex, why does it matter what position it’s in?” Y/N half shrieked with laughter as both boys turned scarlet. “Isn’t intimacy the whole point?”

Sanemi turned his face away, embarrassed. “All I’m sayin’ is I don’t think I’d ever let a woman have that much power over me.” Sanemi was referring to the way the female character had climbed atop the love interest and began riding him, her head tipped back as loud, lascivious moans fell from her lips.

It was Kyo’s turn to laugh. “You’d have to get a woman in that position, to begin with, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi made a disgruntled sound. “Bro code says you’re supposed to be on my side, Rengoku,”

Beneath where her cheek lay, Kyojuro vibrated as he laughed heartily. “I’m not saying I’m not! Just that you’ve got a few steps to take before you have to worry about it.”

“Worry about being too vulnerable,” Y/N screwed her eyes up and stuck her tongue out on the last word as she teased him, settling back in against the couch as she grabbed the remote from Kyo’s hand and re-started the movie.

—————————————————————————

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N said frostily, stomping away from the bar and from him.

She didn’t know why she tried to run away from him, not when it was so pointless. Because an hour later, Y/N found herself on the edge of Sanemi’s bed, as he hooked her legs over his muscled shoulders. Face buried deep in her cunt, he lifted her off the mattress, suspending her mid-air and upside down as he ravished her while she sobbed for him to do more, to give her more until she could not possibly take anything else from him.

Perhaps he was punishing her; maybe she deserved it. All Y/N knew, as Sanemi finally tore his mouth away from her weeping core and flipped her onto her knees before slamming her back on his steely length, was that if this was her punishment for loving Sanemi Shinazugawa, she would gladly take it.

The last thing she thought, as Sanemi spilled into her for the second time that evening, thumb swirling her clit and his teeth buried in her neck, was that she was grateful to be on birth control.

—————————————————————————

“Do you like doing that?” Kyojuro’s voice was hesitant over the vibration of the music and laughter of drunken revelers gathered to let loose on the Kizuki dancefloor, and Y/N had to lean closer to hear him at all.

Y/N frowned slightly as she pushed her dissolving Wisteria to her cheek. “It’s just a recreational thing, while we’re out, y’know?”

She didn’t know why she was explaining herself to him, or why she felt like she had to, but Kyojuro had always been one of the few people who could pull the truth out of her with little effort, and in the back of her mind, she knew that made him dangerous. After all, he might get her to confess that she’d missed his smile or missed the blazing heat of Sanemi’s stare whenever she spoke.

Kyojuro reached out and brushed a lock of her hair that had fallen loose from one of her space buns behind her ear. “You were always so straight-edge. I guess I’m just surprised.”

Y/N wanted to smack his hand away but found herself leaning into the steadying warmth of his touch. “Things change, I suppose.”

Kyojuro winced, and his eyes filled with a sadness that was too out of place here in this den of debauchery. “Where did it all go wrong, Y/N? What happened?”

It all went wrong when Sanemi and Genya’s parents were killed in that car crash, making the boys wards of the state who were then bounced around from foster home to foster home. It all went wrong when Genya defended another boy in a fight that wasn’t his to begin with and ended up dead on a sidewalk. It all went wrong when Sanemi lashed out at her and condemned her with a few choice words that seemed grossly disproportionate to what she’d actually said. It all went wrong when Kyojuro decided that being there for Sanemi meant he had to abandon her, too, and then they’d both forgotten about her while she’d lost everything.

But Y/N couldn’t unload all of that right then. “Things change, Kyojuro.” She repeated, though her voice was slightly weaker than it had been, wobbling slightly in a way that Y/N knew meant she would cry if given long enough.

“But you’re our friend, Y/N-” Kyojuro pled, but it was the wrong thing to say, and he cringed as he watched her clam up almost instantly.

—————————————————————————

“She’s our friend!” Kyojuro said hotly, though, with his missing front tooth, it was hard to see him as anything but adorable, even as he glowered at the sneering girl, as he helped Y/N stand up from where she’d been knocked over.

“What a weirdo!” Ume, the small, white-haired girl who always looked like she smelled something unpleasant, reached to yank one of Y/N’s pigtails harshly, causing her to cry out in pain. “And you’re ugly, too!”

Y/N had only been trying to join in on Ume’s tea party that she held with the other girls in their class. But when she’d boldly tried to sit down amongst them, the cruel little girl had shoved her harshly out of the circle they’d formed on the blacktop,

Kyojuro smacked the beastly little girl’s hand away. “Hit her again, and I’ll make you sorry!” He threatened, and for once, the girl had the wits to look slightly intimidated at the blonde who towered over her.

“If you hit me, I’ll tell my brother on you!” The troll hissed, but it did little to cow Kyojuro, who shouldered past her as he steered the softly crying Y/N away from the horrid little group of girls.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The blonde asked worriedly after they were out of sight of Ume, turning her around to look her over.

“I-I just w-wanted to be t-their friend!” Y/N hiccupped, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “But they were s-so mean!”

Kyojuro pat her head, just like he did with his baby brother. “You don’t want to be their friend, Y/N,” he said kindly. “Not when they’re so mean. Stick with me and Sanemi! We’ll always look after you!”

Y/N wiped her eyes and tugged at her loose pigtail, all messed from Ume’s harsh grip. “Do you promise?”

Kyojuro smiled as brightly as the sun. “I promise! I will always be here to watch after you – whenever you need me! I’ll be there!”

—————————————————————————

Y/N patted the warm brawn of Kyojuro’s shoulder sympathetically. “I was, Kyo,” her use of his nickname somehow made him hurt more, his mouth wobbling somewhat as his eyes mirrored the resignation in hers. “But it’s just as I said,”

Y/N reached for Mitsuri’s discarded drink on the counter and tipped it back, draining the last dregs of alcohol. “Things change.”

—————————————————————————

Y/N was leaning against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black-haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.

“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her – she would know his blistering heat anywhere.

She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t know why he won’t make a move,” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.

Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He said after a moment, voice quiet.

Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all – he’s made her think it’s her fault things aren’t working out between them.”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Sanemi offered. “He does care about her. More than she realizes.” He watched as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.

Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”

Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “’S not that simple, though.”

She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t catch the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”

Sanemi’s gaze upon her was uncomfortable, and not just because it felt like he was stripping down every carefully crafted wall she’d erected around herself during their estrangement. The genuine flash of hurt in his eyes made her feel slick, oily, and so very wrong.

The pair watched as the mismatched couple on the dancefloor swayed together, Obanai’s eyes wide the whole time, as though he could not believe he had the good fortune of holding the beautiful, colorful girl in his arms. Y/N tried to feel happy for her friend, but it was difficult, especially when he knew that the night would inevitably end with Mitsuri in tears, lamenting that her dark-haired lover had yet again insisted he was not good enough for her, and he would leave Y/N to pick up the pieces of her friend’s broken heart.

“They should let themselves try,” Sanemi murmured, bringing Y/N’s attention back to him.

In one smooth gulp, Y/N polished off the rest of her drink, the warm buzz of alcohol loosening her tongue. “Trying is for those who haven’t lost hope.” Y/N squared her shoulders and steeled herself to return to the dancefloor once more. “And Mitsuri is about to learn that lesson.”

Later, just as Y/N predicted, Obanai left but Mitsuri did not go with him. As she wrapped an arm around her crying best friend to steer her out of the club, Y/N looked back to Sanemi, still at the bar, and hoped he could see the I told you so in her eyes.

————————————————————————-

It was July, and Sanemi was getting on her last nerves.

“Y/N, you need to stop,” Sanemi’s voice was gruff as his hand closed over her wrist, restraining her from raising the little violet pill to her lips — her second of the night.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize you were my father,” she tried to turn away from him, but he caught her shoulder, wrenching her back around and swatting at the hand clutching her key to euphoria.

“Cut the shit, Y/N.” He ignored the way she glared at him, as she watched her pill bounced to the floor and disappeared. “You’re destroying yourself; you know that?”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “It’s none of your business, Shinazugawa,” and he flinched at her use of his surname. ��Why do you even care?”

Sanemi almost looked menacing as he stares at her under the flashing strobes of the Kizuki. “You’re my friend.”

————————————————————————-

“Because Sanemi,” Y/N sniffed, “You’re my friend.”

Though Sanemi’s bandages covered most of his face, he could just make out the teary sincerity in the young girl’s eyes as she squeezed his good hand where it lay against his hospital bed.

At that moment, Sanemi had felt guilty for snapping at his long-time best friend. He’d known that she hadn’t meant any harm when she asked him if the multitude of lacerations that now covered the right side of his body were permanent. But Sanemi had woken up to the news that he and Genya were now all alone in the world, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself; he couldn’t help his need to wallow in the sadness and misery that threatened to suffocate him.

And so, he’d lashed out.

“Tch, who’d wanna be friends with a scarred freak like me?” He snapped back, though the sourness in his gut intensified as the tears slipped faster down Y/N’s cheeks.

“I do,” she insisted. “We’ve been best friends since we were babies.” Amidst the sniffling desperation in her eyes, the first inklings of anger began to shine through. “You can’t just decide to quit being friends! That’s not fair!”

“I don’t care if you have scars!” Y/N’s voice grew more shrill over the slow, steady beeps of the various machines to which Sanemi found himself attached. “I’ve always thought you were…were… pretty!” She sputtered.

For once, Sanemi had been stumped into silence. The young boy found himself suddenly grateful that most of his face was indeed covered by several layers of thick medical gauze, given the way he felt his cheeks heat at Y/N’s furious declaration.

“And I will always want to be your friend!” Y/N finished dramatically, crossing her arms, and flinging herself back in the plastic chair she’d dragged over by his hospital bed.

“All right,” Sanemi murmured, grateful that he could blame the crack in his voice on his impending puberty. “All right. We’re friends.”

“Best friends,” Y/N corrected, though the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

—————————————————————————

Y/N laughed without humor. “You think, because we fuck when we’re high or drunk, that makes us friends?”

Y/N laughed again, and Sanemi’s grip around her wrist tightened. “As I recall, Shinazugawa, it was you who ended our friendship, well before we ever started—” Y/N grimaced. “Whatever this is that we’re doing.”

“We hook up when we’re under the influence. Nothing more.” She finished, coldly.

A flash of hurt flit across his features, almost obscured by the pulsing lights of the club. “I’ve been sober for the last month, Y/N.”

Sanemi’s answer landed harder than she’d anticipated, in no short part because she hadn’t noticed he’d stopped taking Shinobu’s Wisteria, much less stopped drinking while they were all out together. As he said it, however, Y/N recalled the way it had been more than a month since they’d last hooked up at night, with Sanemi responding to her texts only in the morning or early enough in the evening before she’d had the chance to fall under the Wisteria’s magic spell.

In the back of her mind, Y/N knew she should be concerned with the way the Wisteria was beginning to dull her perception and her memory, but she couldn’t find it within her to care at that moment. She only wanted to make the man before her hurt, hurt the way he’d made her hurt for all these months.

But she couldn’t. There were a million insults on her tongue, waiting to be used, and she knew that he could take whatever it was she threw at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“The sentiment is the same, drunk or sober,” Y/N said, half-heartedly. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a long time.”

The pain in Sanemi’s eyes was overshadowed by his own anger, a sure match to her own. “No? So, I’m just a stranger to you, hm?” He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand, gliding it teasingly up her bare arm. “A stranger whom you call and text every day to come and fuck you the way you like it, huh?”

He pulled her close to him, and Y/N let him because he was right, damn him. She craved his touch, his body, more than any tiny purple pill or acidic drink she could spend her money on. She craved him just as surely as she craved air.

But she could not admit that to him, not then, not there. So, Y/N merely breathed, “Yes,” as Sanemi’s hand wrapped under her jaw, his other one tangling in her hair to pull her head back and meet his eyes directly.

Sanemi kissed her, softly, before pulling away to smile ruefully at her. “Then have your pills, Y/N. But you can’t have me, too.”

He released her, and Y/N stepped back, thankful for the dim lighting of the club that concealed her blush. “I don’t need you,” she whispered, though she knew it was a lie. From the look that Sanemi gave her in response, as he retreated towards the bar, she could see he knew it, too.

Y/N sought out Shinobu for another one of her magic pills, but even before she’d allowed it to dissolve on her tongue, Y/N knew something was off. No longer was her world a vibrant array of colors beckoning her to the kaleidoscopic paradise she’d come to love. Instead, the Wisteria crumbled bitterly in her mouth, and no amount of stinging alcohol could chase away its acerbic aftertaste.

She tried to lose herself on the dance floor as she so often did, but it only worsened the sludge that pulsed through her veins.

Beneath the throb of multicolored lights, Y/N felt as though she was suffocating.

Y/N pushed and elbowed her way dizzily through the crush of people on the dance floor, lungs constricting to the point of pain as she struggled to take a breath, her limbs trembling. Her eyes landed on a pair of lilac irises studying her from across the club, and distantly, Y/N noticed how he straightened, his focus lasering in on her as she stumbled towards him.

She couldn’t deny the irony that she was so used to fleeing from him into the sparkling, sweaty array of club-goers, only to find herself desperate to run to him, for safety and comfort, away from the revelers who were suddenly too loud and too close.

He met her halfway, having moved from his place against the bar counter after noticing her distress. With more relief than Y/N knew she should feel, she collapsed against him, grateful for the steely warmth of his arms as they closed protectively around her. In his embrace, she found that she didn’t even mind the way his lips pressed against her damp forehead as he asked whether she was okay.

She wasn’t, and that was his fault to begin with, but he was there, holding her as if she mattered, and Y/N let herself melt.

—————————————————————————

An hour later, she was back in Sanemi’s apartment, crouched over his toilet while the cold tile of his bathroom floor bit into her knees as she heaved up her guts. Sanemi was there, too, seated behind her on the ground while he held her hair in his gentle grip, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Between the spasms in her stomach, Y/N wondered if he could see the black sludge of her love for him mixed in with the bile courtesy of Shinobu’s bad Wisteria pill.

————————————————————————-

The next morning, he was yelling at her.

Y/N was confused as to why, exactly, his voice was raised at her, given how gentle he’d been with her the night before; it wasn’t as if she’d been trying to do anything different when he awoke.

She’d just been gathering her things to leave, as she always did. She never stayed after they’d finished, and he knew that — so it wasn’t her fault that he’d woken up and caught her trying to sneak out of his apartment.

“This has gotten out of hand, Y/N. You’re out of control,” Sanemi was blocking his front door, his face hard. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she saw a hint of concern intermingled with the anger that filled his eyes.

“You were lucky last night that you only had a bad trip — but what if it had been mixed with something? What if Kocho’d made a bad batch?”

Y/N’s head was pounding, and the aftereffects from her the previous night were still echoing through her, twisting her world into something dark.

Sanemi’s raised voice wasn’t helping; not in the slightest.

Y/N felt her hands drift to her head as she covered her ears, her breath quickening as her lungs squeezed and spasmed in her chest.

“Stop,” Y/N pled, but her voice was weak and distant, and utterly drowned out by him.

“You’re killing yourself, don’t you see that?” Sanemi continued hotly. “D’you know how gaunt you look? How frail? This shit is killing you, Y/N.”

“For someone who constantly needs to be in control, you’ve completely lost it.”

“Stop, please, stop,”

“What would your mother think?”

“Stop.” Y/N repeated, and she said it again and again until she was half-screaming it, sobbing as she fell back against the hallway wall of Sanemi’s apartment. Distantly, Y/N recognized she was having a panic attack, and she knew it wasn’t really his fault, but his words had stung nonetheless.

Warm, gentle hands closed around her wrists as Sanemi lowered her hands from her ears and pulled her against his chest.

“Breathe,” he said, hoarsely. “Breathe, Y/N.”

It was too difficult to get a breath down as she gasped against him, his chest bare under the shirt he’d thrown on and failed to button in his haste to stop her before she could run. Beneath the warm skin under her cheek, Sanemi’s heart beat strong and sturdy, a lullaby that soothed the roar in her ears.

“Breathe with me,” Sanemi coaxed, peeling back from her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head as he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He inhaled, deep, for three counts before exhaling, and Y/N found herself falling into sync with him as her erratic heart slowed.

But as the jittery panic beneath her skin eased, a fire ignited in her blood, and suddenly, Y/N found herself boiling with anger.

“How dare you?” She shoved him away harshly, her eyes wild. “Who the fuck gave you the right to bring my mother into this? Don’t act like you suddenly give a shit about her memory.”

Sanemi stumbled back under her push, and he looked remorseful, more guilty than Y/N had ever known him to seem. “Y/N, I –“

“No, shut the fuck up,” She snapped. “I don’t believe you for a second, Sanemi. Not for one fucking second do I believe you care about me or about her at all.”

Y/N paced in front of Sanemi, still situated in front of the only entrance to and exit from his apartment. Fine, if he wanted to keep her in there with him, then he could deal with her rage.

“Not one fucking call,” Y/N began. “Not once did you or Kyojuro bother to check-in. ‘Hey, sorry we haven’t spoken in nine months, but we heard your mom got cancer, and she used to feed us when our parents wouldn’t, so we thought we’d check in and see how she was doing.’” She mimicked, cruelly. “Do you see how fucking simple that could have been?”

Sanemi only stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable mixture of sadness, remorse, and pain.

“But you didn’t,” Y/N said coldly. “You two fucked off and continued your merry little friendship together, so spare me the bullshit.”

“Y/N – Kyojuro cares. I care –“ Sanemi tried, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“Shut the fuck up!” She exploded, her hands flailing in front of her as she tried to push him away from her once more. “You don’t care, you never did! I’m just a warm body for you to fuck and that’s it.”

Y/N finally shoved past him, hand reaching for the door. “Don’t you dare pretend like I mean any more to you than that,” She spat.

She flung his door open, but Sanemi’s hand shot past her, slamming it shut once more. Y/N stood there, facing the door, chest heaving as she struggled to control her anger. “Let me go, Sanemi.” She said stiffly, refusing to turn around, to face him.

Sanemi’s hand found her shoulder and turned her around instead, and before she could blink, his mouth slammed down angrily over hers, his hands gripping her waist tight as his teeth nipped her bottom lip, demanding entry that Y/N couldn’t help but give him.

He was her weakness; always had been, always would be.

Sanemi pressed her against his doorway, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as Y/N palmed him through the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on.

“Y/N,” he groaned as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, her lips moving to his neck as she licked one of the small scars that lay near his jaw.

“I need you, Sanemi,” She murmured, and Sanemi’s eyes blew wide as he growled, arms locking around her middle as he heaved her up against his door.

Their lips met in a fiery exchange of tongue and teeth, biting, and sucking at the other possessively as they tore each other’s clothes from their body. Y/N ground down against Sanemi’s thick, bare length as it bounced against the underside of her thigh, the slick wet of her heat grazing him and causing him to moan in her ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sanemi growled as he spun them away from the door, guiding them towards his kitchen as he laid her out over his counter, an arm only leaving its position at her waist to clear the assorted mail and spare keys he’d had organized there, letting it all fall to the linoleum floor.

Sanemi’s fingers worked their way between her legs as his lips wrapped around the peak of her breast and sucked, causing Y/N’s back to arch gracefully off the surface of his counter. His thumb stroked her aching bundle of nerves as his index finger swirled around her entrance, teasingly gathering her wetness around the calloused digit, before he sunk it into her, curling it so that he brushed against that sensitive spot on her front wall.

“Sanemi – ah,” she panted as he added yet another finger, her eyes nearly crossing at the sensation of his hand scissoring in and out of her, while his thumb continued to play with her clit. “I can’t wait – please,”

He hesitated for a moment, no doubt fighting every urge to sheathe himself within her heat in a single stroke, but he withdrew his fingers, nodding. With a surprising softness, Sanemi flipped Y/N over, pressing her down against the cool top of his kitchen counter, and used his knee to knock her thighs apart. One hand braced on her hip, the other gripped him at his base as he nudged her opening from behind, Y/N nearly drooled as she felt the hot, flared tip of his cock pressing flush against her entrance, and she rapaciously ground against him, eager to feel him inside of her.

Sanemi gradually eased himself into her wet, aching heat, no doubt taking his time because she’d demanded he take her before properly preparing her. Y/N whimpered at the stretch of her walls around him, as Sanemi groaned, loud and unrestrained, as he sank into her warmth, his chest heaving behind her.

One broad hand slid down the side of her leg, lifting it up to rest on the counter. With one long draw of his hips backwards, nearly withdrawing from her waiting cunt, Sanemi slammed back into her with a force that had her choking for her breath.

Sanemi began to fuck her, and she swore she saw the gates of Heaven.

With every sharp push and pull of his steely length, Y/N felt her eyes roll further back into her skull, as a stream of cries and whimpers poured from her mouth. She was helpless to do anything but push herself back against him as he pounded into her, slamming her back onto his cock over and over, as he moaned and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck,” Sanemi panted in her ear. “Y/N – just stay. With me. Please.”

But Y/N did not answer him; could not, due to the incessant roll of his hips into hers, as Sanemi increased the force with which he thrust into her with every passing second, threatening to snatch every sane thought from her head.

Sanemi pushed her leg further up on his kitchen counter, a hand coming to rest against a cupboard to steady himself as he thrust deeper into her velvet heat.

His lips danced down the back of her neck, biting and sucking. The drive of his hips forced hers to bounce against the counter, the cheap plywood and plaster biting into her hipbones with every impassioned thrust of Sanemi’s cock as he withdrew from her glistening core, only to slam himself back into her.

“Ngh, Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, pushing herself back against him, needing him to go faster, harder, to make her forget all the ways he’d made her feel lonely and unwanted.

He bit down on her shoulder blade as his thrusts grew sloppy. “God, you feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

Y/N was too enthralled by the hurried drag of Sanemi’s length in and out of her desperate cunt to care that he’d referred to her as “baby.” He could call her anything, anything at all, as long as he kept fucking her the way he was, against his kitchen counter.

Sanemi angled his hips and began hammering at the spot deep inside her that had her vision nearly whitening out.

“Fuck, S-Sanemi,” She whined. “I’m gonna cum—.” The ache in her belly flared the way it always did whenever Sanemi brought her close to her end.

“Not yet,” Sanemi groaned, though he found it difficult to keep holding himself back. “Stay with me a little longer, sweetheart.” One hand left its bruising grip on her hip in favor of reaching around her to squeeze at her breasts, as he rolled one of her nipples between his expert fingers.

“I can’t,” Y/N cried, begging. “Sanemi, please, oh please-,”

Sanemi removed his arms from her and brought them to the front of her knees, straightening her legs so they stuck out behind her, one braced on either side of his hips as he increased his rhythm, the loud clap of Y/N’s skin against the counter as he pounded harder into her threatening to drown out her moans.

Once he was sure she would not lower her legs, Sanemi’s hand came down against her backside, smacking her as he bounced her against him.

Y/N cried out in pleasure, beseeching Sanemi to do it again, and he obliged, bringing his hand down against her other cheek as she sobbed. Sanemi hissed as he felt the eager walls of her cunt squeeze him to the point of pain, keeping his bruising length locked within her as he chased his release.

The slight sting of his hand against the sensitive skin of her ass was too much for her to bear; with a keening howl, Y/N shattered around him, Sanemi following suit as his cum shot into her with a force that made him see white, her name the only mantra on his lips.

She was still in the thick of her orgasm when Sanemi abruptly pulled out, his cum dripping from her spasming core and onto the floor beneath them. She didn’t have time to protest, however, as Sanemi dropped to his knees behind her, where she was still spread wide for him, and began to feast upon her, his teeth and lips wrapping around her clit and sucking so hard, she nearly levitated off the counter, her thighs clamping tight around his head.

Y/N could not find it within herself to feel sorry for his neighbors as she screamed his name, her throat burning with the effort as Sanemi hauled her back to her peak and sent her tumbling over it once more, this time stronger than she’d ever felt.

He did not stop; he continued to suck at her through the prolonged waves of her climax, his warm fingers coming to slide into her opening and massage his cum into her quivering walls, making her see stars as his fingertips brushed the spongy part of her innermost wall, her legs spasming around him.

A gush of fluid sprang forth from her, thoroughly coating Sanemi’s face and he groaned with satisfaction, pressing his mouth even harder against her, as though the mixture of his cum with hers was the most intoxicating elixir ever to pass his lips.

Y/N’s pleasure-delirious sobs were muffled against the counter as the aftershock of her successive orgasms wracked through her, her body quivering from the exertion. As the spasms in her cunt subsided, Sanemi finally stepped away, pressing featherlight kisses against her spine, so gentle in contrast with the delightfully brutal way he’d just reminded her that she’d never be able to run away from this – from him.

Sanemi rocked back on his heels, hands braced against the counter as he caught his breath. “Let me clean you up,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse.

Y/N’s limbs had been reduced to liquid, so she did not complain as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bathroom.

He sat her gently on the edge of his tub and moved behind her to turn the water on, holding his fingers under the steady stream until it was hot – just the way he knew she liked it.

“I don’t want to take a fucking bath here,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him. “Just give me a towel and be done with it.”

Sanemi recoiled slightly, and it made her chest hurt. “Was – was that okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Only in every way a person could be hurt, but not through his actions in the kitchen. She wanted nothing more than to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to assure him that, at the very least, she’d loved every second of the way he’d spread her across his counter. But the love in Y/N’s heart had turned it into a black, decaying lump, and so, her response only matched her rotten core.

“It was fine – we’re not a fucking couple,” She snatched a washcloth from his hand and shoved it under the faucet, dampening it and then moving to wipe it between her legs. “So, stop trying to act like we are.”

Sanemi stood back, his arms folding across his chest and his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was the gentleness with which he spoke to her that enraged her even more, even though she knew she was being irrational. “It’s whatever,” she muttered, folding the used washcloth back up and laying it neatly over the edge of the bathtub. “I’ve gotta go.”

Sanemi nodded and left the bathroom, still naked himself, and returned with her discarded clothes and underwear. Once he’d passed them to her, he retreated back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Y/N tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach when he did not emerge to say goodbye, as she opened his front door and disappeared into the mid-day sun.

—————————————————————————

All of her friends were traitors.

Not one of them was in the mood to venture out with her, not even Mitsuri, who was newly in a relationship with Obanai, the moody, awkward boy having finally plucked up the courage to confess his feelings for the bubbly pinkette.

Thus, Mitsuri no longer needed Wisteria or sticky drinks to feel high; she had love.

Y/N was happy for her – really; but she wasn’t happy to lose her reliable going-out friend.

So Y/N was on her own at the Kizuki lounge, though she didn’t really mind all that much. She’d become such a regular in that dark den of iniquity that a few other lost souls recognized her as their own and were only happy to dance with her. Unfortunately, however, Shinobu was nowhere in sight, and thus, Y/N was left utterly without the comforting lull of her friend’s Wisteria.

As Y/N pounded back another round of shots, wincing at the burn of the green apple liquor which slid down her throat, a sultry voice spoke.

“Well, it’s rare to see such a beautiful thing like you alone in a place like this,” Y/N turned and saw a familiar yet unnerving pair of eyes – the same she’d seen a few weeks earlier at the club, the first night she’d danced with Sanemi – blinking at her.

He was familiar – she’d seen him around on campus and knew him to be relatively involved with student life. Y/N scoured her brain, trying to place a name on the white-haired man smiling at her like she was something to be devoured.

“Douma, right?” Y/N recalled, and the man nodded, his smile widening revealing a set of too-sharp canines.

“I’m flattered you know my name,” his voice was almost flirty, if not for the sickeningly sweet edge in it that set the hair on her arms standing. “Though, I only know you as Shinobu’s friend,” he pouted.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You know Shinobu?”

The man with the jewel-colored eyes nodded, smiling dreamily. “Shinobu and I are old friends – business partners, even. And me and her sister go way back.” Douma reached out and toyed with a loose strand of Y/N’s hair, and she fought the urge to shudder. “Tell me your name, gorgeous? I’ve seen you around, though Shinobu always barks before I ever have the chance to talk to you.”

Y/N laughed, softly. “Shinobu’s bark is always worse than her bite, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Douma leaned in close, and his cologne was strong and sensual in a way that made Y/N’s head feel fogged. “And what about your bite? Surely, someone who hangs around with Shinobu is bound to pack a bit of a punch.”

He knew how to flatter, she’d give him that. “I’m afraid I’m all bark, Douma.” And, because she felt lonely, and because she felt a little desperate, she added, “Though I might be inclined to bite if given the right incentive.”

Douma tipped his head back and laughed, deeply, and it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “You are something, aren’t you, Y/N? I can’t believe your friends would let you wander out by yourself.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, and helped herself to the smiling man’s drink, his grin only widening as she polished off its contents. “I need no babysitter, unfortunately for them.”

“No you do not,” Douma purred. “Well, since you’re a free agent tonight, how about you come by my place? My roommate and I are throwing a huge party – I’d bet nearly half the campus is there already.”

Y/N didn’t doubt it; Douma’s parties were something of a campus legend.

“And, I believe I have something that might make it worth your while,” Douma smirked, pulling a small plastic baggie from his pocket. Within it, sat three of those coveted lilac pills, and Y/N’s mouth watered.

“I think that’s exactly the kind of incentive a girl looks for,” Y/N teased, standing with Douma to leave the Kizuki, the latter’s hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Y/N and Douma chatted animatedly as he led her to his car, and Y/N could almost ignore the unease tugging incessantly in her stomach.

She shook off the feeling. After all, if she squinted hard enough, Douma could almost pass as Sanemi.

—————————————————————————

Kyojuro answered his phone with a noncommittal grunt.

“Akaza?” He said, surprise coloring his features. Sanemi perked up at the name of the boy from their hometown but was filled with unease at the way Kyojuro’s face darkened.

“We’re on our way.” Kyojuro clicked his phone off and met Sanemi’s questioning look.

“You know that party on 52nd? We need to go — now.” Kyojuro was already rising, his wallet and keys in hand.

Sanemi didn’t question his best friend, but his phone dinged in time with Kyojuro’s, and both paled at the text image they’d received from an unknown number, sent to each person in their friend group.

It was an image of Y/N, though only half her face was visible — but it was clear she was crying and she looked fucking terrified. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she held her arms up protectively in front of her. But those too-thin arms could not obscure the blooded, crescent-shaped bite mark just above her breast.

Shinobuuuu your friend is lovely! The message below the image read.

A second, follow-up message dinged. Next time, fucking pay me, hm?

Kyojuro looked back in horror at his best friend but broke into a cold sweat as he beheld the murderous rage that caused his friend to tremble.

“Let’s go.” It was all the white-haired man said as the pair slammed Kyojuro’s apartment door behind them and head for his car.

—————————————————————————

“There you go, Y/N – you should be safe here until we can get you out, yeah?” The pink-haired man opened a door to a hidden closet behind the stairwell in his private room, one he knew with certainty that Douma knew nothing about. “I called you a ride already.”

Y/N sniffled, wiping at her cheeks as she brushed by the man to sit on a trunk sitting in the closet. “Thank you, Hakuji. I owe you one.”

Akaza smiled and shook his head. He’d always liked Y/N – she was always kind to him growing up, and she was one of the few people to call him by his actual name, rather than that abhorrent nickname that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Nah, I can’t stand that fucker,” Akaza grimaced, checking behind him to ensure no one had snuck in and found them hiding. “Douma always takes things too far. I try to help when I can, but I don’t have eyes everywhere.” He frowned as he considered her. “I’m just glad I saw him bring you in.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, instead only nodding. Akaza sighed. “I’d better get back to the party. Douma’ll go snooping if he can’t find me and I really don’t want to risk him finding you again.” He began to push the door shut. “This locks from the inside. Don’t open it for anyone else – I’ll come get you when your ride is here.”

Y/N nodded. “Thanks again, Hakuji. Say hi to Koyuki for me the next time you see her.”

Akaza smiled warmly and closed the closet door, sealing Y/N safely within.

————————————————————————-

For Y/N, sitting alone in that cramped, dark closet, it felt like hours had passed since Hakuji had locked her away, out of sight from Douma’s unnerving eyes. Y/N was getting antsy, until the sound of gasps and screams from below set her stomach twisting with panic. She began to hyperventilate when she heard footsteps – two pairs, one heavier than the other – rapidly approaching the closet door as the knob began to twist.

Tears were leaking down her face, hot and fast, as a knock sounded against the door.

“Y/N!” Someone hissed. “It’s me – open the door.” It was not Akaza on the other side, but a much warmer, much more familiar voice that had her nearly sobbing with relief.

With a shaking hand, Y/N flipped the lock and the door swung open, revealing the most comforting presence she’d ever known.

Kyojuro stared at her, a mess on the floor of Hakuji’s closet, his expression unreadable. Leaning towards her, he closed a warm hand gently around her wrist and hauled her to her feet, his eyes running over her as those scanning for injury. His nostrils flared at the small dab of blood that had dried on her shirt, concealing the bruising bite mark below.

Kyojuro’s burning grip remained on her as he led her out of Hakuji’s room – the pink-haired man nodding reassuringly at her as she passed him by. Kyojuro halted at the top of the small staircase to the main floor, an eerie silence interrupted only by an occasional gasp below.

He turned back to Y/N, his face stony. “Don’t look,” he warned. “Keep your eyes forward until we get out of here, no matter what.”

A lump formed in Y/N’s throat as the pair descended the stairs, slowly. They almost made it to the front door, where Y/N could see Kyojuro’s car pulled half-onto the lawn outside, still running, when a strange wet thump snapped Y/N’s attention to the adjacent room where party attendees had been dancing only moments before.

Y/N froze as she took in the crowd, gathered, and parted around two men, hunched on the floor, as they all looked on in stunned horror.

It was Sanemi, with Douma pinned beneath his knees, as he mercilessly pounded his fist into her would-be assailant’s face.

Douma was covered in scarlet, and the swollen features of his face were nearly unrecognizable as Sanemi slammed his knuckles into him, over and over. Douma only wheezed out a laugh, apparently egging Sanemi on.

Y/N parted her mouth in horror, ready to call out for Sanemi to stop, but Kyojuro tugged her sharply through the front door and away from the grisly scene.

“Don’t,” he said, softly. “Let him get it out.”

Kyojuro hauled her to his car, pausing only to open his passenger door before gently pushing her to sit down in the worn seat. Y/N didn’t challenge him as he reached over her and buckled her seatbelt, noting the fire raging in his eyes.

Her friend rejoined her on the driver’s side and pulled roughly out of the yard of Douma’s party house, speeding off down the street. Y/N opened her mouth to speak – to say anything, when Kyojuro held up his hand as his other pulled his phone free from his pocket. He read something on the screen, before clicking it off, returning his eyes to the road.

“It’s Tengen – cops have been called.” He explained, his voice low and face hard.

Y/N swallowed thickly. “Sanemi’s going to get arrested.”

Kyojuro snorted. “If Tengen shows up first, Sanemi will be fine. The cops have been looking to bust Douma for months.” Kyojuro slowed at a stoplight and cut his eyes over to where Y/N sat, curled on his seat, looking so small and so vulnerable.

“Y/N,” his voice possessed a gentleness she didn’t deserve, and it only made her mash her lips together in an effort to keep the tears in her eyes. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

She flinched, folding her arms tight across her chest, the spot where Douma bit her aching. Slowly, the memory of a phone camera flashing in her face, mere seconds before Hakuji had exploded into the room, cursing up a storm at Douma as he’d covered her with a blanket, blitzed out of her mind.

“The photos,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, god –,”

Kyojuro’s hands tightened on his steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Y/N,” his voice cracked, just like her heart. “If you’d rather me call one of the girls, I will --,”

Y/N shook her head, urgently. “No, no, Kyo, he didn’t – he only bit me.”

Kyojuro’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed, though only marginally so. “Only bit you,” he repeated, shaking his head in disgust, that cold rage still pulling at his face, contorting the face she loved into something brutal, violent, and unforgiving.

He looked back at her as she trembled in his passenger seat. “What do you need, Y/N?”

Y/N fought to keep her voice steady. “Can – can you just drive, Kyo? Please?”

He nodded, and the two drove in silence for an hour, her friend randomly getting off and on the interstate as the sights of the city passed them aimlessly by.

Kyojuro abruptly pulled his car over to the side of the road, coming to a stop and slamming it into park, before turning to look at her.

“Y/N,” the sound of his voice was so strangled, so pained, that Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, and into her lap. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N sobbed quietly into her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, Kyo.” Her vision was completely obscured by the saltwater that would not stop, her breath becoming panicked.

“I don’t even remember fucking it all up. All I know is I was so fucking angry with you two, and now -,” Y/N cut herself off with a hiccup.

“It’s all so fucked,” her breath was choppy as her tears increased, her hands rising to clutch at her chest. “You – you and Sanemi --,”

Kyojuro got out of his car and walked around to her side, opening the door to tug her out of the passenger seat and into his arms, crushing her against his chest.

“Y-you left me,” Y/N sobbed into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. “I needed my friend, and you left me,”

“I know,” Kyojuro’s tears dampened her hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“H-how could you do that, to your best friend?” She cried, clutching his shirt in her hands until her knuckles turned white. “You were my brother, Kyojuro.”

“You promised things would be okay, and then they weren’t. And you didn’t even try.” Y/N pushed away from him then, anger burning through the tears in her eyes. “Friends don’t do that; family doesn’t do that.”

Kyojuro looked as broken as she felt. “I broke every promise I made to you, I know,” he said hoarsely. “I swore I wouldn’t let you get too far away --,”

Y/N exploded.

“Get too far away?” She swore at him, hands angrily wiping the salt from her cheeks. “You abandoned me, you left me hung out to dry!”

Y/N’s hands balled to fists at her side, as she shook. “Sanemi at least arguably had an excuse. You had none. Nothing about what I did — what I said — meant I deserved that,” her eyes, angry and broken, met his own teary gaze once more. “I didn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N,” Kyojuro started, but the furious girl cut him off.

“Shut up, Kyojuro,” she snapped, and for once, the flame-haired man looked lost for words. “Do you have any idea what it was like? To watch you and him carry on as though nothing happened – as though I didn’t fucking exist?”

“And when my mom got sick? She used to feed you and your brother, you – you – selfish asshole,” Y/N was nearly hyperventilating in her ire, as twenty-two months of heartache, pain, and rage boiled out of her all at once. “And you couldn’t even check in?”

“I tried,” Kyojuro cut her off, somewhat forcefully, at her last accusation. “I tried to check in, Y/N. During the summer – I saw the ambulance leaving your house, but I couldn’t leave Senjuro by himself.”

“I came by the first thing the next morning, but no one answered. You --,” Kyojuro hesitated. “You must’ve still been at the hospital. I should’ve checked.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “Visiting doesn’t matter. You had a phone. You know how to use it, and you couldn’t send a fucking text.”

The blonde exhaled, and the tiredness on his face softened some part inside of her, made her want to hug him because deep down, she hated that Kyojuro could ever look so worn down.

“Nothing I say is going to make up for it. I know that.” He whispered. “If I could turn back time, I would, Y/N. Please believe me when I say I would.”

Kyojuro dragged a tired hand down his face, smearing the tears across his cheeks as he did so, and he looked toward his old friend, brokenly. “But I’m here now,” He said, pleadingly. “I’m sorry if that’s still not enough; I understand if it isn’t. But please, let me be here for you, now. Even if that means you hate me.”

Y/N did not expect to break so suddenly, but the sight of Kyojuro openly weeping before her, combined with the bruising sincerity of his words, whittled away all of the hardness she’d built up and struck her right in her heart.

“Oh Kyo,” Y/N shuddered a sob, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her tears as Kyojuro stepped forward once more and enveloped her in his arms. “I could never hate you,”

For the first time in nearly two years, Y/N returned Kyojuro’s hug with the same ferocity she once had, and part of her hoped, oh so timidly, that the force with which he embraced her would slowly work to put her back together again – to make her whole.

The two almost siblings melted into one another, each one muttering a litany of I’m sorrys, and I love you‘s. For a long while, the pair stood there, on the side of the road, swaddled in the other’s embrace as they sobbed together, for both the children they once were, and the adults the world had forced them to become.

Eventually, the pair found themselves back in Kyojuro’s car, still driving with no real destination in mind; only this time, the two blasted music from their high school days and loudly sang off-key together, laughing carefree as their broken hearts mended, song by song. They drove until Y/N yawned, and Kyojuro sternly, but teasingly, noted it was well past her bedtime.

“You scare the shit out of him, you know,” Kyojuro said after a long while, eyes still fixed resolutely on the road leading to Y/N’s apartment.

Y/N, who’d been watching the blur of stars in the night sky as they sped down the highway, rolled her head toward him to look at him, her face skeptical. “Sanemi? Sanemi Shinazugawa, scared of me?” She scoffed, turning her attention back to the night sky as it whizzed past her window.

Kyojuro reached for her hand, and Y/N could have cried at how warm and comforting it felt. “He thinks he’s lost you for good. He does regret how things went down, you know; he did from the get-go.”

“I think he’s afraid he’s going to wake up one day and find you’ll just be gone entirely. Completely unreachable.”

Y/N stretched her fingers to play with the series of necklaces Kyojuro had dangling from his rearview mirror, admiring the way they twinkled under the passing streetlights. “He would have to care to be afraid, Kyo, and you and I both know that he doesn’t care about me.” She chewed on her lip. “Not in that way.”

Kyojuro finally pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. He took his time putting his car in park and shutting it off, before turning back to her, his face solemn. “If you can’t see how crazy he is about you, then I don’t know what else I can say.”

The fire in his stare was scorching, and Y/N fidgeted under the intensity of both his gaze and his words. “He barely knows me, Kyo. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kyojuro said, though not too harshly. “You might want to believe you’re a different person now, but you’re still you. I promise you, you’re still the Y/N we both know – and love.”

Y/N’s tear fell down her cheeks anew, as she’d not realized how badly she needed to hear that she was still herself – that she wasn’t just a shell of the person she once was, never fully present and never fully worth giving a damn about.

“I think you want to believe he doesn’t care because it makes it easier on you to pretend like you’re just using him.” Kyojuro’s words cut through her like a knife.

Y/N winced and opened her mouth to respond, but Kyojuro raised a hand, silencing her.

“I’m not saying you mean to,” Kyojuro’s words stung, but they were earnest. “And I don’t necessarily think you are – but I think you’re running from him, because you are frightened.”

“What would you have me do, Kyo?” Y/N asked, slightly exasperated as her head thudded back against the worn fabric of his car seat.

“Are you still in love with him?” Kyojuro asked, and it took great effort for Y/N not to roll her eyes at him. “Then you must let him in, Y/N. He wants your love – very much so – of that, I’m certain.”

“He has always wanted my love,” Y/N snorted. “He’s like a jealous, possessive dragon that way. The problem is with him returning it.”

Kyojuro sighed, before getting out of his car and rounding to her side, opening her door for her. “As I said before,” he reached a warm hand to muss her hair as she stood, stretching her stiff limbs from the hours they’d spent driving around the city. “If you can’t see how crazy Sanemi is about you, then I can’t help you.”

Kyojuro’s lips pressed against her forehead, warm and steady, and it felt like home. “Give him a chance, Y/N. Let him into your heart, and he will gladly give you his.”

—————————————————————————

After ensuring Y/N was safely inside her apartment, Kyojuro continued to drive for another hour.

The emotions of the night weighed too heavily on his shoulders, and Kyojuro knew going back to his apartment would end in nothing but him tossing for hours in bed, replaying the last conversation with Y/N in his head, over and over.

—————————————————————————

One year earlier

“Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Kyojuro chuckled, reaching for a beer. He was disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving at his place.

“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety – the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.

Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”

Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”

It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death. But Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her – Y/N.

Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.

Though as Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated. He’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.

Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers. He saw it in the way Sanemi’s eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.

Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in – they’d been around thirteen or so – and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.

Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment until he’d squatted down in front of her.

“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways – it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile!”

Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”

Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.

When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stars at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro had truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s cheek before disappearing inside.

How could they have known that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they know how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?

————————————————————————

Ten months earlier

Kyojuro didn’t mind working for the enrollment center at Ubaya-U.

Sure, the work was a little tedious, if not monotonous, especially at the start of a new semester, but at least that meant his shift passed him by quickly.

That particular day, Kyojuro had been tasked with finalizing the class registers for his year – the juniors – as the add/drop period had finally passed, and thus, schedules were to be finalized for the semester.

He’d spent hours tabbing through page after page of student schedules, entering data and clicking the small arrow at the bottom of his screen to move onto the next student ID number, over and over, until the figures on his computer blurred together. But Kyojuro had finally entered the schedule for the last student, and he was eager to hit “ENTER,” and get the fuck home.

His back aching and wrist cramping, Kyojuro hit the command key that promised release.

ERROR. The screen read. ONE OR MORE ENTRIES MISSING.

“Fuck,” Kyojuro muttered, and he hit the “ENTER” key once more, in hopes that the system had merely hiccupped after having been in use for so long.

The same ERROR message flashed across his screen once more.

Kyojuro exhaled, pinching his nose as his eyes screwed shut in frustration, the beginnings of a headache creeping in around his temples. Shoving himself away from his desk, Kyojuro stood and stalked over to his supervisor, who was just as numbly tabbing through a spreadsheet.

“Murata,” Kyojuro said, trying to keep his growing anger in check. It was a Friday night and he just wanted to go home and do stupid college things, dammit.

The tired shift supervisor grunted in answer, turning in his swivel seat towards the fuming college junior.

“I entered all of the student schedules, but the system is flagging some sort of error.” Kyojuro produced a printed-out spreadsheet of every student ID number and handed it to his manager, who took note of the neat, precise little checkmarks next to every line that signaled Kyojuro had finalized the correlating schedule. “Can you take a look?”

“Sure thing,” even though Kyojuro often thought Murata was, at times, a little inept at his own job, he couldn’t deny the college senior was helpful. Murata pulled up the school’s informatics system and entered his log-in, clicking through various prompts until his screen resembled Kyo’s.

Murata tried to submit the same data that Kyojuro had tried, and the same error message dinged on his screen.

“Huh, that’s odd,” the manager said, unhelpfully. “Let me see if I can use my admin key and find out if there’s anyone you missed.”

Kyojuro resisted the urge to point at his spreadsheet once more; Kyojuro, simply put, never missed an entry when it came to plugging in numbers and codes for work. The same could not be said for Murata.

“Ah, there it is,” to Kyojuro’s surprise, a student profile popped up on Murata’s screen in red, though his supervisor’s head blocked the name. “Number ending in 0851. Let me just –” Murata clicked around the screen and quickly tabbed in a couple of course codes, and hit enter, but the screen erred once more.

“What the – ohhh, I know this number,” Murata said, sitting back in his seat. “Yeah. Okay. You need my code to bypass this one. She got special permission from the university to not finalize her schedule until next week.”

Kyojuro sighed. At least the error hadn’t been on his end.

“Got a pen? You’ll need her name to enter it once the screen prompts you. In the explanation box, just type “special permission/family emergency.”

Kyojuro shook his head. “I’ll remember it. What’s the name?”

“Y/L/N. Y/N.” Murata answered flippantly, though Kyojuro’s stomach lurched. “Yeah, I got an email about her a few weeks ago because she hadn’t returned to campus. The Dean said her mom was in the hospital, and she was the sole caretaker, so her professors all agreed to let her attend online until things mellowed out.”

“Never seen that happen before, she must be one helluva student,” Murata commented as he turned back to Kyojuro. “Hey, in the entry box, put her date of return – I think I remember the email saying it was sometime next month, but let me check.” The supervisor turned back to his screen, blissfully unaware of Kyojuro’s wide eyes or his pounding heart.

“There it is – hm, there’s an update,” Murata remarked, though more to himself than to the pale Junior standing behind him. “Oh my, that’s a shame. Looks like her mom passed away last week, so she’s returning after the funeral, which was --,” Murata squinted. “Yesterday.”

“Yup, seems like she’s due back next week instead. Just put down Monday’s date.” Murata turned back to Kyojuro with a kind smile, but it quickly slipped when he saw the sweat that had broken out across the burly blonde’s forehead and noted the way he shook.

“Rengoku, you good, man?” Murata asked worriedly, though Kyojuro barely heard him over the roaring in his head and the sound of his heart-shattering.

“Y-yeah,” Kyojuro’s voice cracked. “Murata, would you mind entering that information for me? I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Kyojuro did not wait for his supervisor’s answer as he grabbed his backpack and stumbled out of the Student Affairs office, as he fought to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.

Kyojuro did not remember the walk back to his apartment; he remembered only the rush of grief, and crushing sadness, as he recalled the kind woman who’d shown him such love and affection after his own mother died, that he’d thought of her as a second mother.

He thought of Y/N – oh god, Y/N, who now lived in a world in which she had no family left. No home to go back to.

Alone.

He hadn’t known; Sanemi hadn’t known.

Kyojuro stumbled through the front door of his apartment, vaguely noting that Sanemi had already let himself in, and helped himself to whatever was in Kyojuro’s well-stocked refrigerator.

“Man, I’ve had a fuckin day,” Sanemi’s gravelly voice rang over the muted sounds of his television as he chowed down on a helping of sweet potatoes Kyojuro had meal prepped a few days earlier.

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro tried weakly, though Sanemi seemed not to hear him over his own, loud complaining.

“-and four papers, and we’re barely a month into school. I can’t wait to fuckin’ graduate and get the hell out of this place --,”

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro said again, more forcefully that time, cutting his friend’s impassioned rambling off. At the serious, monotonous tone in his best friend’s voice, Sanemi fell silent. “It’s Y/N, she – h-her…”

Kyojuro’s voice wobbled. Sanemi dropped his fork into the plastic container that contained Kyojuro’s food and stared at him, eyes wide, as he sucked his breath through his teeth. Whatever news his friend had to deliver, it would not be good.

“Is – is Y/N okay?” Sanemi asked tentatively, his voice shaking slightly. He felt the color drain from his cheeks as Kyojuro slowly shook his head. As childish as it seemed, Kyojuro wanted to run, because if he did not speak those awful words, then perhaps they would not be real.

“It’s Mrs. Y/L/N – she…she died. Last week. The funeral was yesterday.”

————————————————————————-

Nine months earlier

Sanemi barged into his apartment without knocking, nearly toppling over the coatrack Kyojuro kept in the entryway.

“Shinazugawa,” he’d started to chastise, but fell silent at the look on his best friend’s face, a strange mixture of nausea and despair etched into his features.

“I saw her, Kyo,” Sanemi croaked, pale and shaking as he ripped open Kyojuro’s fridge and grabbed a beer, not bothering to ask as he wrenched the bottle cap off and took a healthy swig.

“Y/N?” Kyojuro’s eyebrows furrowed, as he followed his friend into his sparsely decorated living room, Sanemi shakily sitting on the small sofa, head braced between his hands.

“Did you talk to her? How was she?” Kyojuro pressed, but Sanemi refused to lift his head to meet his eyes.

“I saw her,” Sanemi repeated, his voice trembling almost as badly as his hands. “And I didn’t know it was her.”

Kyojuro shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean -,”

“I didn’t recognize her, Kyojuro. Not at first,” Sanemi finally looked up and Kyojuro’s stomach twisted at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “How could I not recognize our best friend?”

Kyojuro threw an arm around Sanemi’s shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he said, gruffly, “It’s just been a while since we saw her –.”

“You don’t get it,” Sanemi said, wide-eyed and haunted. “Y/N looks different – she’s so fucking thin, Kyojuro, that I couldn’t recognize her.”

————————————————————————

One month earlier

“So you – you and Y/N,” Kyojuro began, and Sanemi nodded, dragging a hand over his face.

“I am never touching that Wisteria shit again,” the lavender-eyed man vowed, darkly. “I fucking lost control.”

Kyojuro frowned, his stomach shifting uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Sanemi flung himself back against the cushion of his sofa, arm draped over his eyes in an attempt to stifle the tears that gathered there. “I fuckin’ hurt her, man.”

The blonde sighed, settling back against the sofa with his friend, thumbs twiddling with a loose string on his shirt. “You didn’t mean to, you know. Sometimes that just – it just happens.”

Trust Sanemi to be this dramatic being Y/N’s first – the man had practically screamed into the phone at him when he’d discovered the small speckle of blood on his sheets and realized that Y/N was nowhere to be found.

Though, Kyojuro never imagined Sanemi would be this frantic about the ordeal.

Sanemi lowered his arm to stare at his best friend, bewildered. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking trust myself on that shit, and I’ll be damned if I hurt her again.”

“I’m done with it all, Kyojuro,” Sanemi swore once more. “For her, I’m fuckin’ done with it.”

————————————————————————-

Two weeks earlier

Kyojuro jogged to where his friend stood, smoking a cigarette as his eyes scanned over the various food trucks that had gathered on the street near his apartment, considering the wide variety of choices.

“You’re the only person I know who could make that look somewhat appealing,” Kyojuro grumbled as Sanemi took another drag, grinning. Sanemi had quit both alcohol and Wisteria cold turkey but had become such an irritable bitch as he went through withdrawal that Kyojuro had practically begged him to find something to help him take the edge off.

So, Sanemi had traded one vice for another and had taken to smoking, though he could tell his friend hated it. Sanemi hoped that his shakes would soon subside, and he could kick the nasty habit before it became another problem for him to deal with.

“What are you in the mood for?” Sanemi asked as the pair began to leisurely stroll around the crowded plaza. “And don’t say sweet potatoes – we’ve been eating healthy all goddamn week; I need something greasy.”

Kyojuro chuckled. “I’m quite in the mood for a burger if you’re up for it.” He offered and Sanemi nodded in agreement. The pair joined the relatively lengthy queue outside a food truck grill, the scent of charcoal and meat promising to feed their empty bellies.

The pair made small talk as they waited, Sanemi nearly finishing his cigarette in the time it took them to reach the front of the line. Just before they were set to order, Sanemi’s phone dinged in his pocket, and the white-haired man pulled it free, puffing on the last of his cigarette as he did so.

“Ah, shit,” Sanemi sighed, though he did not look particularly crestfallen as he glanced back to his friend. “Sorry, man – duty calls.”

Kyojuro scoffed at his choice of words. “Duty,” he shook his head. “You mean Y/N?”

“You’d feel that way too if you slept around –”

“Yeah, but it’s not just ‘sleeping around’ to you, is it?” Kyojuro asked pointedly, and Sanemi fell silent. “You don’t sleep with anyone else. Does she?”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, we made an agreement – we’re – well, we don’t use condoms,” at the horrified look on Kyojuro’s face, Sanemi blushed. “She’s on birth control! ‘Sides,” Sanemi swallowed, awkwardly. “With all the weight she’s lost, and all the shit she’s been taking, I don’t think it’s likely she could – well, get pregnant.”

Kyojuro pinched his brow between his fingers. “Pregnancy isn’t the only reason to use condoms, you dolt,”

Sanemi harrumphed at him. “Look, I used protection with the other two girls, and I got tested not long after,” Sanemi quickly drew his cigarette back to his mouth, a sure sign of his growing discomfort with the conversation. “And, as Mitsuri so tactfully pointed out, I was her first, so I know she’s clean.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Sanemi snapped at the reproachful look in his friend’s owlish gaze. “It feels better, y’know.”

Kyojuro only shook his head. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Sanemi?”

Sanemi looked away from him, shifting awkwardly back and forth on his feet. “You know why, man,” he said quietly, and Kyojuro’s heart clenched.

“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you --,”

“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi –”

“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot as he sauntered away, holding his hand up over his shoulder in farewell as he set off back across the lively street.

—————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N dragged herself up the stairs of the apartment she shared with Mitsuri and Shinobu, a tiredness she’d not felt in a long while settling into her weary bones. Her head ached from the strain of the evening, and she knew her eyes were likely red and puffy from the hours of her crying.

Shakily, she slid her key through the lock and opened her front door, quietly relieved at the darkened silence of her apartment, which meant both of her roommates were out.

Closing the door behind her, Y/N slid to the floor in the entryway, and did not move; for a long while, she stared blankly at the dark kitchen before her, her mind replaying her conversation with Kyojuro on a loop, though the mark on her breast, with its pulsing ache, demanded her attention.

With a sigh, Y/N heaved herself up off the kitchen floor and shuffled her way to her room, silently thanking her luck that she’d managed to pull the bedroom with the in-suite bathroom, which meant she could curl up on the floor of her shower for as long as she wanted, without the fear of either of her friends needing the toilet.

Once she’d stripped herself of the evening’s outfit, Y/N inspected the wound on her chest.

It felt worse than it looked. There was a small bit of dried blood around where Douma’s teeth had broken her skin, and the mouth-shaped mark was angry, red, and already a little purple, but from her cursory examination of it, it seemed like the wound was likely to only bruise, and not scar.

It was the unseen wound that concerned her more; the scar that was assuredly left on her heart.

She’d fucked up – badly.

Granted, she knew it wasn’t her fault that Douma had decided to try and do whatever it was he wanted to do with her – she wasn’t going to blame herself for that.

What was her fault was how badly she’d let things spiral out of control; how badly her use of the Wisteria had become. She wasn’t a medical student by any means, but she knew the tell-tale signs of an abuse problem. Y/N would not venture to say she was addicted, but she feared she was well on her way to that path – unless she did something about it right then.

She braced her hands against the cool porcelain of her sink and looked at her reflection, jolting slightly at the face that stared back at her.

She still looked like herself, granted, but there was an unfamiliar hollowness in her cheeks, a vacancy in her slightly over-large eyes that made her uncomfortable. She stretched and winced at the ease with which she could just make out the number of ribs laying beneath her skin.

Sanemi had been right – she’d let things go too far.

As she yanked on the shower nozzle to summon the water to chase away Douma’s sickening touch from her skin, Y/N resolved, right there, that she was done with Wisteria. She thought she should be done with alcohol as well, but she feared the symptoms of withdrawal – especially with how great her dependency on the two substances had grown over the last few months.

So, Y/N decided that she would never again allow those toxic little purple pills pass her lips, and slowly – but surely – wean herself off alcohol. She would not go back to the Kizuki, would not let herself give in to the temptations which flashed underneath the colorful strobe lights of the dance floor.

Her life, it appeared, depended upon it.

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

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cecilysobsessions · 8 months ago

Text

THIEF (m.) | zuko

↬ word count: 8k

↬ fem!reader, enemies to lovers except zuko is insanely attracted to reader (so lowkey its not enemies to lovers lol) from the start and makes it really fucking obvious, zuko writes reader letters, some parts are from zuko’s pov

↬ summary: born into poverty with practically nothing, you managed to get through most of your life as a petty thief. turns out, you were pretty good at stealing and getting away with it. one night, you decide to target the great fire lord zuko of the fire nation. and it turns out, he’s kind of into it, and kind of into you.

↬ genre: fluff / smut

↬ warnings: slight knife play (is that a thing???), violence, blood, zuko attempting to stab you, zuko actually has rizz (unfortunately no canon awk zuko here 😓 but my fic DESTINY has that), pussy eating, hair pulling, swearing probably, typos

↬ a/n: when he threatens you with a knife in order to get you to kiss him and throws you in jail then burns your house down 😍

m.list

•••

“It’s you again,” he began, his hands at his side as if there wasn’t a whole ass dagger against his throat. “I was beginning to wonder where you had been. I missed you breaking into my room.”

“You look like you enjoy being threatened with a knife.” you spat out with a sly smirk.

“I wouldn’t say I hate it.” he teases, making no effort to resist you.

•••

There was a thief. A thief who could only be described as some low-life peasant that was terrorizing the kitchens in the middle of the night, never to be seen. But of course, the palace staff were always exaggerating the smallest things. As far as Zuko knew, it was only food that the thief ever stole. He didn’t mind much, after all, he used to do the same. However, clearly the thief thought they could do more than just steal kitchen scraps because that’s exactly what started happening.

First, it was food scraps. Leftover lunch Zuko would throw away.

Then it was the fruits and bread laying out on the counters in the kitchen.

The thief felt a little bold, so they began stealing trinkets here and there in the palace, some worth merely a meal, others worth the monthly salaries of the palace staff.

Finally, the thief had found Zuko’s room.

Zuko was fed up. First, it was his food, but now it was his personal items? The newly crowned Fire Lord was sitting in his closet, golden eyes peeking through the cracks of the closet door. He was waiting—he had been for the past two hours—for the thief to enter his room. Perhaps there was a better way to catch the thug, but Zuko wanted to see them for himself, and capture the criminal with his own hands. He had been waiting and watching and he was growing more exhausted as it was later in the night, when he saw you.

Covered in head to toe black, he watched you silently climb to pick the lock on his window, and enter. Your face was covered in black, too, and all he could make out was the stunning gaze from your eyes. He watches you silently roam around his bedroom familiarly. You had clearly been here before. It was as if you were looking for something specific. Maybe something you had your eye on already. Zuko watched your figure search the room, and it was dead silent in the room except for the sound of his heartbeat. He watched—no, observed your movements. You had moved around stealthily and expertly; you were experienced. You knew what you were doing.

•••

You noticed the Fire Lord the moment you stepped into his room. How could you not? He wasn’t in his bed when you entered and judging by the way it was still made, you knew he had probably been planning something. You didn’t even try to make an effort to hide your presence; you knew there weren’t going to be consequences. For months you had been overhearing Zuko brush off the palace staff when they brought their complaints about you to him, so of course he wasn’t going to do anything.

Tonight, you were going to look for some sort of jewelry his mother owned. When spying on the servants, you heard he kept her most precious necklace somewhere in his room. It was made of some rare stone that was only found on the palace grounds and nowhere else. Luckily for you, you were a good thief and just so happened to be short on money. That necklace was going to be yours, and all you had to do was figure out where it was.

When you’re searching through his nightstand, you hear an inhale. It wasn’t yours. Your eyes dart to the closet where you heard it, and that’s when you see a pair of amber eyes staring back at you through the cracks of the closet door. His gaze stays on your figure, watching your every movement while he tries to decide what to do in that half-second you make eye contact.

But you’re faster.

You’ve already sprinted to the closet door, practically ripping it off its hinges. You fist up the robe he’s wearing, dragging him out in a single and swift movement. One hand automatically covers his mouth to suppress any noise, while you tackle him to the ground. You pull out a small dagger from beneath your clothes, quickly pressing the sharp blade to his throat. You stare at him from up above his body as you trap him between you, your legs and weight holding him down.

•••

Zuko hadn't had a woman on top of him in God knows how long.

Your hand was forcefully pressing down on his face so hard he could barely make a sound. You were sitting on top of him, a small knife pressed against his throat with harmful intent. Your breathing was steady and controlled, all while he was practically panting from the panic–no, the excitement. Nothing about this situation was sexy, so why was a part of him excited that the mysterious thief was sitting on him threatening him with a knife?

It’s you, he tried to mumble against your hand, but you only pressed the blade into him more forcefully. He held his hands up to make peace; he wasn’t trying to die. Not now, not after he had just discovered that your piercing gaze had him giggling on the inside.

“Not gonna put up a fight?” you sounded like an angel from heaven. He makes an X with his arms, and you remove the knife from his throat. “I only want one thing, Prince Zuko.”

I’m the Fire Lord, was what he tried to mumble against your gloved hand. He wondered if it was soft and nice to hold.

“You scream, and I’ll kill you. Got it?” you promised.

He was still focused on your hand. It was smaller than his; it would for sure be lovely to hold.

But he nodded, and in return, you hesitantly lifted your hand from his mouth.

“GUARDS—”

You had already knocked him out with the opposite end of your dagger.

“What a fucking turd,” you mumbled to yourself as you dragged the royal piece of shit back into the closet. You had gagged and tied up Zuko after knocking him out, and now that would let you carry out your mission in peace. Luckily the guards outside his chambers either didn’t hear him, or he wasn’t loud enough, because they didn’t make a move to enter or check up on him. You were going to find that necklace and sell it off the market, and probably do the same thing a couple of months from now when you run out of money again. Only with a different piece of jewelry.

After searching the room, practically ransacking the entire thing, you were still unable to find it. Every drawer, every surface, every nook and cranny of his stupidly large room was uselessly empty. Although you had stumbled upon other pieces of jewelry, they weren’t nearly as much as his mother’s necklace. Settling with that, you left Zuko in the closet and took off.

The next time Zuko awakened he was parched and tied up. After struggling to escape the tied rope around his wrists, he searched his room for you. Most of the jewelry he had owned was gone, except for his mother’s necklace. Something precious and rare like that had to be hidden. If hidden counts as Zuko just wearing the necklace himself and hiding it under his clothes, then it was hidden.

•••

Zuko hates that you haven’t shown up in weeks.

He also hates that he has noticed your absent presence.

He knows he should be happy about not seeing you. After all, you are a thief and all you were doing was stealing precious valuables from him and the palace. Yet somehow he was beginning to find himself watching his windows at night, and at some point, he had become desperate enough to leave them unlocked throughout the night in hopes you’d visit.

You still didn’t.

Although he hadn’t known you that long or that well, he had understood why you were doing what you were doing. After having to be on his own for a bit in his teenage years, he was able to realize the reality of what you were doing. He had assumed you felt the same way as him in his youth: lost and angry and desperate. Perhaps you had a family to feed. Perhaps it was just you. Perhaps you were just trying to survive, and this was the only way you knew how to do it.

Fortunately for him, his questionable rising feelings for you were ripped from his heart when he heard the news of why you had been gone for so long.

“She was seen harassing some girls by the river.” he had been told.

“She was jailed for a couple of nights for assaulting a group of men in a bar.”

“Not only was she stealing from you, but she has begun stealing from our citizens.”

“The people are scared, Zuko. She is a terror to our towns.”

Zuko knew you weren’t the greatest person to ever exist, but he didn’t expect you to go around assaulting people.

Harassing a group of girls? Stealing from innocent citizens? You were far from kind, and now that it was affecting people besides himself, he knew he had to do something. His people were in danger, and he wasn’t going to let some petty thief get away with assault and battery. He had to do something. His hand automatically came up to touch his mother’s necklace around his neck, knowing the fastest way to get you to come back would be to use that necklace. To sacrifice it.

•••

Sitting quietly on a tree branch as you munch on stolen bread, your gaze follows Zuko, who is pacing back and forth in his room. You knew you hadn’t been on your best game lately. More people were seeing you and there were growing numbers of your wanted posters each day. But you were growing desperate for money. You were aware that Zuko knew; how could he not? But he wouldn’t understand why you were doing all of this. While you’re busy watching his moves, you notice a shiny glint of a certain stone sitting on his chest.

His mother’s necklace.

Of course! You couldn’t find it anywhere in his room because he had been wearing it this entire time. You quickly decide tonight would be the night you’d sneak in to steal his necklace. But how? If he was wearing it the entire time, he would for sure wake up in the midst of you removing it from his body. You could probably knock him out first. Given that he was easy to knock out the first time, the second time shouldn’t be too hard. You bested him before; you could do it again.

After dropping down from the trees, climbing some bushes, and making your way up through walls and vines, you had managed to get to his window.

It was unlocked.

Odd, since it was usually shut tight and locked. But it was unlocked and open and so easy to climb through. Zuko looks asleep, but he could be pretending to be. Was he trying to bait you? Get you to come in because guards were hiding and ready to ambush you? You hadn’t heard or seen anything, and since you had been watching him for a couple of hours, you hadn’t noticed anything. Shrugging, you decide to climb through anyway. You’d be able to fight back. Probably.

You silently land on his rug, walking over to him and standing over his body. His mother’s necklace sat around his neck, the moonlight shining on the precious stone and highlighting it in a beautiful glint. You watch him for a second, and this is the first time you get to look at him up close.

His skin is practically flawless—perfect, even. The soft locks so perfectly frame his face shape and his jawline is so chiseled it could probably cut through ice and—

“Admiring my beauty?” his eyes slightly open, staring up at you.

You panic, rushing to grab your dagger from your side and practically climbing on top of him on his bed. In a split second he’s beneath you, your dagger to his throat once again.

“You look like you enjoy being threatened with a knife.” you spat out with a sly smirk.

“I wouldn’t say I hate it.” he teases, making no effort to resist you.

You press the blade to his throat once more, this time with much more force, and you hear his breath hitch. You weren’t actually planning on killing him; the cleanup would be far too messy. You just wanted to scare him, but he was looking more turned on than he was afraid.

“Do it again,” he tells you. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

“Making jokes when you’re the one in danger? That’s not very smart of you.”

“I’m in danger? Oh, please. Don’t be ridiculous.” he grabs your leg from under, quickly turning the tables as he forces your body to his bed. You find yourself in his position, looking at him. He watches you from above, his long hair barely covering his face. His hands effortlessly pin yours above your head as you struggle against him. He’s pushed aside your legs so he’s fit snug between you and you can’t help but look down. God, what would the guards think if they walked in right now? You toss and turn against his silk sheets as he continues to stare you down, his gaze arrogant and inviting. Stealing your dagger, he tips your chin upwards with the end of it. He leans in closer, his body heat radiating off of him and his chest is practically pressed up against yours.

“So you could overpower me this whole time and only choose to do it now?” you question him. What the fuck was wrong with this guy?

“It joys me to be looking at you on top of me. But the view of you beneath me isn’t too bad either.” his voice is dangerously sweet and if you weren’t trying to steal from him you’d probably try to fuck him instead. With his body on top of yours and with his hips pressed against your own, your mind was beginning to cloud with the thought of taking his pants off instead of that dumb necklace.

“Is that so?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow.

“Turns me on.” he still has your knife on your chin.

“I figured you’d be a freak. Makes me wonder what other weird shit you’re into.”

“You could come and find out.”

“For a price I could.”

“I thought you were a thief; not a prostitute.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be good at fighting. Why have I bested you?”

“That’s simply because I let you.”

You scoff. What the hell was up with this guy? “I bet you don’t even know how to use that. Put it down before you cut my precious face.”

“Oh, I would never do anything to hurt your beautiful face.” he lightly drags the knife against your skin, slowly and teasingly.

“Having fun?” you tease, but you feel yourself swallow anxiously.

“Very much so. I know what you’re here for.” you watch Zuko as he continues to trace your skin with your own dagger. His eyes aren’t looking into yours, but are taking in your body.

“Alright, let’s make this easy then. Give me your necklace and I’ll leave,” you tell him. You were starting to grow more nervous the more he traced your skin with your dagger. Strangely though, you almost liked it. The sensation of the cold sharp metal against your skin was sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

“Have you seen your wanted posters? They’re all over the place.” he ignores your demand with a question.

“They could have drawn me better, but they’ll do.”

“It would appear no piece of art could capture your beauty so well. Looking at you up close and personal, those posters don’t do you any justice.” Zuko leans down, his mouth almost against yours, eyes droopy as he stares at your lips.

You swallow nervously. Being trapped beneath him had you feeling anxious, but somewhere deep down excited. The way he was looking at you right now was definitely not the way you’d be looking at some criminal. He was staring at you like he was about to kiss you.

You shakily exhale against his cheek, and he laughs lightly. Did you have asthma or something? Why were you breathing so heavily? You dare to look into his eyes, and it looks like a fire has been ignited in them. He moves his head so that his mouth is practically on your neck. You tense and shudder at the feeling of his hot breath against your bare skin.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers and his other hand moves to dangle his necklace in front of your face.

“Isn’t that what I just asked for?” you answer sarcastically. Being in close proximity to him was messing with your mind and body.

His robe is lazily draped around his body and his necklace dangles teasingly from his neck. Looking further down his body, you watch his broad chest heave as he teases you.

“It’s going to cost you.”

“You know I don’t have money.”

“It’s not money that I want.”

“What is it, then?”

Zuko smirks, and watching him has you feeling suspicious. Where was he going with this? Shouldn’t he be calling his guards in? You were wanted, and here he was sitting on top of you teasing you with your own knife?

“Kiss me.” he finally tells you. His voice contrasts his expression; he speaks softly, gently.

“Are you fucking crazy? No.”

“I’m the one with the knife.”

“That all you got? Use it then.” you scoff.

Zuko hesitates, considering your statement. “Wouldn’t it be so sad to get stabbed with your own knife?” he smiles sadistically, and before you know it, he’s no longer on top of you. Your eyes widen in surprise as he grabs your hand and pins it to the wall above his bed, your dagger coming down about to stab your hand to the wall.

You react quickly, dodging the stab and tackling him to the bed. Knocking the weapon from his hands, it falls to the floor louder than you thought it would. The heavy metal is obnoxiously loud in the silence of his room, and you both pause when you hear a guard from outside his room.

“Are you alright, your majesty?” it’s one of the guards.

You panic once again, leaning down and pressing your lips against his to shut him up. If Zuko yelled that you were in here, you’d be thrown in jail again. You could handle fighting Zuko, but you probably couldn’t handle it if all his guards came in to fight you.

He stills for a second against your lips, surprised you’re kissing him when just a few seconds ago he was aiming to stab your hand and pin it to the wall like a poster. But he knows you’re just doing it to shut him up, so he pulls away. Or at least, he tries to. But you’re pinning his hands above his head and holding his legs down with yours.

Zuko struggles against your lips, trying to ignore the fact that you’re a good kisser and it’s distracting him from trying to get away from you. He should be pulling away from you; not pushing into you. When he comes to his senses, he manages to break free and scream.

“She’s here! The thief is here!”

•••

When you awaken, you see that you’ve been placed in a dark and dirty wet jail cell. You look up to see Zuko, standing on the other side of the bars, his hands holding on to the cell door as he stares down at you. You notice a glint of metal peaking out from the pocket of his pants. The keys.

“You’re a good kisser, I’ll give you that.”

You ignore him. “What am I doing here?” Looking up at him makes you feel inferior, so you stand up, walking to where he is on the other side.

“Did you forget you’re a criminal? You’ve harassed two young girls by the river, assaulted four men at a bar, and stole from six houses in the area.” he lectures you. “You’re a menace to the town and you’re frightening my people. At first, I didn’t mind you stealing from me, but you’re going after innocent people now, and I will not stand by and let that happen,” he tells you, his voice high and authoritative.

You scoff, did this guy even bother to investigate? “I was telling those girls by the river to fuck off or jump in because they were bullying a girl their age earlier in an alleyway and I saw. I beat the shit out of those men at the bar because they were trying to drug someone’s drink and nobody saw but me. Those six houses I stole from were just their homes. I may be a thief, but I’m not some crazy criminal that goes after innocent people.”

He looks taken aback, his knuckles turning white from gripping the cell bars too tightly. He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Even so,” he starts. “You can’t take matters into your own hands. We have law enforcement for that. You should’ve reported it. Why did you get involved?”

“Your police officers are trash. That shit show of a place is my home neighborhood, and your uptight officers don’t want to bother policing around because it’s poor. No one else is going to do something, so I did.” you tell him. Not that Zuko needed to know much about your shitty and poor upbringing. He wouldn’t understand anyways; he grew up in a fucking palace.

“I’m working on that.”

“Not fast enough, clearly. If you’re not going to fix the problem of crime, then I will.”

“You can’t fight fire with fire.”

“Well I did and it worked. You wouldn’t know; you’re just a spoiled prince born into the royal family. You don’t know shit about struggle.”

It was like a slap to his face. “You don’t know me,” he snaps, his jaw tightening.

Looks like you've hit a nerve. If Zuko wasn’t pissed earlier, he was definitely pissed off now. You couldn’t understand him at all. First, he stares at you like he wants to fuck you, then he tries to drive a dagger through your hand, then he’s complimenting the way you kiss him, and now he’s looking at you like he’s going to keep you locked up forever.

This man was attracted to you.

And he had no idea how to deal with it.

A smile dances on your lips, feeling cocky and confident you’ve figured him out. He wants you, but he hates you. He hates what you’ve done, but he can’t help but be attracted to you.

“You want me,” you begin, your hand forcefully grabbing the collar of his shirt. You eye his chest; his mother’s necklace is gone. “And you hate it.” you figured maybe you could use the fact that he wanted you to get out of jail. Maybe, just maybe, if you seduced him successfully, he’ll let you go. It was either that or violence.

“What the hell are you doing?” he rasps. His eyes search for yours in the dark in a panic. He is unsure of what to do, unsure of how to react, unsure of what to say. “Why the hell would I want you? You’re a criminal,” he says in disgust. “A thief,” he continues.

“I just told you why I did those things. Can’t you let it go just this once?” you peer up at him, tilting your chin towards him. Your lips hover over his, and if it weren’t for the stupid metal bars between the two of you, you’d have hugged him. You hoped your shit way of seducing him was working at least a little.

Zuko’s eyes draw together in irritation. He was struggling to breathe, the close proximity throwing him off. It was dark, moody, and he could barely make out your face but even so, he was unable to tear his gaze from yours. He wasn’t sure if you were actually feeling him, and his gut told him you were just some filthy liar, but he couldn’t help but begin to feel bad for you. After hearing your explanation for your questionable actions, he was starting to feel that maybe you weren’t just some menacing thief the town made you out to be.

He ignores your question. “You can’t take my necklace this way,” he tells you, wondering if you were pulling this close to try and snatch it from his neck.

“I noticed you’re not wearing it,” you reply, wondering what more you might need to do to get him to slightly lean into you a bit more. “Please, Zuko.” you plead. “I have a younger brother to feed.” a total fucking lie.

His face leans closer to yours between the bars, and when you see in his eyes he’s let his guard down, you make your move. The keys are in one of your hands and the other punches him straight in his face, knocking him down. His body unconsciously slides down the bars as you quickly move to unlock the jail cell door. When you step out, your eye catches the shimmering glint of a stone on the ground. His mother’s necklace had fallen out of his other pocket.

“Fucking idiot.”

•••

She’s a filthy liar.

Zuko told himself that over and over like it was some sort of mantra. He thought that if he said it enough times, he’d eventually believe it. He had been absolutely humiliated by you. He was in utter shock that he let you seduce him, feel guilty for jailing you, feel bad for your supposed horrible life, and knock him out to escape jail.

While he had to begrudgingly admit that you outsmarted him, at least he got you to stop your crimes. It was almost as if you didn’t exist at all. You had disappeared from the Fire Nation completely, nowhere to be seen in nearby towns or cities. When he sent out a search party, they had come back to him with news of your where your home was.

“Burn it down,” he had told his men. “Burn it all down. That’ll get her to come out and give me my necklace back.”

“Are you sure? What about the people?” they were unsure.

“Stage it as an accident. And make sure there is nobody nearby. She took the most valuable thing from me, so I will simply do the same.” he could have totally gone after your brother, but he wasn’t a murderer.

God, Zuko was such a genius for that! You would for sure come marching back into his chambers demanding answers if he showed you that he meant business. And maybe you’d threaten him with a knife again.

God, Zuko was such an idiot for that.

He wondered if you were causing chaos in other places, but if you were, he would have been informed of it. He was unsure how you were living your life until he went back to his chambers that night.

Now that you had stolen his mother’s necklace, Zuko guessed you probably broke it up to sell it in pieces and were probably living quietly off of that money. But if that were true, then it was only a matter of time before you ran out of the money and were going to strike again. He debated if he wanted to send out a search party of his own to capture you, but he didn’t want his citizens to fear you again.

Instead, he merely sent out a search party to figure out your location. You were currently residing with a couple of farmers in the countryside, living quietly as you worked for them in the fields. He thought it was odd that you were working; after all, his mother’s necklace was worth thousands, so you could definitely live off of that for a while. It had only been half a year since he’s last seen you, so realistically maybe you did run out of money.

He wanted to know what you did with his mother’s necklace. Where you sold it, who you sold it to, and when. That was one of the few items he had left of his mother, so he had held onto it like a child holding onto their favorite stuffed toy. And you had ripped it out of his hands like an angry parent. Zuko wanted to keep the whole situation under wraps, so instead of visiting you in person, he figured he’d do it some other way.

•••

“Lin, you have a letter.” one of the farmers handed you an envelope. You had taken a job under a fake name for some random people in the countryside after stealing Zuko’s necklace and running away. After coming back to your house burned down, you had no other choice but to leave. Sitting on some hay bales in the sheds, you tear open the envelope.

I want my mother’s necklace back. Send back with messenger.

Zuko

You scoff. Was Zuko that much of a coward he couldn’t show up in person and demand things with his own voice? He really had to send a whole letter and waste paper? When you didn’t respond, another letter came two weeks later.

I know you didn’t sell it. If you did, you wouldn’t be working for these farmers.

Zuko

and I know you don’t have a younger brother.

So Zuko was watching you, or at least he was having someone do the watching for him. But he was right about you not selling his mother’s necklace. You had stolen it in hopes of making some money off it by selling it on the black market, but after inspecting it further you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

It was something small and insignificant, but you could tell it meant everything to him. There was an engraving on the back of the stone, possibly hand carved by his mother. For My Zuko. You didn’t know much about the royal family, but you did know Zuko very much cared for her. Inspecting the necklace in detail reminded you of your own mother who had disappeared when you were younger. You hadn’t seen her since she disappeared without a trace, as Zuko’s mother did. Although she had left you, prior to that she was loving and caring and did her best to raise you as a single mother.

You hated how his mother’s necklace made you think of your own. It opened a floodgate of emotions you didn’t have time to deal with. As weak as it made you, you didn’t have the heart to sell it. If anything, you were just going to give it back and move on with your life. But when Zuko sent word asking for it back, you knew what would happen if you did.

You’d give him back the necklace and in return, ask to be pardoned for your crimes. He’d probably oblige, and that would be the end of it. You would go back to being a petty thief and he would go back to ruling the Fire Nation. And the two of you would never interact again.

Something about the thought of Zuko no longer chasing after you had you hesitating to give the necklace back. Something about Zuko not being completely afraid of you had you hesitating. Something about Zuko being more intrigued than terrified of you had you hesitating.

You hated it. You hated how he tugged at your heart strings and had you stopping in your tracks and thinking of ways to get him to keep reaching out to you. To keep chasing you.

When you replied to his first two letters with silence, he sent another one a week later.

I apologize for the inconvenience I might have caused you by burning down your house. I didn’t realize that shed made of rotten wood was actually a home to you. Please accept the gold coins included to get you by.

Zuko

Shed? That shed?! Zuko was the one who burned your home down when you thought there was some sort of accident? If Zuko was trying to piss you off, it was working. Your blood was boiling and you felt your rage rising in your blood and all you wanted to do in the moment was hunt him down and punch him square in the nose for doing that to you. Although it wasn’t much, it gave you shelter and kept you dry and warm. You were grateful for it; besides, some people had it worse.

You continued to stay on the farm under a fake name, trying to get by as you planned your next move (you did not have another move) when you received another letter.

The gold coins were for you, not my messenger. Feel free to use them. There is no catch, in case that is what you are thinking. And you do not owe me anything in return except my mother’s necklace.

Zuko

“Got a lover?” the farmer asked as he watched you read the letter.

“No,” the word escaped your mouth too quickly than it should have.

“Friend?”

“Not really.”

“Family member?”

“Nope.”

“Then?”

You paused. You weren’t sure what Zuko was. A lover? Not quite. Besides being on top of him an odd number of times in a short period of time and kissing him, the two of you weren’t in love. Enemies? You did knock him out and he tried to stab a hole through your hand and he did threaten you with a knife and throw you in jail and burn down your house, but—

“Ah, I see it’s complicated,” he told you, his eyes on yours.

Over a couple of weeks, you began to receive more letters from Zuko. Each one grew more desperate than the previous.

It gets quiet here around the palace now that you are gone. It is far too peaceful and I am beginning to crave the chaos you previously brought to my life. I wouldn’t mind if you reintroduced that chaos again.

Forget the necklace for now. Write me back.

Zuko

•••

In case you did not receive my previous letter, I am writing a new one. Your wanted posters have been taken down from the city, and like I told you, they do not do you justice. Perhaps a visit from you and we can redo the posters. Not to hang up again, but only so that I do not begin to think you are a horrendous hag as they make you out to be. You are completely the opposite.

Zuko

•••

I apologize if my previous letter offended you. I do not have a way with words. I only meant to compliment your beauty. Unfortunately, I am unable to describe it with words, so I apologize for not being a poet. The only thing I can think of is how you make me feel when you are trying to kill me with that dagger of yours. My heart stops and my gaze can only follow your actions. It is dangerous. You are dangerous. But I like it. And I miss it.

Zuko

•••

I do not know how many letters I have sent you. Normally I write them during the day because writing them at night makes me feel unnecessary emotions related to my longing for you. Please respond to at least one. I am getting desperate. So desperate I woke up in the middle of the night to write this one. The moonlight is shining through the window as I write this, and the only thing I can think of is how the moonlight highlights your beauty and how your sharp gaze pierces through my soul every time I gaze into the warm universe that is your eyes.

Please forget about the necklace entirely. I do not need its return. I only need yours.

Zuko

•••

Zuko is a light sleeper. Any sort of noise, whether it is a footstep or a gust of wind, he can and will wake up. It’s a footstep. His eyes twitch open in annoyance. Why are they opening his window? He had specifically told the servants to stay out of his chambers when he goes to bed, so why are they opening his windows? It’s far too cold and he didn’t need any fresh air–

There are no servants.

Zuko’s body jerks to life, abruptly sitting up and rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. Across from his bed is his window being forced open, a loud gust of wind interrupting him. There is a figure at the window, barely crawling in. Struggling to make it through the entrance, he watches the practically lifeless body stumble through onto his floor before he steps out of bed in a panic.

It’s you.

You’re hunched over on the floor, hand gripping your stomach as blood seeps through your fingers.

“What–” he barely has time to talk as he’s rushing over to you, lifting you into his arms effortlessly as he brings you over to his bed and lies you down. Hurriedly, he shrugs off his robe and presses it down over your stomach. He’s shirtless now, basically naked, but that doesn’t matter. But he did see you look him up and down. “What are you doing here?” he presses down on your wound to apply pressure.

“I–I didn’t know where else to go.” you managed to let out through clenched teeth.

“Who did this to you?” Zuko demanded, his tone of voice high and authoritative.

“I’m fucking bleeding out and you’re asking me that?”

“Put pressure on this. I’ll call my doctor–stay here.”

After rushing out of his personal chambers to wake his doctor up in the middle of the night, he waited outside as they worked on you. It was a fresh stab wound. It wasn’t too deep and didn’t hit any vital organs, but you’d still be in pain when you woke up.

When you wake up, you instantly feel the pain from your stab wound. Your hand automatically moves to your stomach only to feel you’ve been wrapped up in bandages. Blinking, you sit up. A fire is going across the room, it is warm and cozy as opposed to the other nights you’ve spent in here. The other times you’ve been here have been cold and empty, but now it is the opposite.

“Tea?” Zuko suddenly speaks up from the other side of the room. He crosses the floor and hands you a mug. “It’s jasmine.”

Taking a sip, you feel the hot liquid soothe your dry throat. “It’s nice to wake up in a bed rather than a wet jail cell.”

“You wouldn’t have been in that jail cell had you not assaulted me,” he slightly jokes, sitting across from you on the edge of the bed.

He looks rugged, and tired, almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping. He gazes at you, his eyes softened as he watches your movements. He almost looks worried.

“So I suppose I’ll be going back to jail after you let me rest up a bit?”

He ignores your question, only choosing to tug his blanket further up your body in an attempt to warm you up. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t reply to any of them.”

“I didn’t know what to say.” A moment of silence fills the room, and you feel the need to fill it by continuing to speak. “I didn’t sell your mother’s necklace. I still have it.”

“You do?” his eyes light up, hopeful.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Why’s that?” he ponders as you reach into your pocket to hand the precious jewelry back to its rightful owner.

“Reminded me of my own mother.” you don’t elaborate further.

Zuko seems to sense this because he sets the matter aside with a small and quick nod, opting to watch you instead.

“Here,” you pull the necklace out from your pockets with a trembling hand and reach to hand it to him.

He notices your trembling hand, choosing to close his own hands around yours instead of taking the necklace. His hands feel like a warm embrace that engulf you in safety and warmth.

“Thank you,” he says as he sets the necklace down beside him. “But I’m more worried about you now.”

“After I stole from you and assaulted you?”

“It would seem I’m into women who can kill me.”

He looks up at you through his curled lashes, the soft locks of his hair caressing his face as he stares into your eyes, holding your gaze. “What happened to you?” he whispers gently, leaning closer to you.

It’s intimate, really. He’s in such close proximity it makes your heart beat with anxiety the closer he gets. You’d never noticed this before, but Zuko truly holds such a soft beauty to him it’s hard to look away.

“One of those guys at the bar I beat up. Found me walking on the street alone.” you explain.

“You shouldn’t be out on the streets alone at night.”

You scoff. “Please, you should’ve seen what I did to him.”

“He stabbed you.”

“I stabbed him back. And at least all my bones are nice and intact. His, however, are not.”

A crooked smile spreads across his face. “Impressive.”

There’s an awkward silence and suddenly your mind goes back to the letters that he sent you. Each one grew more desperate the more time that passed and the more you ignored him. You recall each one practically confessing his feelings for you.

Why though? How could Zuko even fall for you? After all you did to him: the stealing and thieving, the assaulting, everything. Yet he confessed through his letters, and you were sure he was about to confess again right now.

“Those letters,” you begin before he can even say anything. “Did you mean what you said in them?”

“Every word.” he confirms. “You don’t believe me?”

“After all I’ve done to you, it’s hard to.”

“You can consider yourself pardoned for your crimes. Happy?” he offers.

“That’s perfect, actually. I was going to dangle your mother’s necklace in front of you and demand to be pardoned.”

“It’s too bad you got stabbed before having the chance to do so.”

“Still hard to believe your feelings though, I’ll admit.” you tell him.

A pause. Then, “Why don’t I show you then?”

The question hangs in the air. The air that’s slowly been filling with the unspoken sexual tension building between you both since you woke up.

“Alright, prove it to me then.”

Zuko simply smiles in response before his lips are on yours. Despite what you thought, his kiss is gentle and you find yourself melting into it. You relax into his touch, into the fingers that find your hair to gently stroke the back of your head with such tender love and care.

You’re out of breath quickly as he pulls away, his lips meeting the hot skin of your neck. You lean back slowly, trying to be mindful of your fresh stab wound.

“Careful now,” he whispers against your neck and you shudder. “Lie down.”

He guides your body so that you are comfortably laying on your back and his lips are at your neck again, leaving hot kisses across your skin. His hands firmly stroke your thighs, squeezing assuredly as he continues sucking and kissing at your skin. You arch into him, wincing at the pain in your stomach before he pulls away.

“Didn’t think a couple of kisses would have you arching your back.”

“Shut up and go down on me.” you demand as you begin to wriggle out of your pants.

“A former criminal telling the Fire Lord what to do? My my, think of the gossip that would go around if word of this got out.” he teases, propping your legs up and setting his hands on your knees.

Zuko playfully spreads your legs open with his hands, stroking the exposed skin. He leans down, leaving a kiss on your thigh. His mouth continues on your skin, leaving kisses and bite marks and you feel yourself softly moaning from his kisses. Your hips slightly jerk up, and in response he gently holds you down with his hands.

Pulling away from your thighs, he runs an experimental lick into your slit, and you feel yourself tremble in arousal. He holds your thighs open as you tense around him, yanking his hair to pull him further into you. You feel him softly laugh in response before he opens his mouth. He slowly and teasingly drags his tongue up your pussy, eliciting a moan from your lips. You gasp when you feel him sucking on your clit, expertly working on it as he gently sucks on it.

You yank on his hair again, and you both moan at the sensation of pleasure running through your veins. You feel yourself heating up as your hips hump his face and his tongue drags up and down your pussy. You feel yourself throbbing, sweat beading at your forehead as he allows you to practically ride his face and pull on his hair.

Something about Zuko letting you have your way with him has you throbbing and tightening around nothing. You whimper breathlessly and you feel him smile in response. He pulls away only for a second to blow cold air against your throbbing pussy, and you feel yourself shudder at the sensitivity.

“Pull away again and I’ll give you a matching stab wound.” you threaten, yanking his hair again to drag him to where he belongs.

“You’re lucky I’m into this.” he chuckles as he gives into your demand, tongue going back to your clit.

You feel his fingers creep up to your slit, teasingly rubbing at your entrance before he slips a finger in. It slips in instantly, your slick wetness coating his finger as he moves it further into you. Your legs wrap around his neck and while he may or may not be able to breathe, you’re not worried about that. He’ll find a way. You enjoy his finger working you with his tongue in your clit, but you need more.

“More.” you demand.

“More of what?” he pulls away and stares at you from between your legs.

“Your fingers.”

“So greedy you are.” he complains, but obliges anyway.

You feel him insert two more fingers and you find yourself riding both his face and his fingers. You let out a moan of pleasure, your chest heaving as you ride closer to your high. You can feel Zuko squirming in his pants and you’re sure he might be uncomfortable, but in this moment you’re only worried about your own pleasure and it would seem he feels the same way.

“F-Fuck,” you stutter, your hands fisting his bed sheets.

“Careful, that’s silk.” he warns you against your pussy.

“Shut up and keep sucking.” you yank him back and he continues.

You continue to rock your hips up into his face as he fingers your slick pussy, fucking you harder and faster as your moans grow more desperate and your hips begin to clumsily rock against his face. He sucks at your clit and adds another finger and that’s when you feel yourself spill over the edge, shuttering and shaking against him as he helps you through your orgasm, fingers slowly helping you through it.

When you’ve come down from your high, he sits up, a visible boner against his robes. “Did you think we were done?” he smirks, wiping his face with the back of his hand and leaning in for another kiss.

•••

a/n: it’s my one year anniversary of writing on this blog! my next zuko story will not be him as fire lord i’ve written too many fics w him as fire lord, so i’ll switch it up in my next one <3

also nanami from jjk is next if anyone cares (ik i said i’d post levi after but he can wait lmao)

m.list

#zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #fem reader #atla fanfic #zuko x you #zuko x reader #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #zuko smut #zuko fic #atla fic #zuko fanfic #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #atla x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko fluff

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the-faceless-bride · 6 months ago

Text

No. Not again. Not you.

Yandere Cooper Howard/The Ghoul × Vaultie!R

Summary: The Ghoul of the wasteland had exepted the man he once was is dead. He isn't caring. Isn't loving. Isn't feeling. Friendship, companionship, partnership... love? Wasn't for him. Not anymore. But all that comes crashing down when he meets you... you brought something back from the dead.. though it isn't as 'good' as it used to be...

Warnings: yandere content, Cooper being controlling, Canon violence, death (not reader or Cooper), violence towards reader (by both strangers and a litte Cooper), flashbacks, and forced kissing.

You stumble around behind Cooper talking about the town you were about to come up apon, you were happy to babble away to him, and though he wouldn't always answer, he would always listen.

You liked traveling around, especially with Cooper; you were in a vault all your life, not by choice. But to be out of it was an amazing feeling, even if in the start Cooper didn't take your optimistic outlooks to kindly.

You remember how dumb he thought you were...

You'd just escaped your vault. And you were so confused...

You remember 'yesterday' you were baking a pie waiting for your husband to come home, when you heard a big bang, your husband rushed in took you. And you just passed out... you had always told him you didn't trust vault-tech or the people who were a part of it. But he didn't care, he was desperate.

When you woke up, the Vault was empty... quiet... bloodied... you stumbled around, trying to find something, someone... anyone... when you heard a whistle,

"Pphheeeww- looks like I've got a live one," a voice called out; turning around meeting the face of the goul... it shocked you at first your face contorting, but it wasn't so much fear as it was confusion... who is that? Had the war started? How long has it been? "If I were you I'd hope my pretty ass back into that ice block and let the world rot away,"

God, you remember him putting you through hell and back; no water or food, hot unforgiving sun, the fighting, crying, begging, and eventual acceptance.

"You think the people here will be friendly?" You babble as you reach for the canteen on his side; he let's you take it, moving his coat to the side for an easier reach. "Friendly?-" he laughs like you've told him the funniest joke he'd ever heard, "when is anyone out here friendly? What did it teach you? You need a reminder?" He smirks, turning to look at you, "Oh no thanks!" You yipp as you take a swig of water.

You and Cooper walk into the town, eyes all around you. Some curious, some cautious, other dangerous... most eyes not on you, but Cooper. The Ghoul. Most people would never know you were a Vault dweller, you'd exchanged the blue and yellow suit in for a teal top and brown loose pants and some boots, Cooper made sure to tell you that if you kept that look somebody would've tried to sell you. You got lucky to be with him.

You didn't want to run off, You'd learned your lesson before; but you were hungry, and you saw what looks to be a place for food and bar. But you didn't want to just run off, especially if it could be dangerous... you wouldn't want Cooper to get in a brawl again.

"What do you think Cooper?" You whisper to him, only for him to hear, you whisper his name.

You liked saying his name. You didn't say it often, but when you did, it always felt good; even if it was a little strange. You still remember the first time he'd told you his name.

You'd woken up to russeling sounds when you spotted the small group trying to steal your supplies. And you yelled "Ghoul!"

You yelled as loud as you could, and He woke up, the Group of four masked raiders all attacked. And you sat there like a complete idiot while he took on all four men while little to no effort.

And even if you hadn't actually fought, you'd felt like you were on the edge of a panic attack, what if something happens to him? You'd be alone. What would happen to you? Would you be killed? Sold? Forced to-

*BANG*

The last gunshot that rang out, the last body falling ti the floor before he walks over and kneels down to your stance where you sat on the ground. "I'm- I'm sorry Ghoul, I just- I saw them I panicked it was like I couldn't even move- I'm sorry Ghoul, I just-" -- "Cooper." -- "what?" -- "My name. It's Cooper."

"Cooper." You smiled.

He didn't smile back, but you could see his eyes change. He didn't look so angry when he looked at you.

He nodded his head and handing a handfull of caps to you, a silent 'okay' for you to break away from him. At least for a little while.

You'd sat in a stool up at the bar eating the first hot meal in God knows how long, and sipping on a sweet drink that was a bit too strong for you, "what's a cutie like you doing here alone?" You heard a man call to you. He wasn't much, scruffy, scrawny, but had very pretty eyes.

"I'm not alone,'you say confidently with a sweet smile, one you're sure he's never seen before.

He takes the stool next to you and tries to have a conversation with you. But quickly gets irritated when you don't play along. And that's when he became ugly...

Yelling, cursing, name calling, everything under the sun wa seeing tossed at you because you told this strange man, "No." You hadn't taken his as anything serious, all bark no bite. Throwing a hissy fit because you wouldn't let him fuck you for a few caps.

And it wasn't until you felt a sting on your left cheek and your head snapped to the side when you realized. He had struck you. Before he grabbed you, pulling you to him, kissing and grabbing at you. The other bar goers had found this... funny. At least until a loud bang was heard and the mans brains splattered all over your face and bar.

"Now who the hell do you think you are to mess with another man's woman?"

"Cooper?"

A rope found its way tosses around you as Cooper shoved you down and into a corner, "don't fucking move."

You were on the road again, Cooper muttering curses under his breath. Still at the man who'd dared lay a hand on your sweet skin, damning him and all his friends who laughed.

No matter how hard you tried you haven't been able to get to him. He just mutters over and over. He could've lost you.

That man would've done much work that just kiss and grab you had he not been there.

Much worse. You would've been killed by the end of it.

"I won't lose you. I won't. Not again."

"Cooper." You tried to move around him to get infront of him, but a harsh grasp hand you in place. "Ouch! Cooper that hurt."

"Where do you think you're going?" -- "No where! I'm just worried about you!"

"I won't lose you. Not again."

"Wha-"

You didn't have time to talk, Cooper kissed you.

"Humph!" Your shock is muffled. You try to pull away.

He doesn't let go...

#yandere monster #yandere #yandere monster x reader #yandere character #fallout x reader #fallout ghoul #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #monster fucker #monster x reader #faceless bride's tag! 🪦🦋#sorry its kinda rushed at the end. tumblr fucked me over and i was angerly finished it

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rotworld · 17 days ago

Text

28: Cold-Blooded

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you've known for years that your best friend nor comes from the most dangerous and prominent dragon crime family in town. you've never worried about it too much, but you probably should have.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, manipulation, murder, feral behavior, possessive behavior.

Red flag number one: Nor shows up at your door two hours before the party. There’s a pair of plastic drycleaning bags slung over his shoulder and he’s dragging a suitcase behind him. You don’t want to let him in but he does that thing you knew he’d do with his big, pretty tourmaline eyes and the saddest, most pathetic pout like a kitten begging to be rescued from a storm drain, and you cave. He waltzes right in like he owns the place and makes a beeline for your bedroom.

“This should be everything,” he says, laying the drycleaning bags out on your bed before he kneels to get the suitcase open. “Yours is on the left. Go ahead and start putting it on, I’ll help you with the ties in a second.”

“You’re kidding.” You very pointedly don’t get a response. “You said this was a normal party.”

“It is normal,” he insists. “For me.”

The zipper shrieks apart and he spreads the suitcase open across the floor. There’s an antique wooden box inside that smells faintly of floral perfume, the surface carved with intricate looping symbols that wouldn’t look out of place along the borders of a medieval tapestry. The hinges creak when Nor opens it. Small decorative jars of colorful glass and gold filigree sit in red velvet. There are brushes clasped by leather straps to the inside of the lid, ranging from broad, puffball bristles to very fine points.

“What does that mean?”

Nor looks up with a pleading expression. “I’ll handle everything, okay? That’s why I brought all this stuff. And I’ll be next to you the whole time, I swear, I don’t even want to go to this stupid thing but my dad won’t get off my ass about it. We’ll just hang out in the corner, eat some food, and slip out when nobody’s paying attention.”

“This is a family thing?” He nods pitifully. How can a dragon, in human skin or otherwise, look so much like a scolded puppy? “Don’t just spring this stuff on me. I would’ve gone if you told me from the start, you don’t have to lie.” It wouldn’t be the first formal event you’ve saved him from and it probably won’t be the last. So why is he being so cagey about it? You pick up the drycleaning bag set aside for you and frown. “Nor,” you say slowly. “What is this?”

He grins, showing off a mouthful of daggers. “It’s your outfit,” he says, knowing damn well that’s not what you meant.

Red flag number two:the “clothes” are a tangle of sashes and scarves that will show far more than they cover. You peel off the plastic and run the material over your fingers. It’s nice for sure, really nice. Each sash is made of sleek black fabric that’s velvety smooth but lightweight and flowing, decorated with embroidery in intricate geometric patterns. The stitching is luminescent and changes color when you look at it from different angles, shimmering in a prismatic cycle from red to blue as you slide it across your palm.

“What kind of party is this, exactly?” you ask.

“Dinner party with lots of standing around pretending to be important. You know, the usual.”

This certainly doesn’t look usual to you but you lose your train of thought when Nor suddenly undresses without warning or shame. He exhales slowly, pushing stark white hair out of his face and flexing the muscles in his back.

A line of jagged bone like a miniature mountain ridge juts from his spine, bloodlessly piercing a thin membrane of pseudo-skin. You can see his wings trying to form, an unsettling squirming in the flesh of his shoulders, but he keeps them tucked away for now. His tail snakes out at the very bottom, a lithe rope of solid muscle with stiff thorny protrusions along the top. What used to be a pair of little rounded nubs have grown into snaking upturned horns, brown and rough like tree bark. Skin hardens in glinting patches along his back and down his sides. Nor’s scales are gold and nacreous silver. Seeing him shifted, whether half or whole, always steals your breath.

“I don’t love this either,” he says, his tail flicking irritably. “But it is what it is.” You’re surprised that there’s an identical outfit in the other bag. He puts it on with practiced ease, knowing exactly how and where to loop and tuck and tie each sash. The result is an elegant, form-fitting garment criss-crosses his body that accentuates rather than conceals. His chest is framed with black stripes over and under it, the scales of his hips on display in the gaps left at his sides. Long panels dangle in front of and behind his legs. There’s a strategically spaced gap left for his tail.

Looking him over, you realize it’s not quite the same outfit. His is plain. The sashes are undecorated, lacking any pattern or embroidery.

“Did you mix these up?” you ask him.

He looks at you, head tilted and pupils narrowed into long slits. “No?” he says, sounding confused. “This one’s for family and that one’s for a, uh…guest. We really need to get started on yours, by the way. We’ve got like a thousand pieces of jewelry to put on each and then I have to do the ceremonial markings.” He gestures at the bottles and brushes. You haven’t even done anything and you’re already feeling overwhelmed.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to embarrass you. Shouldn’t you bring someone, uh…I dunno, prettier?”

“Don’t ever say that again.” Your heart leaps into your throat when Nor lunges at you. You stumble back, pinned to the edge of your bed when he plants his hands down on either side of you. His eyes are wide and he’s baring his teeth, practically snarling at you. “What does that even mean, ‘embarrass me?’ You’re perfect. If I wanted someone else, I would’ve asked someone else. I want you—” You’re both startled by the sound of his claws ripping through your sheets and mattress. He backs off immediately, tail drooping and claws clutched against his chest like he doesn’t trust them. “I want you to come,” he says sheepishly. “There’s lots of people I could ask, but you’re…special. You always have been.”

It makes you roll your eyes when he says stuff like that. It’s not that Nor is never sincere, but his reputation as a heartbreaker is legendary. He was a menace in high school and you’ve heard through the grapevine that he hasn’t changed much since, still a pretty face with a silver tongue and habit of never calling back. The two of you were a romcom waiting to happen—a rich boy who never heard the word “no” in his life and the only kid who wouldn’t kiss his ass, but things never went that way. You were the only constant in a rotating roster of fairweather friends who liked his family’s money and lovers he couldn’t be bothered to keep, the only one he’s ever asked to keep him company at these stiff family get-togethers.

You hold up the sash again, grimacing. “How do you know this’ll even fit me?”

“Magic,” Nor says, waving his hand dismissively. “Now come on, hurry up and try it on.” His tail swats your leg when you don’t move fast enough.

It’s not like there’s nothing there. There always has been. Simmering just under the surface, there’s this tension you’re both afraid to acknowledge out loud. Nor insists that you get changed in front of him and watches just a bit too intently when you undress. He stands behind you when he ties the sashes in place, his chest pressed against your back and his breath blowing softly against your ear. He stretches the fabric from your waist to your shoulder and runs his hand over it, smoothing his palm over your skin. You offer to hand him the next one but instead he bends over you, forcing you to bend with him, and reaches for it himself.

You can feel him against your back. His pectorals, the firm, lithe muscle of his abdomen, his cock nestled between your thighs with only the fabric of the sash keeping it from twitching against your skin. He’s cool to the touch but he gets warmer the longer he’s pressed against you, absorbing your body heat. “Nor?” you say, your voice quivering with—nerves? Anticipation? Do you want him to stop or do you wish he’d keep going?

“Yeah?” he says, low and husky. He tilts you back upright and keeps working like nothing happened, stretching the next sash across your body. You shiver when he secures a tie at your neck, the tips of his claws softly grazing your throat. “What? Did you want to ask me something?” The tip of his tail coils loosely around your ankle.

“Do I get a coat, at least? I’m freezing.”

He snorts. “Don’t you remember what these are like? It’s a dragon party. You can bring one, but you won’t need it when we get there.”

Nor’s touch still lingers and sometimes grazes somewhere sensitive, but there’s some distance that wasn’t there before. He talks while he gets you ready, reminiscing on all the trouble you used to get up to together at these parties—more accurately, all the trouble he’d get into and you’d witness. Tearing holes in the tablecloths and knocking over very expensive floral arrangements with his tail, sneaking off to the kitchens and begging the chef to make you both an early dessert. She always did. You’re not the only one that sad, soggy cat look works on.

The ceremonial markings take almost an hour all by themselves but Nor is surprisingly focused and patient when he wants to be. The symbols he draws are small and complicated. You can’t see what he puts on your forehead or neck but the small shapes he draws on your arms and legs are repeating, interlocking shapes, something like broad, flattened diamonds. Scales, you realize. They’re a scale pattern—Nor’s scale pattern.

The brush tickles when it grazes your stomach. Nor teases you for squirming but he behaves for the most part. You try not to think about why that disappoints you so much. Tucked into a zipper compartment on the other side of the suitcase is a small fortune in gold chains, bangles, rings and necklaces. You don’t want any but Nor insists. “Going to be a little awkward to drive in all this,” you say.

“No worries,” he says. “Dad sent his driver.”

You’re in the backseat of red flag number three for a drive that is both excruciatingly long and far too brief. The driver is wearing a suit and tie. He calls Nor “sir” and opens the door for you, then doesn’t say another word. It’s late and everything is shadow beyond the headlights and the faint glow of the moon on a winding country road. Nor wants to make conversation but you’re too unnerved to offer more than one-word answers and sounds of acknowledgement. “It’s like a business thing, but also just a fun thing,” he says, trying and failing to put your mind at ease. “A bunch of family friends come over and everyone catches up. We’re nosy. It’s a cultural thing. You’re supposed to announce anything new you’ve got going on, like if you’re going on a trip or getting mated.”

“Do you have anything to announce?” you ask.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb tracing the dried scale patterns he drew on your skin. He doesn’t answer.

Nor’s father lives atop a hill at the edge of town. To call it a house or even a mansion is like calling the ocean “a bit of water.” The sprawling estate has a forest for a yard, complete with a tranquil lake where Nor used to swim as a boy, the water glittering on his scales like morning dew. The home itself is best described as a castle, a three-story complex of gray stone spires. The car pulls into a circle drive with a fountain in the center. Soft orange candle light flickers behind the curtains, not on the first or third floor but exclusively on the second.

To your horror, Nor’s father is standing outside. He watches the car pull up with a scowl on his face, waiting beneath the arched entryway. He’s dressed like you and Nor but his sashes are far more numerous and extravagant, draped like a robe over his frighteningly tall figure.

“Am I supposed to be here?” you whisper. “Why is he glaring at me?” You shrink back when the driver opens the door but Nor puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes gently.

“Yes, you’re supposed to be here. And he’s not glaring at you, he’s glaring at me,” Nor says. He follows you out and grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. “It’s fine,” he insists gently. “Don’t worry, okay? Just trust me. I’m going to take care of everything.”

You want to ask him what the hell that’s supposed to mean but you never get the chance because his father walks over. Druezaghrath never makes himself more than half-human. He looms over both of you, amber eyes flicking back and forth in black sclera. His scales are gold and his horns are much larger than Nor’s, but they arch straight back instead of curling up like his son’s.

“You’re nearly late, Norlathellios,” he rumbles.

Nor cranes his neck and looks his father in the eye without flinching. “Can’t be late to my own fucking announcement,” he says. “What’re you gonna do? Start without me?”

Druezaghrath narrows his eyes and smoke trickles from his nostrils. His tail thrashes, striking the concrete behind him hard enough to shatter it. His gaze flicks to you when you flinch at the sound and you avert your eyes. “Save your defiance. You have a challenger.”

“Fine.” Nor squeezes your hand. You don’t want to follow him when he starts moving. You dig your heels in. Something is wrong here, about all of this. Nor looks back at you with that sad expression but it doesn’t work this time. “Come on,” he says, tugging your hand a little harder. “I told you, it’s fine.”

“Go inside,” Druezaghrath says. “We’ll join you shortly.”

Your stomach lurches in panic. This is so much worse. Nor doesn’t want to go but he glances up at the cold stone and flickering windows with a solemn expression. “They’re already scared,” he says. “Go easy.”

“Nor?” you say, your voice pitched in terror. He lets go of your hand. You try to reach for him but Druezaghrath’s large, coarse claws close around your forearm and drag you to a stop. “Nor, wait!”

He does, but only for a second. He looks back and his smile is bittersweet. “Sorry about all this. You’ll get it, when it’s over. It’ll make sense. And maybe you’ll…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His gaze flicks up to his father looming over you and he takes a deep breath. Then he turns on his heel, sashes fluttering, and disappears through the front doors. You try to follow him and don’t make it even one step, Druezaghrath’s grip on your arm tightening to painful, bruising pressure.

“I need you to understand something,” he says. He turns you around and you see his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark. “If you run, I’ll catch you. You won’t get anywhere close to the property line. You don’t want to waste my time like that, and you need to save your strength. Nor has been looking forward to this.” His grip shifts down and he holds up your wrist, examining the ceremonial markings. “I really should’ve seen this coming,” he muses. “He was always so particular about you.” Your trembling makes him exhale sharply in amusement. “He didn’t tell you a single thing about what’s happening tonight, did he? That boy…”

A whimper slips out when he starts moving and pulls you with him, far stronger than Nor and completely unconcerned with how much you fight and struggle. He drags you through a foyer so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face, then up a carpeted flight of stairs.

“My son has requested an audience to witness his mating announcement,” he explains, ignoring your pleas and protests and begging. “Some say he’s too young. I was well into my second century before I considered such a thing. There are concerns that a mate at this age might affect his decision making and negatively impact the family business. He must prove two things tonight: that he is capable, and that you are compatible. It sounds like the first test is already underway.”

You don’t know what he means until you hear something in the distance, too muffled at first to make out. Something falling? Something hitting something? Candles flicker in wall sconces, lighting a long hall to a pair of wooden doors cracked ajar. You hear a low, rumbling growl like the grinding of stone and then a much shriller animal sound of distress that makes your blood run cold. Something crunches and splatters. Something hisses and wheezes, flailing against the hard stone floor.

Druezaghrath approaches the doors first. He nudges them open, peering inside. You don’t want to look. Now everything you hear is wet—the slick sound of sharpness parting flesh, liquid spilling, soft things squeezed and crushed until they burst. “Is he…okay?” you whisper. Druezaghrath looks at you like you grew a second head. You don’t know why you’re asking, either. You don’t want to be here. You’re scared out of your mind. But the idea of him getting hurt, of those awful noises coming from him, makes the horror unbearable. “Nor, is he—he’s fighting someone, isn’t he? Is he hurt?”

Nor’s father tilts his head, looking at you as though spotting something he finds interesting, maybe even appealing, for the first time. His grip on your arm loosens, his thumb rubbing gently at the bruises he left behind. “Your mate is strong,” he says with quiet pride. “I hope to see you match that strength.” He pushes both doors open and throws you forward.

You might’ve caught yourself if the floor wasn’t wet. You land badly on your hip and shoulder and everything stings for a moment, the room out of focus. It’s red. You know that much. And it’s no mystery what all the red is because the acrid, metallic stench of it fills your nose. A circle of candles, mostly melted into puddles of wax, delineates what must have been the dueling grounds because the blood only rarely trespasses that boundary.There are people here—dragons, a crowd of them, gathered at a distance. They stand beyond the reach of the light so all you can make out are towering silhouettes and glinting eyes.

No one speaks. Maybe this kind of announcement needs no words. Maybe Nor’s face says it all. You see him in the center of the carnage, skin and robes drenched in clinging gore and viscera. A body twitches on the ground at his feet, more than half-dragon and covered in scales. It’s disemboweled, an unraveled loop of entrails cooling beside a horrific gaping wound in its belly. It was clawed open. You can see everything inside from the curled bars of a ribcage to colorful organs. Nor holds a severed wing in his fist, clutching shattered, jagged bone and scrunched cartilage oozing blood between his fingers. The other wing lies on the floor, shredded and limp like a torn sail.

The sound of you slipping and falling attracts his attention. His pupils are blown wide and for a moment, you wonder if he even sees you. If he’s so lost in bloodlust that he’ll attack you next. You flinch when he drops the wing. It lands with a heavy, squelching thud, tattered membranes leaking fresh puddles of blood. He kneels, gathering you in his arms with his staggering inhuman strength, lifting you up and standing in the same fluid motion.

“This is my mate,” he tells the others. The cold sharpness of his voice makes him sound like his father. He pauses a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for dissent, maybe. For someone else to tell him he’s too young to have what he wants. No one does. He lets out a breath that rumbles like a growl, exhaling smoke. “Then it’s settled,” he says quietly. He starts moving. Not towards the crowd or the door, but to the center of the circle of candles. To the corpse of whoever he just killed. You call his name but he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t care. He’s already come this far and nothing’s going to stop him now. Certainly not you.

Nor sets you down gently. The gesture is ruined by the disgusting sounds of the organs puddled under you. You’re sitting in it. There’s blood and muscle and jutting bone and vein-streaked offal everywhere. It smears over your ceremonial markings and stains your sashes, turning the embroidery bright red. Nor kneels in the same mess. He reaches out and cups your face with his filthy, gore-covered hands. He kisses your forehead with bloodstained lips, then your cheeks, and then just briefly, chastely, on the mouth.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

You struggle when he climbs on top of you. You don’t care how it looks or what it might mean to the people watching, if it ruins the whole announcement. You don’t want this. But Druezaghrath was right—his son is strong. You had no idea because he’s never used that strength against you before. He doesn’t care that you flail and kick at him. He flips you over and pins you down with one hand, forcing you flat against the sticky floor. His claws shred your sashes with such perfect precision that he never scratches your skin.

You get loose when he tries to line himself up with your entrance. You don’t get far before he’s on you again, dragging you back into position with labored breaths. It suddenly hits you that he just killed someone—just fought someone to the death in the time it took his father to walk you up the stairs—and he’s still faster than you. Still able to force you back down and nudge your legs apart. You hear him moan quietly and the slick sounds of his fist working his cock before the tip starts prodding at you. You whimper and he shushes you.

“I know, baby. I’ll try to make it quick,” he murmurs. He lays himself over your back and you’re completely trapped. Was he always this much heavier than you? Or did he always hold back when you play-wrestled as kids? He moves his hips slowly at first, testing the waters. He pays attention to the noises you make. He doesn’t stop, no matter how much you sob, but he listens intently to how your breathing hitches as his thick tip spreads you open. He’s gentle. He’s going so, so slowly. It’s almost worse than if he were rough. There’s no pretending this is something else. It’s him, it’s Nor, as sweet as he’s always been to you. This unspoken thing lurking between you is suddenly dragged up into the light and it hurts to look at.

You’ve always wanted him but not like this.

Nor thrusts his hips and more of his length sinks into your body. He’s big. The stretch stings but he’s got a hand tucked under you and slipping between your thighs, fingers carefully working your sex. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against your ear, kissing and licking the lobe. “I know you’re scared, but it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Just feel this.” Every shock of pleasure makes your head spin. You don’t want to enjoy this, but Nor learns your body in a matter of minutes. He searches for the places that make whimper in a different way and then he teases them mercilessly.

One hand stays between your legs, dexterous fingers stroking with just the right amount of pleasure to make your hips buck against him. The other wanders, lingering anywhere sensitive. He never stops fucking you. He’s pumping his hips now, sinking deeper and thrusting harder. Your hands slip on the floor in search of something to hold onto, something to anchor you. All you find is the dead dragon and everything that should be inside it piled outside, making a sound of mindless distress when you grab onto something that’s still pulsating. None of Nor’s sweet nothings soothe you but he doesn’t stop trying. His voice is a constant heated murmur, only interrupted when he pauses to kiss and suck at your neck.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So, so good. I want you to cum for me. Can you do that?”

You can’t. You don’t want to. Not here, not in front of all these people—is Druezaghrath here? Watching this? You feel sick. You can’t. But Nor doesn’t let up. He mouths at your pulse, strokes you harder, fucks you faster. You’re moving and you didn’t even realize it, didn’t mean for your body to move against his fingers and back into his thrusts. He pushes your legs even further apart and then he really starts rutting. The sound of flesh slapping flesh, your hips meeting, his balls slapping your ass as he hilts himself inside you over and over again, fills your ears.

“Cum for me,” he begs you. “Baby, please. Cum on my cock. Doesn’t it feel good? I’ve been practicing for this—for you. It’s okay to like this. Just let go.”

Practicing, he said. Is that what all of that was before? All those furious ex-partners, all those sobbing confessions, all those angry late night calls and texts that made him turn his phone off and go back to pretending he was cuddled up against you in a totally platonic way? Just practice for the person he really wanted?

“I love you,” he murmurs. You hate that it makes you tighten around him. “You like it when I say that? I’ll say it as many times as you want for the rest of our lives. I love you, baby. Fuck, I love you so much…” He keeps saying it, keeps whispering his devotion until the sounds mean nothing. Eventually, it happens. You don’t want it to but he nips at your neck and grinds his cock deep inside you, and you scream. It’s the worst and best orgasm of your life. Nor drags it out as long as he can, fucking you through your shuddering gasps and whimpers until you’re limp underneath him. He pulls out but your relief is short-lived.

He turns you over onto your back. You barely recognize him. His eyes are different. Wilder. Glazed in pleasure. The blood has dried to his skin, dark red smears on his chin, his chest, his arms. His gaze rakes your body and then he’s reaching for you again, lining his cock up with your aching entrance again.

“Almost done, baby,” he rasps. “Just a little more. Just gotta make me cum and it’s over. Don’t think, okay? Don’t think about anything. Just feel me. Feel this.” You can’t. You try to tell him that but your voice is hoarse and weak. You let out a strangled whine when he pushes into you again. He tells you he loves you again. He apologizes again. He kisses you with ferocious hunger and your legs wrap around his waist. He moans against your mouth, a hand stroking your thigh.

You cum before he does, back arching, arms wrapped around him. Nor keeps saying just a little more, just a little more, praise and promises. Eventually, you take his advice without even meaning to and stop thinking about anything at all.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original #super late one and im about to pass out so sorry in advance if typos i'll give this one a look first thing in the morning #i'll try to give all of these another pass at the end of the month lol

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dimepdf · 2 years ago

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★ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒. + 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. when it comes to your sticky fingers, Joel is pretty tired of being the one to clean up all your messes, so he decides that he finally deserves an award.

─── ☆ author note. pedro pascal brainrot go brrrrr ,, there was no song inspo for this one i literally just wrote the smut first and went "shit maybe i should give it some plot?" so here's that . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ word count. 2.3k (18 min read) .

Here you were being a bother again, at least that's what Tessa referred to you as every time you would shoulder your way into Joel’s flat with new battle wounds littered the bruising purple and green colors against your brown skin.

Despite looking as if you had your ass handed to you multiple times on a platter you had a thing for walking around and bragging as if your ribs hadn't felt like they were cracked and you weren't struggling to stand on your own two feet.

Joel had known you long enough to understand that you just had a knack for throwing yourself full force into trouble, getting into fights, stealing supplies, and after you would come to his flat parading around and striding through his front door without a simple knock.

spending most of his afternoons with you as his company trying not to roll his eyes out of his sockets as you would just have the tendency to go on and on about your next troubling schemes.

That said plan was currently in the middle of unfolding before you, the exchange was supposed to be simple and smooth. It was what you had promised Joel at least the night before you couldn't keep your mouth shut and gave him the entire run down.

You had mainly blamed your job of stocking for the reason you had such sticky fingers, commonly your name would be the one whispered when secret trades were brought up.

You knew it was risky business, Joel knew it as well betting that you were practically begging to have a bounty on your head anytime soon but it was the effects of the harsh society that you lived in.

you were a bit more angsty than you'd liked to admit, which was why a lot of your deals would fall flat out with you throwing a few punches out of patience with the situation.

In your defense, the guard standing in front of you thought he could blackmail you into giving more than what he had first agreed, in simple terms you saw the way that he looked at you as practically undressing you with his eyes.

The constant uncomfortable wave of compliments after every sentence he spoke had been the nail to the coffin, your fist already clenching making it quite clear that you would rather drop dead than even think about doing anything sexual just to trade off a pack of cigarettes.

Your hands were trained to be quick, reaching for the small knife tucked in the back of your belt loop ready to draw it across the man's throat if you needed to.

the flinching in your reaction had just seemed to tense the deal, the guard finding your rejection stubborn and as if taking a hit on his ego wasn't enough the point of the barrel of his gun aimed square at your chest was enough to have you stop for just a split second to think before your body could move impulse.

Before he could even think about his finger reaching for the trigger you barreled towards him, smashing your entire body weight against him sending you both crashing to the ground in a struggle for the gun.

He had pressed your chest first into the ground, under the sole of his boot digging into your lower spine.

All the air kicked from your lungs all you could do was curl up into yourself in hopes that the leather would cause any broken bones from the way he was stomping down on you.

It was the first time you had been hit with an assault rifle, much to your surprise, and quite honestly, you wanted it to be your last from how harsh the pain had managed to spread from your busted eye, traveling as a pulsing pain throughout your entire face.

You were defeated, there was no doubt about it. The guard’s kicks now just became overkill as he took all his pent-up anger out through his attacks. All you could do was shield yourself until your knight and shining armor arrived. At first, when Joel stumbled upon the exchange, he hadn’t realized that it was you all tucked away, being beaten half to death.

You could blame him, it was an easy sight to come across in the back alleys of the district with how corrupt their shit system was.

You also had not recognized him until he was just about to walk away, excusing himself not wanting to get caught up in some stranger's mess, that was until you had called out his name from under the guard shoe and everything seemed to click.

You were convinced you had a concussion or at least some type of head injury that would explain the sudden blink where before you could realize it the guard had been beaten unconscious spread out on the ground (or at least he looked to be) while you were being hoisted up against Joel’s shoulder for leverage as he helped you stumble back to his place to clean up your pride as well as your new wound.

The first thing Joel had spoken to you after almost a few long minutes of sitting in silence as he held a disapproving expression while dressing all of your wounds. "You and that bad habit of yours is gonna get yourself killed one day." The tone in his gruff voice held so much malice that you winced at the mention of death.

"Oh, please, that guy should be lucky that I hadn’t cut his fucking fingers off. He only got the upper hand because of that damn gun." You bit back with less sass, sliding off of the counter you were propped on.

Joel only rolls his eyes, standing with his arms crossed, you could tell he was frustrated by the way his eyebrow ticked up as he gazed down at you, not budging from his spot standing right in front of you as he caged you against the counter. "You're doing a lot of shittalk for someone that got their ass handed to them."

"Well, maybe I'm into that sort of thing, big guy?" You pressed your hand against the middle of his torso, pushing him back enough for you to wiggle away, feeling his eyes trailing after every step all the way to the open door of his fridge.

Squatting down to your knees and glaring at the half empty bottom shelf, a small exhale parted his lips as the annoyance settled in from your unserious attitude.

Joel knew that he couldn't convince you much with that steel stubborn skull of yours. "You have some business scolding me with all the shit that you get into—"

He had enough decorum to allow you to shut the fridge door before pressing your chest firmly against the front of the fridge and pressing his chest into your back, cramming you against the front of the fridge with the wish of his breath against the nape of your neck.

"And you talk a lot," he threatens in a low hum, goosebumps forming under the grace of his fingers as they sneak under the hem of your shirt, hands finding his favorite place to fondle you.

As he cups your breast in his palms, raking his cold fingertips over them, enticing your nipples to bud under their rough touch.

“Wait, Tess could come back—”

"Well, aren’t you into that sort of thing?" Joel grunts in reply, whimpering under his touch.

Joel's rough calloused hands slide down your pudgy torso, dragging his fingertips lower to undo the buckle of your belt, unzipping your jeans all in two yanks to slide his hand under the elastic of your underwear.

Your breath hitched at the drag of his fingers groping you, paired with the other fondling your breast over your bra. "Maybe I should give you something to finally shut you the fuck up."

You had almost purred under his touch, melting against his caressing hands as Joel made his erection a statement by pressing himself against the back of your thigh. The outline of his situation makes your thighs press together as you press back, saying farewell to the rest of the dignity you had left. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Don’t make me spell it out for you, hon." Feeling the brush of his breath against your skin, his voice gentle as his hands roamed your body as if he owned it, against the tip of your ears, shivering at the wet kisses that found themselves placed against the exposed peak of your neck.

"This doesn't seem like much of a punishment to me." You sucked in a breath at his fingers finding themselves between your legs, toying with you as all they did was rub mindlessly against your front teasingly, just inches away from where you needed them to be the most.

"I’d like to think I’m a fair man," Joel hums as he dips his hand deeper into your pants, fingers pushing into your pussy, biting your lip as you flinch at the feeling that the rough drag of his dry fingers adjusted on the tips of your toes before he could comfortably settle with a wet layer of your arousal wrapping around his digits. "I get a reward for saving your stubborn ass, and you get a punishment for wasting my fucking time."

Pressing your cheek flat against the cool metal of the fridge while arching farther into his hold, the slick sound of them positioning in and out was starting to make your blood run hot as Joel’s fingers started to move at an earnest pace. "Ngh—fine by me, honestly; maybe I should act out more often."

Joel scoffs, feeling the briskness of his smirk pressed against your hot skin; his mouth drags over the shell of your ear, practically counting the hum of his heartbeat as his chest presses against your back. "Oh yeah?" Just as quickly as the pleasure started, it stopped, Joel’s hands yanking away, leaving you feeling discombobulated as you whined out, leaning farther back and chasing after his touch.

"Ah, since you're having so much fun and I’ve been so patient," Joel pulled away with a small noise of rejection, instead using his hand to spin you facing forward, pressing your back against the fridge as the other made quick work undoing the front of his pants, the noise from his zipper making you swallow. "You're gonna get on your fucking knees for me, and give me my reward now."

Your eyes met the dark, lustful look in Joel’s eyes as he shuffled backward until he bumped into the table, making do with his pants enough to pull his dick from his briefs all while holding sly eye contact.

Joel knows that you find him breathtaking; he plays into the feeling you would get between your thighs, never wanting to keep your hands to yourself when he was around.

He also knew every little thing that would make you tick, all the ways to drive you up the wall, and just how to get you aching between your thighs. You didn't have to be told twice, shame being the last thing on your mind as you huffed, shuffled your steps forward, and fell down to your knees in front of the older man.

Hissing at the small crescent dig of his nails cupping your face forward, he tried not to fidget as if his other hand wasn't losing wrap around the base of his dick, touching himself at the sight of you down there. "Open."

Obeying this command, your mouth is coaxed open by the flat front of his thumb dragged along your bottom lip. Your tongue follows quickly after, along with your teeth, as you lean forward enough to give a playful chomp at the finger before soothing the attack with the wet swirl of your tongue. It only entices Joel further, pulling the same hand away and instead replacing it with another thing you could suck on.

Farther down from the tip all the way to the base, you pull your lips over your teeth with the struggle of your throat reminding you of your gag reflex, your brow creasing, and hands planting on top of his thighs to ground you and steady breathing through your nose.

A satisfied exhale rolls from Joel's throat, his hands buried in a tight grasp at your curls, watching himself disappear between your full, smooth lips. "You're fucking perfect." Joel hushedly praises, "If only you could see how fucking gorgeous you look from here, sweet girl."

You melt at the sincerity and gentleness of his tone, the vibration nearly makes Joel topple over as his knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the tense flex of his muscles under your palm as you grasped at his jeans. Joel's thrusts are considered tamed, more gentle, and slow you even thought him out to be timid around your relaxed throat.

Gagging only when he got a bit more handsy, your fingernails digging into his pant leg as he strains himself from giving in too much, even if the thought of fucking your throat was becoming more enticing.

Joel's hips still bent, his hand knotting in your hair, tugging you away with a more rough force as he pants at the overwhelming clarity that struck from his orgasm.

Your eyes glued to the other hand that worked itself around the hilt of his dagger, giving himself a few quick strokes that unfolded so quickly that you barely had time to process that he was coming onto your face until his fingers clenched around the hair of your scalp, tilting your head up towards the ceiling just to get a better look as if he had created a masterpiece of artwork all over your face.

🔖 @adison-smart27 / @m0mmym1lk3r-png / @do-double-g

comment or tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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allwormdiet · 5 days ago

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Sentinel 9.6

Well.

At least we're not as fucked as Brockton Bay.

"Ugh, how dare crime be prevented so I can't beat the shit out of the people doing the crimes for my own catharsis" - sentiments of the utterly normal

This glimpse into the inner workings of these two has not endeared me to them any further, tbh. I think the time in which they can actually turn these impressions around is starting to dwindle.

So. Here's Sophia's worldview laid plain, and it's about what I expected. Might makes right, violence and desperation and greed are the true nature of humanity, everyone can be divided between sheep and wolves and she refuses to be a sheep.

Mostly I think I'm just curious as to what, exactly, shaped her to be this way. Like obviously whatever caused her to trigger is a factor, but I don't know if any parahuman has had a complete overhaul of their personality brought about by their power coming online; I suspect that she'd followed some version of this mentality before the worst day of her life (so far) proved her right.

I can't imagine Piggot would be thrilled that Shadow Stalker thinks so highly of her, or at least the why of it.

This is cool, though. Give Wildbow credit, he can make just about any sensation of using a power sound rad as hell.

*sighs* Fucking Nazis

At least Sophia is sensible about what to do with them

Another neat fight scene, this one is a bit quicker than the Travelers tussle so I kinda like it more. That and it involves beating the shit out of Nazis.

Ruh roh Raggy

hiimdaisy_adachi_murder.mp3

Oh yeah, why eliminate the villain who you know is a particular threat to you, specifically, when you can try to torment her first?

This isn't even me saying that Sophia should try to murder Skitter, bc obviously I prefer the latter to the former, but taking the whole thing of seeing her secret identity into consideration, the response to crossing paths should be "take her down fast and hard," not "put her back against the wall and make her panic"

It's gonna fucking break her brain when she realizes Taylor is Skitter, huh?

There's something really funny about how basically every outsider POV we've gotten on Skitter involves hating her ass. Truly cursed to be unpopular.

I like the logical weaknesses of Sophia's power so far. Things getting into her shadow form, like bugs, fuck with her ability to remanifest because she has to "shove" them out of where she's going to solidify. The electricity I'm less clear on, maybe just some quirk of what she's "made" of in her altered state, but it's a good way to explain why she can't just leap through buildings willy nilly. The thing with the gas/vapor absorption that gets mentioned in a second also makes sense and is pretty neat.

Hey Sophia do you maybe regret playing with your food a little bit

Also still cool to see Skitter's powers from the outside POV

God that's so cool

...Y'know, if these two could get over their bullshit for like, a minute, they could probably have some very cathartic hate-makeouts. More blood than normal for kissing but less blood than normal for their usual interactions.

Lol

Lmao

Nuts that what threw her off in this moment was looking for a secondary murder weapon to cover up her power's tell.

Also: get fucked Sophia.

And you fell for it hook line and sinker, because you're a petty tunnel-visioned sadist.

Got the whole crew doing the group pose, love to see it

Also: hi Aisha, glad you get to join the team, sorry you had a trigger event, hope the future scenes with you are less uncomfortable than your first one

Skitter is so fucking good at playing up the villain role, she really should be proud of the work she puts into it.

Not entirely sure why they're kidnapping Shadow Stalker, but I'm sure it's going to be another photo album moment for the Undersiders and their rise to prominence.

Concluding Thoughts

Y'know, a lot of trouble could've been avoided if Sophia just ignored that impulse to play with her prey. I'm not gonna be like "oh why can't she just rein in the violence" because every parahuman we've met so far is either a participant or facilitator of violence, but the cruelty is what's gotten her in trouble here. Not only did she only get baited into this trap because she refused to make an earlier attempt at the killing blow, not only did she take the bait of hunting down a lone villain while a PRT convoy was under attack by fucking Nazis, but the hostility might have been avoided if she hadn't gotten her kicks from tormenting and assaulting Taylor. If Sophia was just Emma's friend who hung back and watched as she tormented Taylor, things might've differently all the way back in the medical tent, but alas, she was a willing and gleeful participant.

Little concerned about what the fuck they're going to do to her, but there's nothing to do but wait and see.

Also, cautiously glad that Imp has arrived, she seems fun from what I've picked up via osmosis, again fingers crossed that her continued presence in this story doesn't involve nearly as much wincing as Tangle 6.3 because holy shit.

#parahumans #wormblr #worm liveblogging #liveblog #worm sentinel

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marveldcmistress · 1 year ago

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Heartbreak Amongst the Harem

A/N: It's here! Thank you to @just-ten-cents for the encouragement and beta writing for me! And like most of my writing, this is purely self-serving. Based off a dream I had about Mikey, but I threw is the other three just for spice and giggles. Enjoy!

Summary: Reader is in a poly relationship, and everything was going great, until a lack of communication and people's hurt feelings cause some loyalty issues.

Pairings: Mike (Hellraiser) x Plus Size!Reader, Captain Syverson x Plus Sized!Readaer, August Walker x Plus Sized!Reader, Walter Marshall x Plus Sized!Reader

Trigger Warnings: cheating, reverse harem, cussing, physical violence/threats of physical violence, hints and innuendos of smut, drinking and smoking, if there's anymore just let me know.

If someone would have told you a year ago you would be in a relationship with four men, who are more than happy to share you, you would have laughed in their face. It was a wonder even one out of the three older men took a second glance at you, let alone all three wanting you. You were less surprised about Mikey though. You were fully aware that he was a whore. He almost bragged about it when he could come in during your shifts at the bar.

All four had been customers at some point or other. Sy, Walter, and August had all grown up together. Despite being fourth cousins, twice removed, or however they tried to explain it to you, they grew up in tight knit families. Eventually, Sy went into the military, August was hired into the CIA and Walter went off to college and became a cop. But as life goes, it brought them back together when Sy retired, August chose to leave the CIA, and Walter offered to move them into his house to fill the void Faye left when she went to college.

Sy had started his own dog training business while August became a personal trainer for the police academy. Months after though was when Sy got the call from one of their other cousin’s, Liza. Liza had gotten pregnant at 17 and raised Mikey mostly on her own. When Mikey had gotten into college in the same city, she had practically BEGGED Sy and Walter to let him live with them so he would stay out of trouble. And it worked, for the most part. There had been a few times where some of Mikey’s flings had shown up to the house because he had ghosted them and they couldn’t handle it, but Walter had that straightened out pretty quickly.

The first time you met them, they had all come in for Mikey’s 22nd birthday, only wanting a couple drinks and some wings before going home for work the next morning. You were behind the bar, busting ass alone and looking fantastic while doing it. Sy and August had shared a look. It wasn’t uncommon for them to share a woman during their usual one night stands. Walter had rolled his eyes and shook his head. One day these three were going to get him killed. Despite his thought process though, he could agree that you were an attractive woman. All four men were flirting with you all night, causing a blush to cover not only your cheeks, but spread all the way down your neck and across your chest, much to their delight.

It went on that way for months, sometimes they would come in individually, just two or three of them, or as the whole group. Sometimes it was deep conversation about the darkness they had seen in the world, the battle of darkness inside of them, and the anger at the universe they held for making them go through that darkness alone. Everytime though they would flirt with you. Eventually, you fell in love with them.

Sy was the perfect southern gentleman, funny and sweet and respectful. He always told the worst dad jokes. August was snarky and sarcastic, but he called you Kitten and it just made you weak in the knees. Walter was grumpy and brooding, but the intellectual conversations you would have stimulated you mentally, which stimulated you sexually as well. He could also appreciate any insight you could provide from what little he could tell you about his cases.

And last but not least, Mikey. He had gotten the nickname Baby from you because of his baby face. He was like a puppy dog to you. It had taken some convincing from Mikey and the others for you to give him a chance. It was unconventional, but it worked for the five of you. Sy and August were your makeshift bouncers when your boss fired the last one you had without having someone to replace him and they never interfered with your job unless it was a risk to your safety. Sometimes when flirting with customers for tips they would get carried away, but that’s not the point.

Everything was going great, until you got that text that shattered everything. It had been a beautiful summer day in the middle of July. Sy had taken you and Walter on a trip for the weekend in between cases. The cabin on the lake was beautiful, lush green grass surrounding you, trees thick and abundant. Sy and Walter were on the docks fishing while you were sitting on the porch drinking a glass of moscato. August had appointments for a personal training business he had just started and Mikey had opted out, spouting something about having summer classes he had homework for. It struck you as odd, he hadn’t told you about taking summer classes before, but you shook it off and decided to have a good trip with the two lovers you had with you. There was no cell service out here so you had to entertain yourself.

After your much needed break with your boys, filled with sex and rest, it was back to business as usual. Walter had once asked you to move in, to which you had told him it was too soon. You would love to move in one day, when your relationship with all four men was at a more permanent standing. It wasn’t that you didn’t see a future with them, but you were still unsure as to how this poly situation would work long term. But that was a discussion for another day.

It was a week after your trip and you were hustling behind the bar, flipping bottles and slinging drinks. It was an extra busy Saturday night, the band being extremely popular amongst the local community. Sy and August were standing at the very end of the bar by the door, two sets of military trained eyes scoping every part of the crowded room. You’re so busy you don’t have time to check your phone when you see a notification from Mikey light your phone up.

It wasn’t until after the last customer had left and you finished all of your side work did you look at your phone. Sy was walking behind you to his truck, his hand in your back pocket. August had left after last call, saying he was gonna set up your nightly routine at home so it was ready when you got there. Your boys always treated you so well.

You unlock your phone and click on the notification. You weren’t surprised to see he had sent you a video, as Mikey had an obsession with TikToK and liked to share what he thought you would enjoy. As you wait for the video to load, Sy helps you climb into his truck, his hands pushing you by the ass into the seat, pinching just under the cheeks before you sit down.

“Ow, Sy!” you yelp. He just chuckles, vibrations coming from deep in his chest.

“Can’t help it, Sugar. It’s just so juicy,” he says as he sends you his signature failed wink, making you laugh as you call him an asshole. You had almost forgotten your phone in your hand until the video started playing. You watch, confused at first as to why you see your ex-coworker MaKenna on the screen. But the longer the video goes on, the worse it gets. She’s half naked, completely bare from the bottom down and bouncing on someone’s……. And then you see his face and your blood starts to boil.

It’s Mikey, under your ex-coworker, letting her ride reverse cowgirl. His hands are on her hips and his hips are meeting hers and you’re gonna get sick. MaKenna wasn’t exactly a bad coworker or person, you knew she was promiscuous, and you didn’t judge her for it. But she knew you and Mikey were together. And though it was an unconventional relationship you had with him and his cousins, you were big on loyalty and each man had pledged their loyalty only to you. So for him to have done this to you broke you on the inside.

Just as they start to get louder, tears start to burn in your eyes. Sy catches on to the noise coming from your phone and looks over the console to your phone. The second he recognizes his little cousin’s face, he’s pissed. He knew Mikey had been a slut, but it seems he needs to teach the little prick a lesson about messing around on the woman you promised to only give certain affections and attentions to.

“That little fucker. I’m gonna beat his ass.” he mumbles, starting to tear out of the parking lot and speed towards home. You ignore him, locking your phone and wiping the tears out of your eyes. You had confided in all four that you had been cheated on before, and all of them had worked hard to earn your trust. You never thought one of them would do something like this to you. Before you could stop it, a sob burst from your chest and out of your mouth. That’s when the dam really broke and you started crying uncontrollably.

“Oh baby. I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m gonna get you home and August and I are gonna take good care of ya. And then we’re gonna hunt down that little prick and kick his ass real good.” He reaches across the console to wipe the tears from your eyes before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his side. It’s uncomfortable, the console digging into your ribs, but you appreciate his attempt to love on you.

You pull into the driveway ten minutes later. Sy doesn’t even give you a chance to get out on your own, opening your door and wrapping his arms around your waist and carrying you inside the house. August had heard you pull in and met you at the door, one brow lifted in question. Then he saw your red, puffy eyes and his ocean eyes turned murderous. You simply just unlocked your phone and handed it to him, Sy walking away to let him watch the video without hurting you even further.

“What the actual fuck?!”

“I’m already planning to kick his ass so get in line. But right now she is my main priority,” Sy hollers behind his back. Normally you would admonish him for talking about you in front of you like you weren’t even there, but you were too busy trying to keep air in your lungs to really care about telling him off. Your chest hurt and your eyes stung and it just felt like your world had come crashing down. You knew you would owe Sy big time when this was over. August too.

Sy had carried you into the master bathroom where August had set up a bubble bath with candles and snacks. He had taken to spoiling you after your long shifts. You had found out very quickly he was dominant and took his duties as a dom seriously, and that included pampering you with only the best. Most weekend evenings/mornings after your shifts at the bar include a hot bubble bath with your favorite wine, snacks, and a good foot rub. That is usually followed by a full body massage with your favorite lotion. If you happened to stay awake during the massage, you’d then get the best dick down to finish you off and send you to sleep more than satisfied.

“Baby doll?” Sy’s voice pulls you out of whatever trance you were in. You look up into his eyes, before looking over his shoulder to August’s concerned gaze. You hate the pity you see in both of their eyes, hate knowing they are looking at you in such a vulnerable state.

“Do you want us to help you, Kitten?” August asks. You don’t know what you want. You want them there for comfort, as that’s what partners are for. You want the floor to open you up and swallow you whole. You want to forget that Mikey even exists and that you ever met him. You don’t know…..

August must see it on your face because he moves to the tub and takes the plug out to let the water drain. He then swiftly moves to the shower and turns it on as hot as you can stand it. Sy slowly starts to ease your shirt up and over your head, before moving to your jeans. You know there is nothing sexual motivating his actions, but you can’t help but bring your arms up to cover yourself. Sy squats down to his knees to help you take off your pants, and August moves to leave a kiss on your forehead before pulling out his phone and walking out of the room.

Sy moves you bodily to the shower, helping you slip in before telling you he’ll be in the other room when you get out.. You see him set out a towel and fresh clothes from Walter’s closet before leaving the bathroom. The sound of the door clicking shut resonates in the silent room. The only noise being the shower water hitting the tiled floor and your quiet sobbing. You slide to sit on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your head.

You felt ridiculous. Part of the reason you had been so hesitant to even consider adding Mikey to your little group was his history with women. All four men were open about how he treated his flings when he was done with them. You were also concerned about his age. You didn’t normally go for guys around your age, and especially younger. Three years wasn’t much of a gap physically, but maturity wise had been a big red flag to you.

Eventually you had cried yourself dry and the water had turned cold. You stood up, shutting off the water. You hadn’t even had the shower door fully open before Walter burst in the bathroom. You wanted to cover yourself, but he didn’t give you the chance. Before you could blink, he had you wrapped in his big arms, the wool of his sweater scratching against your bare skin. He sways you back and forth and you’re bombarded with the memory of him telling you this is how he used to get Faye to sleep when she was a baby.

“I’m so sorry, baby. August called me and I rushed right over.” he slowly releases you when he remembers you’re fully naked. He moves back to the toilet where he gets the towel and wraps it around you. You want to argue that you can dry and dress yourself, but the energy just doesn’t seem to be there. Once he’s satisfied that you've dried off enough, he pulls one of his softer sweaters over your head, lifting your arms and slotting them into the sleeves. He kneels with a pair of boxers in hand, lifting each foot and sliding the shorts up your legs. He makes a show of bringing them up over your ass, and you give him a small smile. All three of these beautiful men, trying to make you feel better. How did you get so lucky?

When Walter is happy that you are finally ready for bed, he scoops you up by the thighs and carried you into the bedroom. You see Sy already laying in bed, shirtless but wearing pajama bottoms. You hear August in the kitchen, assuming he’s putting away the snacks he had planned for your nightly routine. Walter lays you in the middle of the California King sized bed, right next to Sy, before moving to the closet to change into pajamas while Sy turns and snuggles into your side, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and ribs.

“I know this probably won’t mean much, but he doesn’t deserve you, Sugar.” Sy mumbles into your chest. Even now, you can’t help but find amusement in his obsession with your tits. His favorite pillows, he once said.

“Thanks, Sy.” you mumble. You feel the bed dip beside you, turning to find Walter getting in on your right side. He’s also shirtless only wearing pajama bottoms, and the fuzz on his chest is thicker than the others.

“He’s right, Love. You are an incredible woman, and it’s Michael’s loss if he can’t see that.” his voice rumbles through your whole body. They’re both so warm, so soft. You internally chuckle at the contradiction. All four of them had godlike bodies, firm muscles and virile masculine strength. You lose your amusement as you think of Mikey again.

You look up as August walks in, dressed just as the other two. You were prepared for the nightly argument of who was going to cuddle with you and how. When it came to sex, these men worked together like a well oiled machine, each one moving perfectly in sync with the other to bring you the highest heights of pleasure. But when it came to cuddles, they fought over you like children with a teddy bear. But none of that happened. With Sy on his side to your left, Walter on his side to your right, and you on your back in the middle, August made his way between your legs and laid right on top of you. His torso was half on top of you, with his head on your sternum right below your breasts, half on the bed between your thighs, and the rest of his body between your spread calves.

“I feel like I’m in a puppy pile,” you mutter, causing all three men to chuckle. They quiet quickly though, all three concluding you’re trying to hide your pain through humor. Three sets of arms squeeze you tightly, and you soak up the love radiating from the three beautiful souls surrounding you. Maybe this heartbreak will be easier to get over when you have three other boyfriends to take care of you. Soon, the snoring coming from Sy, the soothing hand August has rubbing your thigh, and Walter playing with your hair, on top of all of the crying you’ve done, lulls you into a deep sleep.

*************************************************************************************************************

When you wake up, the sun is shining through the windows. You’re used to the sun being high in the sky when you wake up, but never have you woken up with one of the guys, aside from Mikey, still in bed with you. Sy was never one to sleep much, years of military training now just ingrained into who he is as a human being. August was usually at the gym, and Walter would be on a case. So it shocked you to still have Walter by your side. You look up to his face and find he is watching you. You should have figured he wouldn’t have been asleep.

“How long have you been up?” you ask, voice hoarse from sleep. Your throat hurt from crying so much last night, and your head was throbbing. Despite having slept deeply for a decent amount of time, you were still exhausted. Your eyes burned and your body felt heavy.

“A few hours. I was up for a bit, but I didn’t want you to wake up alone.” he whispers. You always wondered how he always knew what you needed, even if it was something as small as keeping his voice low because your head hurts, when you didn’t even tell him.

“Thanks, babe. Where’s the other two?” you look around. You can hear someone working around in the kitchen. The smells of bacon and eggs finally hits your senses and your stomach grumbles. You silently wished Walter hadn’t heard. Out of the four, well now three, he was the most anal about making sure you ate enough and stayed hydrated. You look up and there it is, the pointed look he gives you everytime.

“Love, did you eat last night?” You look down in shame. You had a horrible habit of getting so caught up at work you forget to order food from the kitchen before it closes.

“You see, what had happened was..” you start. Walter rolls his eyes and huffs, beginning to roll away from you. You pull him back in protest.

“Listen to me! I didn’t have the chance to eat because I had to get the bar put together because Katie had to leave early and then we got slammed and Sheri couldn’t keep up with her tables so they kept coming up to the bar and then we just, didn’t slow down until after close, so Sy and I were going to go get something to eat and then….” you trail off, your brain bringing up the awful memory of what your….. You’re not even sure what to call Mikey. Walter notices where your mind seems to go and quickly put his hand under your chin and raises your eyes to his.

“Sy is making breakfast,” he starts.

“Fuck yeah,” you mumble. Sy was the best cook in the entire group, and his breakfast was fire. Walter rolls his eyes at that.

“And August went to the gym. Grumbling something about still being pissed off.” That last bit of information didn’t surprise you at all. August was crazy, as you had seen one night when a customer had gotten too handsy and decided to fight Auggie when he tried to throw him out. You were not ashamed to admit it made you so horny that you jumped him in the car at the end of your shift. It may have also revealed just how toxic you could be at times to the entire group. None of them seemed to mind though.

Just then, Sy came into the bedroom, carrying a tray full of food. You see french toast and biscuits and gravy, eggs, bacon, ham, fruit. All of your favorite breakfast foods. God you love these men. Sy sees you eyeing the tray and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well good morning to you too, Sugar. You sleep alright?” He kisses your forehead while balancing the tray in his hand. You soak up the affection, staring at him as he brings the tray to sit in your lap. You pick up a fork and dig in, almost inhaling the fruit and french toast, feeding bites to each man beside you. It was almost perfect, until you heard the front door open and Mikey’s voice rings through the house. Your hand tightens around your fork and Walter is quick enough to move the tray off your lap as Sy flies off the bed and out of the room. You both quickly follow him, knowing deep down you wouldn’t be able to keep Sy from kicking his ass.

You stand at the top of the stairs and watch as Sy barrels towards Mikey, shoving him against the wall and holding him up by the front of the shirt. Walter moves you to the side, coming to stand on the steps in front of you but not shielding you from watching what was happening. Mikey’s eyes go wide and his hands go up at his sides.

“Woah, woah, woah. Easy, big guy. Good morning to you, too.” It wasn’t unusual for Sy and Mikey to wrestle in the house. But the look on Sy’s face told Mikey this was anything but playful.

“How was your studying session, Mike?” Sy snarls. His voice sent shivers down your spine. You almost feel sorry for anyone who had to go against your Captain. It was joked once that he was a bull, once he sees red there’s no running from him.

“It was fine. What is your problem, man?’ Mike stutters. That just seems to piss Sy off even more because he removes one hand and pulls it back before punching Mike in the stomach. The younger man doubles over before Sy lifts him back into a standing position. Part of you wants to step in. Yes Mike hurt you, but you don’t usually condone physical violence unless absolutely necessary. But on the other hand, Karma is a bitch, and he’s had more than enough coming his way.

“Now, you wanna try that again?” Sy growls. Mikey looks up to you, and your heart breaks all over again. You see the moment it clicks in his head, and shame fills his eyes.

“Sweetcheeks…” he tries. Sy shakes him hard.

“You don’t get to speak to her. You’re lucky August isn’t here because he wouldn’t be as easy on you as I am right now. I thought we had a clear understanding on what this relationship meant to her, and now you’ve set all of us back. She’s going to shut herself off and we’ll have to work double to get her trust back. Fucking idiot.” Sy pushes him harder into the wall before dropping him not so gently to the floor. You move past Walter and make your way down the stairs. You put a hand on Sy’s shoulder and he looks at you. You can hear his thoughts as loud as if he said them out loud; ‘you don’t have to do this’.

Mikey stands up and looks at you, flashing his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. Normally it would melt your heart, but right now it just turns it to stone. You wonder how you would be responding if you didn’t have the strength of the two men behind you.

“Taking summer classes, huh? Does the name MaKenna ring a bell?” you seethe. You had once confided in how insecure she made you feel. She was your height but very petite. You had noted how her breasts were the perfect size that they just stayed perky, making you self-conscious of your larger chest that hangs low. Not that you didn’t love your body, but loving yourself is a long, bumpy road.

“Babycakes,” Mikey tries again.

“What did Sy say? You don’t have the privilege of speaking to me. Ya know, Mikey, it took a lot of convincing from your cousins to even get me to consider giving you a chance, based off your history with women. I knew from the get go this was going to end badly but I had that littlest bit of hope that I was wrong. I can’t even stand looking at you right now.” you say, turning away from him. You move but before you get too far, he reaches out and grabs your arm. You spin quickly, and before anyone can blink you slap him. Hard as fuck. Your palm stings and his face immediately turns red. You turn and run before he can see you start to cry.

“Great contact, Sugar.” Sy mumbles as you rush past him, giving Mikey one last hard look before following you upstairs. Walter, who had been silent during this entire altercation, finally looked at Mike.

“I’m not going to discuss any of this with you, right now. I’m more disappointed than angry,” he starts. Mikey rolls his eyes.

“No offense, Walt, but I don’t need the dad lecture at the moment,” he says sarcastically. That’s what finally set the normally stoic detective off.

“Obviously you do! Maybe if that piece of shit father of yours would have stuck around you would have turned out better.” That fucking stung. Mikey had taken some time to open up about his dad bailing on him and his mom. He blamed himself for a long time, something you strived to help him heal.

“But he didn’t, so now it is up to myself and the other two to teach you something about being a man. I understand that before her you made no commitments to the women you took to your bed. But when you actually make a promise to someone you don’t break it like that. I’m going to ask you once to leave. Take a few days at a friend’s while we discuss how we want to proceed from here.”

Mikey went to protest but the look on Walter’s face killed the argument before it could leave his mouth. He knew he fucked up, and he hears his mother’s voice in his head telling him to face the consequences of his decisions.

“Can I at least grab some stuff before I go?” he mumbles. Walter nods but says nothing else. He watches as Mikey gathers some things before moving towards the front door. He pauses before opening the door, turning back to the older man.

“I’m sorry, Walt.”

Walter shakes his head. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. We all have some talking to do, but for right now let the dust settle. She needs to heal some from this. And before you start accusing me of choosing a woman over family, remember that you are the one in the wrong in this scenario.”

And with that Walter went upstairs, leaving Mike to walk out of the house with his tail between his legs. Just as he was getting to his car, August pulls up beside him. Mike barely has his door open before August is on him, throwing him up against his car.

“I should beat the fuck out of you right now.” he hisses. If Mike thought Sy was scary, August was terrifying. He remembered one night when they all had had way too much to drink and August went to a really dark place mentally, giving a recount of just how many people he had killed during his time working for the CIA. Mike knew just how skilled August was in the arts of torture, and the thought alone of what he could do to him almost made him piss himself.

“Listen, Sy has already given it to me and she left this beautiful hand print on my face, so give me a break, okay? You can come at me later when Walter lets me back in the house,” he grumbles. August locks in on that last bit of information.

“Walter kicked you out?”

“He said it’s just for a few days.” August nods.

“Well whatever you do, do NOT go back to that little bitch’s house. Find a GUY friend to stay with. And call your mother, before one of us does.”

Mikey should have known that was coming. All three of the older men were fiercely loyal to his mother, and never missed an opportunity to let her know when he did something stupid. But this was probably the worst thing he could’ve told her. He sighs and gets in his car, thinking of who he could call that would let him stay a few days.

*************************************************************************************************************

August makes his way to the bedroom immediately upon walking into the house. He didn’t want to leave you this morning but he was still so pissed by what happened early this morning he knew it would do no one any good if he didn’t get it out of his system. So he went to the gym where he almost destroyed a punching bag and scared some staff members. One of his training buddies had finally had enough of him abusing the gym equipment and said something.

“Now what did the bag ever do to you?” Geralt asks. The man was taller than August with more muscle, but he had a more even temperament. August puts his hands down and huffs.

“I’m picturing Mikey’s face.” he growls. Geralt just raises a brow. August had talked about his little cousin and the relationship he had with the bartender. He’d been to the bar and wasn’t hesitant to admit he could understand the attraction. You were a beautiful woman, fiery and bubbly simultaneously. It was adorable.

“What did the little idiot do this time?” Geralt had come to calling him that after he had drunkenly picked up a rabid raccoon out of the dumpster and it bit him.

“He hooked up with MaKenna.” August says. Geralt pauses to rack his brain.

“The little redhead that worked there before she was fired for having sex in the parking lot during her shift?”

“That’s why they fired her?” August spins to face the larger man. You had said she was fired for employee misconduct and insubordination, but you never gave the specifics. “You know what, I’m not surprised.”

“That’s what I heard from the owner at a house party a week after that, I think. Doesn’t matter. How did you guys find out?”

“The stupid shit sent her a video of them fucking to her, in the same bath tub in the cabin Sy took her to last weekend.” August shakes his head. Little shit couldn’t have even been original.

“And he’s still breathing?” Geralt looks surprised.

“For now. But when I see him….” August’s hands curl into fists at his side and he almost starts shaking. Geralt gives a hum and then pats his back, turning to leave his friend to stew in his feelings and planning a nice phone call to the beautiful bartender with a broken heart at home.

Shaking the memory from his mind, August opens the bedroom door to see you curled into Sy’s chest, shoulders shaking but no noise coming from you. Only the vision of the bright hand print on Mikey’s face calms his rising anger. He hears Walter in the bathroom and the shower turning on. Sy finally notices him and makes eye contact. It was almost a telepathic conversation between the two men: our baby needs us.

August turns to his left as Walter walks in, steam following him from the running shower. Sy nudges you up with murmurs of needing to calm down. You grudgingly obey, make eye contact with August before quickly looking away and following them to the shower. August takes this chance to change the sheets, rolling his eyes when he sees the crumbs on the comforter. He’d told them time and again not to let you eat in bed, but they never listen. He’ll let it slide this time, given current circumstances.

After fixing the bed and taking the breakfast down to the kitchen, he starts on the dishes. You had expressed only once that it was your least favorite chore, and he had taken it upon himself to be the designated dishwasher of your group. Despite the shower running upstairs, the water was still scalding and he thanked Walter once again for finally caving and buying a new hot water heater and for Sy saving them money by installing it himself. The burning pain from the water distracted him from the heartbreak he felt coming from you. You always joked you had a radiating energy that affected those around you, but he didn’t think it was a joke.

When he first saw you, you shined so brightly you almost glowed. Your smile was like a beaming ray of sunlight, sending warmth straight through his heart. At first he thought he was dying, that you were an angel of some sort that had shown up to take him to his after life. But one look at Sy and Walter and he knew he wasn’t alone. Bringing you into their lives was like having eternal summer. And now Mikey had gone and shut your light off. He was lucky he was kicked out.

As soon as everything was dried and put away, August made his way upstairs where Sy was carrying you out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Walter followed behind with a brush and some lotion in hand. They met eyes for a moment before moving to sit beside you and Sy on the bed. Sy had you his lap sideways, rocking back and forth while you controlled your breathing. He let you cry in the shower until your breathing turned ragged and he recognized the onset of a panic attack setting in. Walter starts brushing your hair while August takes the lotion and starts rubbing your feet. Soon your breathing evens out and the sniffling quiets.

All three men watch you and you make eye contact with August. He gives you a small smile and brings your ankle up to his mouth for a kiss. His mustache tickles your skin and you pull it back with a small shriek. This causes all three men to chuckle.

“Are you okay, Kitten?” August mumbles. Walter and Sy turn to you pointedly. You hadn’t said anything to them since you ran away from Mikey. They knew you weren’t okay, but they needed you to open up to them so they could help.

“Not really.” you whisper. Your hand still stings from slapping Mikey, but even more so your chest hurts. It feels irrational to you. You have three gods in front of you, ready and willing to worship you, and you’re heartbroken over someone you knew was going to hurt you from the beginning. “I think I’m more pissed than anything. What if this ruins what we have? I don’t want to be here around him but that means I won’t be able to be with you guys as much.”

Sy burst out laughing. You look at him offended, only to catch the amusement on August’s face as well. You turn around to look at Walter and find him chuckling.

“What the fuck is so funny?” you almost yell. August rubs his hand along your naked thigh, bringing your attention down to him.

“Kitten, if you think we’re going to let that little twerp ruin one of the best things to happen to us, you must not hold us in too high of a regard.” he looks at you pointedly.

“Yeah, Sugar. You got me fucked up if you think I’m going to throw you away because of this. If anything, it’s Mikey that’s going in the trash.” Sy says with a smirk. You look at him tentatively, and he gives you his wink/blink. You give him a smile when you feel Walter kiss the top of your head. You look up to make eye contact with your furry lover.

“Besides, I kicked Mikey out,” he says. You immediately sit upright in Sy’s lap, scrambling to stand and look at Walter full on. You bring your hands to your hips, causing the towel to fall and you rush to catch it.

“What do you mean you kicked him out? Don’t cause issues with your family because of me, Walter, that’s crazy.” He just smiles at you. It isn’t fair how pretty he is, how pretty all three of them are. You shouldn’t be jealous because your boyfriends have prettier eyelashes than you do. He reaches for you, bringing you between his legs, spreading them wide to make room for your thick thighs.

“It’s only for a few days, Love. Give him some time to think about what he did and for all of us to cool down.”

“No promises on that last one,” August grumbles. Sy gives a hum of agreement.

“Regardless,” Walter starts, giving a pointed look to the other two men, “even if Michael is here, you still have every right to be in this house. Or we can start spending more time at your place. We can work around this, love.” He grabs your hands in his and brings you close to him. “We love you, Y/N.” he whispers. Tears start to fill your eyes.

“Yeah, Sugar. Sure, your apartment is small and crowded, and you have all those pretty rocks I’m too scared to touch,” Sy starts in, making you giggle.

“They’re called crystals, Sy.” you mumble.

“Whatever, they’re part of your little witchy shit and sets me on edge. But I wouldn’t be anywhere else, cause I love ya.”

“Aww you guys,” you say as the tears really start to flow. You look to August, waiting for him to take his turn to confess his feelings. He just rolls his eyes.

“All this sappy shit. Yes, I love you. This is probably the only time you’ll hear me say it out loud, so soak it up while you can,” he grumbles. You bend down and give him a kiss on his pouting lips.

“I love you, too.” you whisper as you move away from him.

“All of you. I didn’t want to get too close at the beginning because I didn’t want to have to choose between you three, but thank god you suggested this. I know I’m going to be a little down in the coming time, but I appreciate each of you and everything you do for me as a team and as individuals. I don’t know where I’d be without you guys.”

All three men wrap their arms around you like some kind of awkward python of arms and hair. You run one hand through Walter’s hair and the other down August’s back. Sy buries his face in your chest, and you send thanks to the divine universe for the beautiful men it has sent you.

*************************************************************************************************************

Mikey pulls up to his friend Evan’s house, aware of the gloom cloud hanging above his head. He’d called him as soon as he pulled out of the driveway at Walter’s, giving as little details as possible as to why he needed a place to crash. Evan was a great friend, but he didn’t need any more judgment today. He was already dreading calling his mother. How was he going to explain to her that he cheated on his girlfriend that he was sharing with his three older cousins? Up until today he wasn’t even sure it WAS cheating. I mean, you had the other three, why couldn’t he fuck other people too?

But then a memory arises in his mind. It had only been a couple months since you had met him and the other three men, and you were freaking out in the cooler at work. It had taken him five minutes to get you calmed enough to tell him what had you in such a state. When you finally confessed that you had caught feelings for him and his cousins, and that you didn’t want to choose between them, he had the best idea. That night he mentioned a poly relationship to August and Sy, unknowing of his cousin’s history of sharing women. When he pitched the idea to Walter, the detective was reluctant. But it took one look at your face when they presented the idea to you to convince the bear to cave.

What Mikey wasn’t prepared for was the jealousy he would feel sometimes. It seemed some days that you treated him like he was still a kid, and the nickname Baby Face only made it worse. The way you talked to the older three like they hung the moon, and the way you let them dominate you. It emasculated him, you never let him top you. When he saw MaKenna at a party one night, and she started flirting with him, he felt good. She talked to him like he knew what he was doing, stroking his ego and he felt on top of the world.

Looking back now, he knows he fucked up. He wished he could blame the alcohol, but he knew deep down that wasn’t an excuse.When you agreed to the poly proposal, you had sat everyone down for a deep discussion on the rules of the relationship and how to operate the slippery slope of romance. You had pressed the seriousness of open communication. If anyone was having any issues, it needed to be talked over and worked out. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he was feeling. And now he may have lost you forever.

He looks up from his steering wheel when he hears a tap on his window. Evan stands there, waving a hand to get his attention. He exits the car, avoiding Evan’s questioning gaze as he gathered his things and followed his friend into the house. He sets his bag on the couch, a deep sigh leaving his chest. He hears Evan say something but didn’t pay attention to his words. He sat down and reached into his bag for his computer when he noticed he had packed one of your shirts that must have gotten mixed in with his laundry somehow. He brings it up to his face and takes a whiff. It still smells like you even after going through the wash and he’s surprised to feel the tears burn his eyes.

That’s how Evan finds him when he walks back in from the kitchen with two beers in hand. Mikey wasn’t one to show much emotion outside of excitement and horniness, so to see him crying really threw his friend for a loop.

“Hey, man, you okay?” he sets the two bottles on the coffee table and moves to sit beside Mike. As an EMT he’s used to having to de-escalate a situation, but this was different somehow.

“I cheated on Y/N,” Mike gets out once he calms down. Evan raises his brows in surprise. He couldn’t lie and say he was shocked. He knew exactly the kind of guy Mike was and exactly the woman you were. He told Mike once that he thought he was too immature for someone like you. You were a grown ass woman, not the little girls Mikey liked to play around with. You had your shit together, a good job and your own place, paid your own bills and never really asked for nor needed help. He had expressed his concerns when Mike had told him you accepted his offer to be shared with his cousins. But alas, Mikey didn’t listen. It took all the willpower Evan had in him not to say ‘I told you so’.

“With who?” he whispered. Getting loud and angry would do his friend no good right now.

“That MaKenna chick, the one you met at the party that one time.” Evan racked his brain, shifting through faces and names. Mike had introduced him to plenty of chicks over the last two years of their friendship.

“Is she the little redhead that worked at the bar with Y/N? The one who got fired for fucking a customer on the clock?”

“Is that why they fired her?” Mikey looked up.

“Yeah, man. My brother was there that night, said she ran out of the bar screaming and cussing everyone out. She may have also been drinking on the job.” Fuck, he had alot of apologizing to do.

“Look, I’m your friend, and as your friend it’s my responsibility to tell you when you fucked up. And I love you, bro, but you’re fucking stupid. What was going through your head, man?”

Mike wanted to be offended, but somewhere deep inside he was glad to have a friend who called him out on his shit.

“I don’t know, man. We were at this party and I was drinking and Y/N has been so busy with work and caught up in the other guys that it just felt like I didn’t exist anymore, ya know? And then when we do have sex, she’s always in control. It made me feel….” he trailed off. Evan nods his head, encouraging him to continue.

“I just felt like she saw me as some little kid she could play with, and never took me as seriously as she did them. I wasn’t a man in her eyes. And then MaKenna showed up and I just didn’t think. Now I may have lost her for some community pussy.”

Evan laughed at the last sentence, fully aware the same could be said of Mikey.

“Listen. You stay here for a few days, let her calm down, and figure out your own shit while you’re at it. And maybe get some ice for your face cause brother, she left her mark.” Mikey reaches up and touches his still stinging cheek.

“Leave it, let it be my reminder that I’m an idiot.”

“If you say so, man. But it’s turning purple so better go find some make up at the drug store before people start asking if you’ve been abused.”

*************************************************************************************************************

The next few days flew by in a blur. You’d had picked up extra shifts just to keep your mind focused on work and not Mikey. The three older men never really let you have a moment to yourself. If you were at work, they were sat at the very end of the bar. If you were at home, you had at least one wrapped around you and another lurking somewhere in the house. You didn’t mind, really. You had done enough crying over Mike. You, however, didn’t let them see the anxiety eating at you as the days drew closer to Mikey coming back to the house. Walter had tried to reassure you that everything would be fine, but you knew it would be so awkward. Sy had offered to move in with you, to which August protested that there wouldn’t be enough room because he’d be damned if he wasn’t moving in too. You let them bicker for an hour before shutting down the idea in general.

Sy had made sure August had taken you out for the day when Mikey had finally come back to the house. He didn’t deserve to even be in your presence. When the younger man walked through the door, Sy had given him a dirty look before going into the kitchen to start on a dinner he had been dying to have you try. Mike just nodded his head in acceptance before moving to lock himself in his bedroom. He was in there for an hour before he heard your laugh coming in through the front door. He had to physically restrain himself from running out to greet you, instead putting on his noise cancelling headphones and closed his eyes, praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

It went on like this for weeks. If he happened to run into you around the house, you would avoid looking at him and run to another room, usually followed by Sy or August. Walter had picked up a new case and had barely been home. If Mike went to the bar with the guys, you would have the other bartender serve him.

Watching Sy and August love up on you was torture. It was like they were being extra affectionate just to tease him, looking right in his eyes when giving you a deep kiss or long hug. The worst was when he would hear you three at night, his room being right under the bed. Your cries of pleasure haunting him in his dreams.

It was getting towards the end of September, the weather was starting to get chilly and his classes were kicking his ass. He had resorted to moving in with Evan just so he could sleep. Walter had finally convinced you to move in, despite the tension between you and Mike. It hadn’t been an easy fight.

“Walt, baby, I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I still can’t even talk to him, living here is just going to make it worse.” you protest. It was on a rare night that he had come home from work and all three men had taken their turn ravishing you to exhaustion. You lay naked on your back in the middle of the bed, Sy half asleep with his face on your chest, August getting water and snacks in the kitchen, and Walter standing in the doorway to the bathroom towel drying his hair.

“But your lease is coming up, baby, and they’re going to raise your rent. What are you going to do, if you can’t renew it and can’t afford it?” Sy whispers against your breast.

“I can find another apartment, Sy.”

“Besides, Mike moved in with his friend, Evan.” If it wasn’t for Sy’s heavy body keeping yours pinned to the bed, you would have sat straight up.

“When?” you ask.

“A couple days ago. Said he couldn’t stand being in this house anymore, he couldn’t sleep.”

You both turn when you hear August coming up the stairs with his arms full. You took note of your favorite cookies and some waters. He takes one to Walter, before moving to sit on your other side and feeding you a bite of cookie.

“I just hope this doesn’t cause any problems with you guys and his mom…” you trail off. Walter had told you about Liza’s phone call when Mike told her what happened. You knew your boys probably got an earful, but eventually she came to understand her son was the one in the wrong. That still didn’t save them from the scolding over the idiocracy of their poly relationship.

They didn’t care though. It wasn’t her relationship, therefore her opinion didn’t matter.

“Liza will get over it. You, my dear, are OUR priority. Mikey moved out of his own freewill and you need a place to live. You can have Mikey’s old room, if you’re worried about losing a space to call your own.” Tears come to your eyes. God, you love them so much.

“Yeah, you can put all your witchy shit in there,” Sy says. All of you just laugh and carry on with your night.

August and Sy had helped you pack your apartment and, with a little help from Geralt, who had recently started spending time with your little group, had moved you in with your polycule. You sold most of your furniture aside from your dressers and mattress. Walter had even set up a space around the house for your cat, happy to have a free mouse catcher for when the rodents invaded during the snowy months. Everything was going great, you had your boys, work was banging so you had some extra cash in your pocket. Soon the sting from Mikey’s betrayal ebbed away to a dull throb.

It was mid-October when shit really hit the fan. The band at work was super popular around the local community and everyone was getting lit. Your boss had given you the night off per your request, but you just couldn’t seem to stay away from work, even off the clock. You had dressed up extra nice tonight, donning an outfit that showed off all your goodies. Sy and August had been to the barber a few days before and looked so yummy. Walter had opted to take the night and spend time with Faye during her time off for fall break. You had invited Geralt but he said the loud noises would mess with his sensitive ears.

After grabbing drinks and saying hi to your friends in the band, you take a seat at a table with the guys, talking to some regulars and friends. The night was going great, for at least an hour. Until Mikey walked in. Just seeing him pissed you off again. You made eye contact for just a split second before turning away, giving him the cold shoulder. Nothing gets past your two soldiers though, and both men clock onto their younger cousin making his way through the crowd. Sy slings one arm around your shoulders and August moves to block you into the booth, stuck between the two beefcakes. You keep your face forward, your focus solely on the band.

‘Fuck she looks good’ Mikey thinks. You had put on his favorite teddy, tits pushed almost to your chin, tucked into a pair of jeans so tight they might as well have been painted on. Your hair was curled and wild, and your make up was done in his favorite style. He missed the nights of watching the mascara run down your face from choking on his….. He shakes his head, starting to regret coming out tonight. One of your coworkers had told him you had taken the night off, and he was in the mood to drink himself stupid. He hadn’t spent a night sober since he moved out. He can’t even self pleasure any more, the guilt killing his sex drive. He refused to look at women. Not when the one he wanted was so close yet so far away. He tries ignoring the glares being sent to him from Sy and August. They hadn’t forgiven him for his mistake. To be honest, he hadn’t exactly forgiven himself.

When the band goes on break, you extract yourself from your loving bodyguards to go to the restroom. Locking yourself in the large stall, you turn your back to lean against the wall, taking a deep breath, before doing your thing and leaving the bathroom. You sneak out the door to the back patio quickly, before Sy or August can see you. You loved them deeply, but the past couple weeks they have been a tad overbearing. You move past all the smokers and into the back parking lot, taking in the cold air, letting it freeze/burn your lungs.

The healing you had done the past few weeks seemed to fly out the window at seeing him again. You missed him. You hated it, but you missed him so much. The stupid faces he would make when you were in a bad mood. The puppy dog eyes he would give you when asking for a bite of your food. The way he vigorously rubbed his face in your chest when he was tired and acting like a toddler. The memories cause tears to sting your eyes, and you put your fingers under your eyes to keep your makeup from running.

A cough from behind brings you back to the present, turning to find Mikey standing behind you. He had his head down, rubbing the back of his neck and scuffing his foot on the ground. It pleased and pained you to see him looking so rough. He was always pale, but his skin was almost gray. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days and his clothes were rumpled. He looked like shit, and you loved it and hated it in a strange emotional paradox.

“Hey,” you whisper, and your heart breaks all over again. The circles under his eyes wouldn’t have been covered by the best concealer in the world. You just want to pull him into you and love every ounce of pain out of his eyes. But he broke your trust and you have to stand your ground.

“Hi,” he whispers back. It’s tense for a moment, and you’re wishing you would have snuck your pack of smokes into your purse without August seeing. All of them knew you had your vices, but August was adamant about breaking this specific bad habit. As if reading your mind, Mikey hands you a cigarette, and you take it with a quiet ‘thank you’. He lights it for you, and you both look each other in the eye before turning away again.

“Mikey-”

“I-”

You both speak at the same time, before smiling softly at each other. You motion for him to start first, anxious to hear what he has to say.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. What I did was wrong and I really hurt you. Nothing can excuse what I did, but if it’s any consolation, I feel like shit,” he clears his throat, and avoids eye contact with you.

“You look like shit,” you huff. He throws his head back and barks a laugh. His shoulders shake and you know it’s not because he finds anything funny.

“Thank you, Sweetcheeks.” You smile at his nickname.

“Seriously, Mikey, are you okay? You look like you haven’t seen the sun in weeks.”

“No, babes, to be honest I’m not. I can’t sleep without drinking half a bottle a night, I don’t think I’ve had a solid meal in two weeks, and my sex drive is completely gone. Hell, I can’t even masturbate!” The more he talks, the more manic he sounds until he shouts that last sentence, drawing the eyes of some customers walking by. You slap your hand to your face to hide from embarrassment.

“Sorry. But yeah, I’m not okay. But I brought this on to myself,” he mumbles. You would disagree, but you can’t. He made his decision, now he can lay in the bed he made.

“You look great, though. They must be taking good care of you,” he says almost bitterly.

“Yes, they are. I’m actually using your old room as an art studio.”

“Wow. That’s great.” You just nod your head. And then it really processes in your head, and you can’t help the petty happiness that fills you at the thought of him not being able to get it up. Your face must give away how you’re feeling.

“What?” Mikey asks.

“Would it be shitty of me to say it pleases me immensely that your dick isn’t working right now?” Now Mikey really laughs, from deep in his belly and full of mirth. You start laughing with him, and when you make eye contact, it only seems to amuse you further. Soon you both are wiping tears and holding your stomachs.

“No, babe, I wouldn’t fault you at all for taking pleasure in my pain. Matter of fact, if my suffering makes you happy, I will do it gladly.” You roll your eyes at his cheesiness, but damn it if that wasn’t what made you fall in love with him to begin with.

“I can admit I miss you, too, Mikey. But don’t think that this simple conversation is going to make everything magically better. You have a lot of trust to build back up, and not just with me.” You warn him. His eyes light up, and like a trick of the shadows around you, his skin almost seemed to glow back to life.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Sweetcheeks. I promise, I won’t so much as LOOK at another woman. You won’t regret this.” His body jerks forward, arms open to hug you before he hesitates. You open your arms in acceptance, ready to move past this awkwardness and be with your Mikey again. After a long few minutes of just soaking in each other after weeks apart, you move back and wipe your eyes once more. A gust of wind blows around you and sends a shiver over your naked shoulders and back.

“Let’s get you inside, Sweetcheeks,” Mikey says, shrugging off his zip up jacket and throwing it over your shoulders. You both move to go back inside just as the door opens and August and Sy come barreling out. August glares at the cigarette still in your hand while Sy shoots a dirty look at Mike’s jacket around you.

“Uh oh, Mikey, we should probably put out the smokes. Here comes Captain Killjoy and Agent Sourpuss,” you giggle.

“Careful, Sweetcheeks, they’re likely to punish you,” he jokes back. Two sets of cerulean eyes study you and Mikey closely. August looks ready to murder the younger man, while Sy just looks confused.

“So what’s going on here?” the bull grumbles.

“Mike and I have had a conversation, and he has apologized,” you start slowly. You’re unsure just how well they will react to this news.

“So one little ‘I’m sorry’ and he’s just forgiven?” August seethes. You take a deep breath. You love your Scorpio man, but Lord did he test you.

“It’s not all magically fixed, no. We still need to have a very long talk, and it’s going to take a lot of work, but for right now, tonight, we are going to leave the past in the past, let go of any grudges,” you look pointedly to both men, “and go enjoy our friend Alex’s singing and eat some good food because you,” you turn to Mikey, “are skin and bones. Am I clear?”

You had used what you call your ‘mom voice’, leaving no room for argument. All three men follow you back into the bar, Mikey sitting by the wall and letting you lock him into the booth. Things were going well until SHE walked in. That redheaded little hussy. It was a good thing Sy listened to you when you told him to keep you away from the whiskey. The last thing you needed was to go to jail tonight. None of the guys seemed to have noticed, so you chose to ignore it.

At the next intermission, Mikey decided he’d take the opportunity to get another round for the table. You kept your eyes stuck to him the entire time, launching yourself from the booth when you see MaKenna walk up to Mikey. He glances at her before looking around the room nervously. Sy and August follow but stay a few feet away. You sidle up to Mikey and wrap an arm around his waist and using the other hand to bring his face down to yours and sealing a deep kiss to his lips. You open your mouth and make a show of mingling your tongue with Mike’s, letting this bitch know he’s yours. Mikey follows you as you pull away, whining low in his throat when you break the kiss. You then turn to the girl beside you.

“Oh, hi. I forgot you existed,” you say. She’s looking between you and Mikey, very confused.

“I didn’t know you and Mike were dating,” she says. You narrow your eyes at her, knowing she was lying. She knew damn well what she did.

“MaKenna was just trying to hook up with me again. I was just telling her no,” Mikey rushed to tell you. The last thing he needed after making up with you was you thinking he hadn’t changed. The only acknowledgement you give him is a hum and a nod.

“Yeah, after he fucked you he realized he needed a real woman. I’m surprised you even have the guts to show up here after being fired the way you were. You really must feel no shame,” the venom dripping from your tongue could kill a horse, but damn if it wasn’t sexy. Mikey was trying so hard to hide the tightening in his jeans.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the smaller female starts.

“Oh, please. You got caught fucking another woman’s man, again, on the clock. And when his girlfriend showed up to kick your ass, it caused drama that didn’t need to be started here at work. You think you would have learned from that, but apparently you have no sense of self-preservation. I suggest you start looking for something safe to do, because I won’t be as nice as the last girl. You got lucky a bouncer was able to convince her not to knock your teeth in, but the bouncers here love me and would highly encourage it. So find someone else to fuck with, before that butterface of yours gets permanently damaged.”

All three of your boys groan. Seeing you so riled up was so hot, and they knew hearing you threaten someone shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. The girl in front of you flinches before walking away from you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose. You’re typically not a confrontational person, but it felt so good to put someone in their place. And to do it without laying a hand on her.

“That was hot as fuck,” Mikey says behind you. You chuckle, turning back to flash him a flirty smile before grabbing his hand and moving to go grab the other two. The lust you see in August’s eyes sets you aflame. Sy just looks giddy, like a child. He knows exactly what’s about to happen. After grabbing your things and saying your goodbyes, feeling smug as you watch MaKenna move around the bar to avoid you. You pay out your tabs, leaving generous tips for the bartender and leaving with promises to fill her in on all the dirty details later. Gossip makes the work shift go by faster and Monday night was gonna be a HOT, tea party.

You almost run to Sy’s truck, August following closely behind to his car parked in the next spot over. Sy barrels past his cousin and quickly grabs you, turning you around and grabbing your cheeks in both hands. He tilts your head back and stares deeply into your eyes.

“I hate every bitch that isn’t you, you absolute fucking goddess.” he rumbles. The absolute desire radiating from his bulky form affecting the other two men. You giggle almost manically as he kisses you sloppily. You can taste the Jack he’s been drinking all night. He smacks his lips when he pulls away, reaching down to slap your ass before turning and climbing into his Chevy. August chuckles at his cousin’s antics, turning and unlocking his car. Mikey opens the door to the truck for you, helping you in by pushing under your asscheeks. It’s almost like your lovers had an obsession or something.

August eyes the actions closely, still suspicious of his younger cousin’s motives. Mikey catches his eye and looks down to the ground. You notice and give August a pointed look that said ‘stop it’. He couldn’t help it. It was his job to protect you, even from emotional pain. You stare even harder until he softens his expression.

“August, do you mind giving Mike a ride back home with us?” you say so sweetly it almost rotted his teeth. He huffs at you and you give him the bedroom begging eyes. The same eyes you give him when……. God damn it. You really knew how to get under his skin. He rolls his eyes to try to hide just how much you affect him.

“Fine. See you back at the house.” Mike hesitated, but moved when you poked him in the ribs and motioned for him to get in the car before shutting yourself in the truck, kicking your feet up on the dash. The Chevy rumbles to life and Sy peels out, leaving a trail of smoke in the parking lot. August rolls his eyes at the unnecessary display of masculinity. ‘Dumb country boy’.

The ride is silent and awkward, Mike fidgeting with his hoodie strings and bouncing his legs. August kept his focus on the road, ignoring the anxiety vibrating off the younger man. Ten minutes felt like an eternity. When they pulled in the drive, Mike finally felt like he could breathe. Sy had just turned off the truck when August put the car in park. You hopped out of the driver’s side, hair sticking out sideways and your lipstick smudged. Sy follows, mouth and cheeks red from your make out session. August rolls his eyes.

“Impatient asshole.” Sy just shoots him a smug smile. You giggle and reach up to kiss your agent, knowing he was just grumpy cause Sy got to have you first. He hums in satisfaction as you pull away, picking you up and walking you into the house. You take note of Walter’s car parked in the garage and try to wiggle out of August’s arms to go greet your other lover. Mike follows hesitantly, hands deep in his pockets and dragging his feet on the ground. The past several times he’s been in this house hasn’t exactly been pleasant.

August finally relents and lets you down. As soon as your feet hit the floor you’re on your way up the stairs, almost tripping in your haste. A strong arm wraps around your waist to catch you, and you mumble a thank you without looking at who it is and continuing your way up to the detective. He’s laying in bed with a case file in his hand, one arm behind his head. His hair is wet and he’s only in boxers. He looks up when you come in through the door, eyes light and a flush in your cheeks.

“You’re home early, and it looks like you had a good time. You’ve been absolutely ravished” You climb onto the bed, the alcohol finally catching up to you.

“I did! Mikey apologized and came home with us. Sy is at fault for the ruined lipstick.” The detective raises his brows in surprise.

“That’s great, Love.” he says, getting distracted by the three men filing into the room behind you. He makes eye contact with the youngest man, giving him a nod in greeting. Mike nods back, at least Walter isn’t as intimidating as August.

“And then that bitch showed up at the bar, that’s why we came home early,” you growl. Walter looks confused before Sy happily clarifies. The detective thought it odd his cousin was so excited to relay the news that the girl who Mike had cheated on you with had shown up to ruin your night.

“She tried hooking up with me again. Sweetcheeks, I didn’t tell you about her flirting with me so you would threaten her.” Mike explains. Walter raises his brows further and looks at you pointedly. Sometimes you forget he’s actually a cop.

“I didn’t threaten her! I told her she needed to find something safe to do, that’s just giving good advice.” you grumble.

“And it was so sexy when she did it.” Sy exclaims. Well, that explains that. You flush at the praise, tingles running down your spine. Walter chances a look at August, and the memory of you, the deadly venom in your tone, as you threatened the smaller girl just fed the flames. The lust in the agent’s eyes and the giddiness from Sy sparks something in Walter as well. You quickly catch on to the energy change in the room, biting your lip and making eye contact with each man. Mikey is unsure, though. You had just forgiven him for sleeping with someone else. Would you even want him to touch you? You notice his hesitation, beckoning him forward with a crook of your finger. He knows that look, and he’s happy to let you be in charge again.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, hands laid flat on his thighs, head down in submission. You hum in satisfaction, crawling to get closer to him, ass in the air and hips swaying back and forth. You hear a chorus of groans ring around the room, but keep your focus on the boy in front of you.

“Poor Mikey. He confessed to me earlier that he’s been having trouble getting it up here lately, boys.”

“Serves him right,” August spits. You want to roll your eyes at the hostility, but know that would only lead to a paddling later.

“But he’s apologized, Auggie. It’s time to move past it, don’t you think he’s suffered enough?” It took Mike a moment to remember the dynamic at play here. You submitted to August, and he submitted to both of you. He could only imagine the hell he had coming in his near future.

“By the universe, sure. But I think you have been too lenient on him, Kitten.”

“Agreed.” That comes from Sy. You turn behind you to look at Walter, who gives his nod in agreement to the other two.

“So what do you suggest I do?” Sy shrugs.

“That’s up to you, Sugar. You’re in charge here.” You contemplate for a moment before an idea pops into your head. Mike gulps as he watches a sinister smile bloom across your lipstick smeared mouth. The deviant look in your eyes lets him know he’s in for a long night.

“Your punishment, Baby Face, is to look but not touch.”

Oh yeah, he’s well and truly fucked.

*************************************************************************************************************

You flop back onto the bed, gasping for breath and covered in sweat. Sy groans beside you, just as sweaty and breathless. Walter leans his back against the headboard, and August and Mikey are curled together on your naked thighs. One solid hour of sex and passion had sobered you up. As the endorphin high slowly subsides, you move to get up, attempting to extract yourself from the pile of skin and hair and sweat.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Sy grumbles.

“I have to pee, let me up.” you grumble. August and Mike groan as they move off you, Walter giving you a hand to keep your balance as you stand on the mattress and maneuver your way off the bed and to the bathroom. You start the shower, not enjoying the sticky feeling of sweat and cum drying on your skin. Once deemed warm enough, you step under the spray and the let water wash over you.

You close your eyes and turn to wash your face. Now sober, and in a post-nut clarity state of mind, you think about Mikey and just how easily you gave into him tonight. The boys were right, you were too lenient. You said you needed to talk, but what would you say? You had already told him he hurt you, and that was still needing to be further discussed, but you also wanted to know why. You let out a deep sigh and run a hand down your face.

You flinch when you feel an arm wrap around you, turning to find Walter giving you a worried look. You give him a small smile, turning back into the water to finish scrubbing the make up from your face, before turning to grab your body wash. He stops you, grabbing the soap and your loofah before gently starting to wash your chest. You hum, closing your eyes and leaning back to let the water flow through your hair.

“What were you thinking about, Love?” Walter asks softly, causing you to open your eyes.

“Mikey, and the talk we all need to have.” you whisper. “Just don’t know how I want to go about it.”

“You want to talk it through with me? Help process your thoughts before going in blind?” you huff a laugh out of your nose, before nodding.

“I want to know why he did it, but at the same time, I’m scared to really find out.” He nods his head, putting his hands on your shoulders to turn you so he can start washing your back.

“I’m also confused on how to get over the hurt. The anxiety and that little voice whispering in my ear that he’s going to do it again.” You feel him hum as he starts to massage your shoulders, releasing the knots in your neck.

“Unfortunately, my dear, that little voice may never go away. But Michael put that voice there, and if he’s truly sorry and serious about being with you again, he will work very hard to chase that little voice away.” You nod, understanding what he’s saying, and you appreciate his wisdom, but it does little to ease the heaviness in your chest. Your thoughts are interrupted when Sy burst into the shower.

“Y’all are having a party in here and didn’t invite me?’ he says, fake offense on his bearded face. You chuckle and roll your eyes.

“It’s a shower therapy session, Captain. Just working through some thoughts and feelings.” He raises his eyebrows, not expecting that retort.

“Well, make room. I need to wash off.” he pushes into the small space. Walter grunts while you giggle, rinsing the last of the soap off and slipping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. You can hear the two men in the shower bickering but pay no mind as you make your way to the bedroom to steal one of Walter’s sweaters. You take note that the bedsheets have been removed and the other two men are no longer in the room.

After drying off and getting dressed in the sweater, some panties, and knee high socks to keep your legs warm, you move to go downstairs where you knew August would be putting together after care snacks. Walter and Sy are leaving the bathroom as you head to the bathroom door, stopping to give them both a kiss before leaving the room and going downstairs.

As you had predicted, August was in the kitchen, pajama bottoms hanging off his delectable hips, putting together sandwiches and juice. Sometimes you think he took the nickname “Daddy” too seriously. You look to your right to see Mike in the laundry room, pulling out clean bedsheets and a bigger comforter. This leaves you puzzled, Mikey never did chores. As if he can read your thoughts, he looks up and gives you a sheepish smile.

“Just trying to help out.” he mumbles. You just nod your head, your brain still trying to compute what it was seeing. You must have looked like a SIM, just standing there staring. You snap back into reality when August clears his throat, giving you a look of confusion.

“Yes, Daddy?’ you say. It was almost instinctual at this point to call him that at home. He just simply smirks, before grabbing your hand and moving you to sit at the kitchen island in front of a plate of food. You start to salivate at the sight of a sandwich and fruit. He puts a bottle of water beside the plate before kissing your forehead and moving to put together plates for everyone else.

You munch quietly on your fruit, mind going back to the conversation you’re going to have to have with your four boys. Walter and Sy were easy to talk to, giving you the space to freely and safely speak about how you feel. The strength that radiates from them giving you a sense of peace, leaving you unafraid of your feelings. You didn’t have to tell August what was on your mind. He had an uncanny ability to guess how you’re feeling most times. ‘You can’t control your face, Baby Girl.’

You lift your head up from your snack when you hear Walter and Sy come thundering down the stairs. Both are dressed just as August, leaving you in a sea of man titties and hair. This is the closest to Heaven you will ever get and you can die a happy woman secure in that knowledge. Immediately Sy goes to a plate of food, grumbling a thank you to August in between bites. Walter takes a plate and sits beside you on a stool. August and Sy are standing against it on the opposite side, and you see Mikey shuffle his feet to your other side.

“Guys, we need to talk.” you say. Walter doesn’t react, August and Sy just blink, but you feel Mikey tense up beside you. He knew it was coming still. He just didn’t think you would do it so quickly after what just happened upstairs. He hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say to the other guys. Hell, you didn’t know how to even begin. Now that you’re thinking about it, this probably should have been a one on one talk with Mikey.

“I know that things aren’t going to be the way it was before,” you start. You don’t have to clarify what you meant by before. Just that word alone is enough to drive a knife through Mikey’s heart. You didn’t look at him directly, but he knew you were talking to him. The three older men stay quiet, letting you get what you need to off your chest. August’s sharp attention to detail doesn’t fail to notice the sweat starting to bead on Mikey’s forehead. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you are about to ask.

“Why, Mikey?” your voice cracks, pushing your plate away and looking up at him with tears in your eyes. A lump formed in his throat and he didn’t know what to say for a minute. He didn’t know how to tell you it was because he felt like less of a man in your eyes compared to the other three. How could he tell you he was insecure and emotionally immature and he doesn’t want you to look at him with pity.

“I…” he voice cracks. You raise your brows, anticipating his answer.

“Was it something I did? Something I said?” you croak. This pisses Sy off.

“Don’t go blaming yourself, Darlin’. Mike made the decision to do what he did, no matter what you did or said to him,” he almost barks. You turn to him, seeing his face and chest starting to turn red with anger. You just nod, making eye contact with August who just gives a nod in agreement. You turn back to Mikey.

“He’s right. I could have just talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“What were you feeling?’ Walter asks. If he could get Mikey talking about it, the sooner it unburdens you.

“Emasculated, ignored,” he mumbles. “I just, you call me Baby Face, and it made me feel like you see me as a kid, not a man like these three,” he motions to the others.

“That’s because you are a kid,” Sy grumbles. You turn and give him a pointed look, telling him to shut the fuck up with your eyes.

“He’s right, Baby Cakes, I am. It took me moving out and doing some self-reflection, to realize I’m not yet a man. Hell, I can’t even grow facial hair yet!” You all chuckle, fully aware of just how virile it makes the other three look. “I just, felt like less of a man. But those weeks apart showed me how little I really know and just how much I still have to learn about being, not just a good man, but a good man for you.” You nod along, listening intently and understanding where he’s coming from.

“I wasn’t aware of just how jealous I was going to feel about sharing you. It was like everytime I wanted alone time with you, one of the others needed you more.”

“That’s understandable, but baby you have to tell me when you’re feeling neglected like that,” you say, reaching out to grab his hand in yours. You bring it up to your mouth for a kiss, before setting it back down on the counter.

“It’s not that hard, really. Pick one night a week when she can be all yours,” that comes from August, face stoic as ever. Mikey wanted to get an attitude, but remembered that he should be taking the advice.

“Or just tell us when you want some one on one time, we’ll give you a couple hours,” Sy says.

“And jealousy is normal, but you gotta talk to me, Mikey,” you say, bringing his attention back to you. “I’m sorry my nickname made you feel that way, I can find other nicknames to call you.”

“You can call me whatever you want, baby. I realized it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”

“But why her?” you ask. It was bad enough that he cheated, but with someone you had told him made you feel insecure.

“I don’t know. She showed up at a party one night, and some petty part of me wanted to make you feel the same way watching you with them made me feel. It was immature and wrong.” A part of you could understand that. You were young and immature once too, and you could go from pretty to petty with one letter.

“Do you understand what that did to her?” August says. He wants to yell, but the look on your face says he needs to be calm. Mike shakes his head. In all of his self-reflection, he considered he had hurt you but didn’t think to what extent.

“You almost killed her self-esteem. It took me two weeks just to get her to be comfortable with being naked, just with herself. She didn’t leave bed for anything other than work for a month. Hell, Geralt wasn’t able to touch her for a week because she couldn’t stop crying, and you know how he feels about emotions.” Sy says.

“Geralt is coming around?” Mike says.

“That’s not the point,” Walter chimes in.

“Right. Baby, I’m sorry,” Mikey starts. You just shake your head.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you were honest with me. Just, PLEASE, start talking to me about how you feel. Communication is the only way this is going to work,” you have to emphasize the last sentence heavily. He nods his head furiously. You open your arms for a hug, Mikey wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly.

“Though, I do have one request,” he trails off. You hum, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“Can I top you at least twice a week?”

You blink, before bursting out laughing, breaking the hug and leaning back onto Walter as your body shakes. You can feel him laughing behind you, and hear Sy chuckling. August rolls his eyes, typical Mikey.

“Anything you want, Baby Boy. I love you, thanking you for talking to me,” you say, leaning over and giving him a deep kiss. He kisses you back just as lovingly. He pulls back, gazing at you adoringly before turning to his older cousins.

“I’m sorry to you guys, too. I was the one who brought up this whole arrangement not knowing just what it would take to maintain it.”

August just nods, not having fully forgiven him for what he did to you, he couldn’t care less about a slight done to himself. Walter and Sy just mumble “it’s okay.”

“But I want to thank you, too. Thank you for cleaning up my mess and taking the best care of her. I really owe you guys,” he rubs the back of his neck, unsure how they would respond to that.

“Well, we took care of her because we love her, that’s what you do when you love someone, you take care of them,” Walter says. You smile at that, full of love for your big grump.

“And I plan on making it up to her every day.” he looks deep into your eyes, hoping to really drive home his promise. You smile and cup his face, thumb caressing his cheek. He turns and kisses your palm, before putting his hand over yours and lacing your fingers together. The tender moment is broken by your wide yawn. Sy claps his hands.

“Alright, Little Girl, bed time!” he moves around the island to pick you up, never letting you release Mikey’s hand. Sy carries you upstairs, your arm slung over his shoulder to keep your fingers locked with Mike’s. August starts cleaning the kitchen while Walter puts together the bedsheets Mike had dropped when you started your talk. Sy keeps you in his arms as Walter makes the bed, Mike just staring at you, so thankful for your graciousness.

As soon as the bed is finished, Sy lays you gently in the middle, letting Mike take his place by your side in the bed. Just as Walter was going to climb in with you, his phone rings. You groan, knowing a phone call this late can only mean he’s got another lead on his case. He gives you a quick kiss before moving to the closet and answering his phone. As predicted, he gets dressed in jeans and his sweater, pulling his boots on before giving you one more kiss and leaving the bedroom. You hear the door shut downstairs and send up a prayer to any deity that will listen to keep him safe.

You take the usual position, on your back so you can have one on each side and one on top of your chest. Mike is to your left and Sy decides he wants to be in between your legs tonight. August comes into the bedroom, turning off lights before climbing in to your right. Tucked in between three out of the four loves of your life, you drift into the best sleep you’ve had in weeks, surrounded by love and hair.

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#captain syverson x reader #reader insert #captain syverson #walter marshall x reader #mike (hellraiser)#henry cavill fanfic #august walker x reader #henry cavill #reverse harem #fan fiction

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