#New Life - Same Bastard AU

[ccycloneblogging]

How did catnap react to win player/angle because a honey badger smiling critter ?

...This was supposed to be a joke, but -

mini comic under the cut

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[stychu-stych]

Could we have some of your Lamb head canons please?

I'm going with my modern au because it's my little obsession right now sijssj

I'm cutting the post so it wouldn't be so long. The whole description is below

So the whole thing with Old Faith as the most powerful religion and Bishops is mostly the same like in the game. The world looks similar to our in 1700s, sheep was hunted down over the decades and Lambert was in the group of the last ones. That group was caught and killed, Lamb was lucky enough to be outside the camp at this time but they didn't enjoy their freedom for so long. As a single sheep it was hard to survive on their own

Lamb seeing their wife for the first time sjsbsjsh

Lamber was caught some time later by bounty hunters. However, an accident happened when Lamb tried to escape one night - there were shot in the stomach badly enough that further travel was impossible without them bleeding out. So since Lamb was going to die anyway, the bounty hunters figured out they'd at least bring Old Faith their head. They didn't wait for Lamb to bleed out first, so that death wasn't fast or easy.

First years as a cult leader weren't easy. Taking care of the flock, learning how to fight, figuring out how rituals work, it was a lot for young Death's vessel. Lamb couldn't get used to their new role for some time. But Ratau was a huge help, beloved rat-dad was as much supportive as he could

After their first century as cult leader, Lamb began to feel comfortable in their role, perhaps a little to much I would say. Their grow their wool and started to pay more attention to their appearance and to the things that brought them pleasure. They started to fully enjoy their immortal life, to be too self-confident focused too much on themselves. They liked being in the center of attention, with the flock fully devoted to them. They even started to add a new tattoo with every kill of a Bishop or their the most devoted followers (as a trophy)

Beginning of XX century, Lamb become TOWW's little killing machine, no fear of death or pain. Ready to die, just to stand up and go killing again. They were fully devoted to Narinder in the most toxic way, ready to do absolutely everything just to make their god satisfied. Lamb didn't even realize how obsessed they were with Narinder at that time

Modern times, with Narinder already indoctrinated into the cult. Lamb as a selfish, egocentric, ready to do everything to achieve their goals bastard. Still unhealthy devoted to Narinder but this time in a different way - on one hand madly in love with him, on the other hating him with all their heart because of he did to them. Either way both of those strong feelings keep them close to him

Jeez this post took me more time to write than to draw djdbdjdj I'm soooo bad at writing

[ilyregulus]

not so secret – james potter x reader

summary : james and slytherin!reader are slowly revealing their secret relationship

warnings: social media au, female reader, y/n is portrayed as maia reficco. a little longer this time bc i'm loving writing this so i hope you guys like it too :)

liked by notsirius, yn.yln, moonylupin and others

prongspotter: had a fun day!

comments:

notsirius: with who??

↪moonylupin: apparently not us

↪prongspotter: moony's right

↪notsirius: oh really?

rablack: you know how to read?

↪marlsmcknn: choking right?

↪prongspotter: shut up you two

yn.yln: nice book!

↪itsdorcas: isn't that your favorite?

↪yn.yln: yes!

↪itsdorcas: i see...

↪prongspotter: see what?

↪itsdorcas: nothing...

liked by itsdorcas, justmary, prongspotter and others

yn.yln: weekend dump, i guess?

comments:

bartyjr: who did you played with?

↪yn.yln: with you

↪bartyjr: no you didn't?

↪yn.yln: yes i did?

↪rosierevan: i wasn't invited??

↪bartyjr: swear i wasn't there, love

justmary: you look so cute!!

marlsmcknn: i wanna play that too!!!

rablack: what about the red allstar?

↪yn.yln: well...it's mine?

↪moonylupin: james has one too

↪yn.yln: good for him!

↪rablack: buy a green one next time

↪yn.yln: whatever you want, reggie

prongspotter: i love that game!

↪yn.yln: same!

notsirius: you look pretty....but things are weird

↪yn.yln: don't know what you're talking abt

liked by itsdorcas, lilyevans, yn.yln and others

prongspotter: just cute stuff :)

comments:

moonylupin: can't believe you're playing lego without me

↪notsirius: he forgot about us moony

↪prongspotter: i'd never!

↪notsirius: tell us, who took you away?

yn.yln: wow such a romantic, jamie

↪itsdorcas: and i wonder why...

↪yn.yln: how would i know?

lilyevans: you need to tell me who you're seeing

↪justmary: i wanna know too

bartyjr: is potter in love?

liked by rablack, prongspotter, itsdorcas and others

yn.yln: i once believe love would be black and white...

comments:

rosierevan: is it okay to mark your books now?

↪rablack: in fuckin gryffindor colors??

↪rablack: oh...

↪rablack: i'm blocking you

↪yn.yln: no you won't

↪rablack: no i won't

prongspotter: but it's golden (and red)

↪yn.yln: guess it is

↪notsirius: JAMES POTTER YOU BASTARD

itsdorcas: I FUCKING NEW IT!!!

↪bartyjr: knew what?

↪rosierevan: oh wake up cutie!!!

moonylupin: I TOLD SIRIUS WEEKS AGO AND HE DIDN'T BELIEVED!!

↪moonylupin: it feels so good to be right

↪notsirius: shut up

marlsmcknn: i heard that gryffindors and slytherins make good couples...

↪itsdorcas: i agree baby

↪lilyevans: is that so?

↪justmary: not for you, lily!!!!

liked by yn.yln, notsirius, itsdorcas and others

prongspotter: proud to announce that i am in fact dating this pretty girl, whose only flaw is being a slytherin but whatever i love her!

comments:

notsirius: when's the wedding?

↪notsirius: but i'm still mad you kept that from me, I AM YOUR BEST FRIEND!!!

rablack: apparently being a slytherin is the only thing she got it right...

↪rablack: but you two look cute i guess

itsdorcas: i'm so happy for both of you!!

↪itsdorcas: y/n has a crush on you since her 1st year

↪yn.yln: shut up bestie

↪rosierevan: it's true

moonylupin: my new favorite couple

bartyjr: if you break her heart i'll break your face

↪yn.yln: you know i love you right?

↪bartyjr: shhh...james may get jealous

lilyevans: such a cutie couple, i love you both

yn.yln: you're such an idiot but i'm so lucky that you're MINE idiot, i love you jamie!

liked by prongspotter, justmary, rosierevan and others

yn.yln: dear jamie, hope you know that your laugh is my favorite sound, thank you for making life so fun, i love sharing it with you, ilysm! (we thought it would take longer for you all to figure it out but whatever)

comments:

bartyjr: are you calling us dumb?

↪bartyjr: pls don't answer that, i'm really happy for you!

itsdorcas: my girl is so in love and that's so beautiful

↪marlsmcknn: double date when?

↪yn.yln: anytime!

↪notsirius: make it triple!

↪rosierevan: quadruple i guess?

↪rablack: just go out in group for fucks sake

↪notsirius: calm down little brother

rosierevan: you look really happy so i am also really happy

rablack: you're really good with words aren't you?

↪rablack: you better be good to her, potter

↪prongspotter: promise i will

moonylupin: james' lucky to have you!

↪yn.yln: i agree

↪prongspotter: same

prongspotter: can't wait to share the rest of my life with you, my darling!

[peachdues]

COMPASS — TEASER

Bad boy!Sanemi x Reader • Gang AU

A/N: was this supposed to be limited to a “bad boy Sanemi takes your virginity” prompt? Yes. But y’all should know by now I don’t know how to control myself. And I’m going to a show tonight so I figured I’d feed y’all before I left.

Legit hyped for this one because gang member Sanemi is 🤤

Before anyone asks, yes this will end up being a multi-part fic. I don’t wanna hear a THING.

CW: Sanemi being a huge fucking flirt • this fic will be HELLA nsfw so MDNI • like super fucking explicit lmao • Reader runs a bookstore

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated sneer he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciative whistle as he steps back and rakes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate shake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

[ghoularaki]

the lonely district

↠  summary: In the years after the slime monster incident and Midoriya's disappearance, he had come back to haunt both you and Bakugou. He no longer was the boy you once knew, but a villain ready to take what was his. Revenge was best served cold, afterall.

↠  word count: 7, 523

↠ pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x midoriya izuku

↠ genre/warnings: smut, angst, prohero au, DARK CONTENT, villain deku, yandere, shock collars, implied stalking, kidnapping. NSFW (NONCON, sub! reader, (reluctant) switch! katsuki, dom! izuku, fuck or die, loss of virginity, creampie, spanking, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, blowjob, no aftercare)

↠ a/n: this is an old fic i have been trying to finish since 2019 so im sorry if the writing feels inconsistent. i just really wanted to finally finish it since it was half finished. also excuse the very outdated villain deku trope rip

It’s been a long day and honestly you just wanted to go home. For some reason, your supervisor thought it was a good idea to pair you with Dynamight or rather Bakugou Katsuki—your childhood friend. If you could even call him that. For the longest time, you both had not gotten along, but since you had the mutual friend of Midoriya Izuku, you had to interact. That all changed when Bakugou got his quirk and he turned into a cruel bully. The dynamic and interaction formula was always the same: Bakugou would torture Midoriya in any way he could, Midoriya would just let it happen and you would defend him, turning it into a full blown brawl between you and Bakugou. It stayed like this for a while until that day Bakugou was held hostage by that slime monster and Midoriya went missing.

After that you had clung onto Bakugou in a desperate need to make sense of both of them getting hurt on the same day and the loss of your best friend. Surprisingly, Bakugou let you. But not without string of degrading names following. Despite his harsh words, he never once pushed you away anytime you silently sought comfort. Even though he didn’t act like it, he too was affected by Midoriya’s disappearance. Maybe he felt guilty, maybe he just missed his punching bag, or maybe he finally matured.

You would never know since he was so emotionally constipated. It was a bitch and a half just to get him to admit that you were one of the most important people in his life. Even now as you are both pro-heroes in your early twenties, it’s difficult for him to call you his best friend. Sure, he would be concerned if anything happened to you—that worry built with your childhood friend missing—he would rather die than confess to that.

Thing is, Midoriya didn’t stay “missing” for so long. No, he wasn’t found nor was his body. No, he never returned to his poor mother after years of being gone with open arms. No, there was never a “welcome back” sign, but his face plastered on every wanted poster within Japan. The bastard had joined the League of Villain with a big ol’ grin on his freckled face. That cursed day when you met with those emerald eyes again had haunted you forever. Tears streamed down your face, watching him be reborn into a whole new person. He didn’t have an ounce of guilt in his bones, he only gave a maniac smile, mocking you. 

Didn’t you miss me, N/n-chan? You look a little… sad, He drawled out with a smug look, glee coursing through his veins as you sob as if you had found him dead instead of him breathing, finally alive. 

It was when he had escaped that Bakugou for once let you clutch onto him, holding in his own sorrow as you openly sob into his shirt. And he did it again when the League of Villains was supposedly defeated but Midoriya or rather Deku still ran rampant. 

That’s where you two are now, there was another sighting of Deku in the area and you were assigned to bring him to face judgement. You knew what would become of him if you caught him. Still clinging onto the memory of an innocent child, you almost hoped that you would never find him. 

Bakugou had other plans.

Since day one he had wanted to find that bastard (his words, not yours) and give him absolute hell for becoming a villain. 

“It’s probably just another false alarm, just like the other seven,” You sassed him as you both walk towards an alleyway. 

“Doesn’t fucking matter, we still have check just in case this time it’s not,” Bakugou growls stopping away.

You rolled your eyes and made a face at him from behind his back.

As if he had a sixth sense, he barked, “I know you’re being a brat. I would stop if I were you or else you want your ass blow into the fucking stratosphere.”

Once you both got to the alley way only to be met with a dumpster, you pivoted and raised your brow at Bakugou. He rolled his eyes at you and went towards the dumpster. He opened it to see if there was any hints or evidence Deku even here. Still standing near the entrance of the alley, you the hair on your neck rose. A primal instinct that you were being watched set alarm bells ringing in your head. As subtle as you could, your eyes bounced around the enclosed area in hopes to find the danger before it finds you. 

A bad feeling sunk in your stomach like a rock does in water. Hesitantly you said, “Hey Dynamight, I think we should leave.”

“And why the fuck should we, Umbra,” He spat out your hero name. 

“Because,” you strained, still observing your surroundings, “I have a bad feeling about this. I think we should leave and get some back up.”

He slammed down the lid and stalks up to you, venom in his voice, “Are you running away from a fight.”

“No—” You started, but he cut your off.

“Oh really,” He mocked, “Because to me, it seems that you are.”

“Can you not be an asshole for a couple seconds and listen to me?” Your voice pitched, not understanding why he’s being so difficult. 

“Listen to you? Now why would I listen to you when it seems to me that you are avoiding any place that could have him in it?” You were about to start defending yourself when he cuts you off again. “It’s almost like you don’t want to find him.”

Your eyes widen at him, you couldn’t even feel offending knowing it’s the truth. Though, you rather not fuel Bakugou’s already large ego and denied him. “I’m just trying to make sure none of us get hurt!”

“I don’t need your fucking concern, I can beat any asshole including him easily,” He boasted.

“Oh get the fuck over yourself,” you barked, scowling at him. “Stop acting like you’re the fucking best, asshole.”

“I’m sorry what was that, Number Seven Hero?” Bakugou stepped closer until his face were mere centimeters away from yours. You just glare up at him, not caring that the height difference made you seem less intimidating. 

“This isn’t the time for a dick measuring contest, something doesn’t fucking feel right here and I just want to make sure neither us get seriously injured.” You jabbed your finger in his chest to emphasized your point.

“I don’t need your fucking help!” He roared and grabbed on your wrist to throw it away from him. 

You ran your fingers through your hair and then pull at it in frustration, “Why can’t you just let me help you—help us for once! You don’t always have to be the savior,” You let out a growl before finishing, “Fleeing isn’t being a coward, it’s being smart enough to analyze the situation and your own weaknesses!”

“So you’re call me fucking stupid now, you shitty brat,” he bit.

“That’s all you got from that?!” You screeched before letting out a laugh that held no humor, “You’re fucking helpless.”

“Helpless? I’m the helpless one? You’re the one that wants to fucking run away just because you ‘have a bad feeling’.” He did air quotes around what you had said.

“Oh God, Lord fucking forbid, I’m just looking out for both of our asses since you want to play big macho man!”

As you both start a screaming match with each other, you failed to notice the emerald eyes stalking you like a cat does a mouse. 

“You’re so fucking clingy just like that damn Deku, hop off my dick,” He snarled and clicked his tongue at you as if you were a misbehaving child.

Rage built up within your chest at his ill words. Syllables that were only meant to maim almost leave your tongue when you heard a noise a little too close to comfort. Adrenaline coursed through your bones, knowing your suspicions were right. You grabbed onto Bakugou’s wrist and turned towards the dark corner of the alley to fade into the shadows in hopes to escape. You ignored how he starts to yell profanities at you. Before you could even take two steps, you were pulled back by your hair into a firm body. 

You let out a grunt at the sting from the strands being pulled from their follicles. 

“Not so fast,” The voice whispered in your ear. 

Growling, you elbowed the person in the stomach and jump away from them before they could grab you again. When you turned around, you jaw dropped in shock.

“Izu-chan?” You stuttered out. 

“In the flesh,” he taunted with arms raised to the side.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. He had matured so much since the last time you saw him. His hair was shorter but still as unruly, his jawline was chiseled along with his cheekbones, he still wore a dress shirt with a vest and tie, but for once it was tied properly. 

“Finally decided to fucking show up,” Bakugou seethed. 

Midoriya pouted as he lets his arms drop with a whomp sound against his outer thighs.

“Oh come on, Kacchan don’t be like that. I thought this could be like a family reunion,” He gives a grand smile before it dropped, venom in his tone, “Didn’t you miss me?” 

“Sure, miss you so much, you shit stain.”

Midoriya fiegned hurt and clutched his chest in dramatics, “Oh, how you wound me so, dear Kacchan.”

Bakugou straightened out his back and got in a offensive position, “Enough with the fluff, Deku. It’s time I send your ass to jail.”

Cheek twitching, Midoriya glanced at you still shellshocked. Bakugou came at him, arms positioned behind him to perpell him at the shorter male. Right as Bakugou raised his fist to blast Midoriya in the face, he grabbed you and placed you right in front of him. Bakugou skidded to a halt with widened eyes, not wanting to hurt you in the process. You locked eyes with him. Your knees wobbled from being manhandled so easily.

“Using a girl to shield you is low.”

Midoriya simply shrugged and brought a hand up to cradle your throat. His fingers tightened when he felt you gulp underneath his gloved hands.

“Scared, Love?” He slithered in your ear. He looked down at you, before peered up at Bakugou. At his enraged expression, he licked the shell of your ear. You whimpered and flinched away the best you could.

This was exactly why you didn’t want to meet Midoriya. Even before he disappeared, he was smart and cunning. He knew how to get under Bakugou’s skin, and render you useless. Tears bubbled up as you faced the fact the boy you once loved had died long ago. Pretending to still trembled, you subtly widened your stance. Bringing a hand to Midoriya’s, he took it as you sniveling.

“Shh, don’t cry.”

Looking at Bakugou, you hardened your expression. Quickly, you gripped Midoriya’s wrist and with all your might you stepped forward and used his weight against him to throw him over your shoulder. When his back hit the ground, he let out an irritated grunt.

Wasting no time, you grabbed the quirk cancelling handicuffs on your belt and raced towards him. As you went to straddle him, he kicked your feet from under you and you fell with him. Bakugou took your place and was on top of Midoriya in no time. With acute flexibility, Midoriya spun around and kicked Bakugou in the face.

“Gah! Fuck,” Bakugou growled while gripping his face.

Wind still knocked out of you, Midoriya focused on Bakugou.

“You were always stupidly resilient,” The villain seethed. “I’m done playing games.”

“Good, because so am I.”

Bakugou lunged at him, ready to blast him to kingdom come. Midoriya side stepped his attack. Huffing, he went at him again. The two of them stayed the dance for a while. Any attack Bakugou attempted to do, Midoriya merely avoided with such leisure. The asshole even had his hands behind his back.

Watching as you got up to join the fight as well, Midoriya sighed. “Stubborn, the both of you.”

With such grace, he grabbed Bakugou’s hair and slammed his knee into his face. Stunned, the hero stumbled back. Before he could process the hit, Midoriya kicked him in the head, rendering him useless. Your mouth gaped at Bakugou being so easily taken out. His lids flickered as he struggled to get up.

“R-run,” He commanded, before falling.

Scrambling away from the villain, you sucked in your breath as you go to phase into the shadows. Before you could, Midoriya gripped you again. This time, his hands wrapped the column of your throat and squeezed. Frantically, you slapped against his forearms.

Adding more pressure, he leaned over you as you form slacked to the ground.

“Sweet dreams.”

Bakugou was the first to come to his senses. He squinted his eyes to adjust to the light that hung above him. He groaned as he observed his surroundings, noticing that he was in a dingy basement. There wasn’t much besides a queen size bed near the corner along with a door that he had no idea where it led and an opening with stairs peeking around the corner from where he saw.

Clutching his head, he turned to see your still slumbering form not far from him. Panic built up in him as he scrambled over to you and sighed in relief when there is no sign of vital injures. He starts to shake you awake, trying to think of a plan to escape.

After a couple moments, you let out a hum and your eyelids fluttered open. Just like Bakugou your eyes squinted at the sudden light probing at your pupils. 

“Katsu,” You groaned, mind still fuzzy so the old nickname slipped out. Your throat killed.

Bakugou shakily exhaled, glancing towards the concealed stairwell, “Yeah, it’s me.” His hands are gentle as he helped you up into a sitting position. You lean against his chest, body to exhausted to even hold yourself up. Which was odd to you since you were sure that Bakugou got the brunt of each hit that Midoriya landed.

“Where are we?” You asked huskily despite knowing that he probably was just as clueless as you.

“Why the fuck would I know that, brat,” He bit, before sighing and apologizing. He’s just irritated that you both were captured.

“It’s fine, it was a stupid question, anyway,” You smile up at him. 

Bakugou looked down at you and then furrowed his brow when he sees the collar around your neck along with a prominient bruise. Now that he thought about it, he felt one around him, too. You seemed to also notice as you reached towards him and traced the collar, confusion written on your face.

You and him were clad in different clothes as well. Instead of his hero suit, he now adorned plain sweatpants and a black t-shirt. You were wearing the same, but shorts instead. What a fucking perv.

Before you two could question each other, the thud of door opened and closed, followed by rhythmic footsteps coming down the stairs. Your heads snapped to the sound and Bakugou took a defensive stance to see Midoriya strut into the basement with a valiant smirk. You scrambled to stand with Bakugou, but your legs give out for a second and he had to catch you. Once you were sure on your feet, you glared at the man in front of you. 

“Aw why such aggressive faces,” The villain pouted.

“You know damn well why, you fucking bastard,” Bakugou seethed, tiny explosions crackling in his palms. 

You glanced to the shadows creeping up the walls. Shifting your attention to the stand off that the two men were having, you only hoped Bakugou could distract Midoriya enough for you to slip passed him. Ignoring the way your heart pounds at the thought of joining the darkness once again, you raced towards the vantablack. Almost like predicting your movements, Midoriya grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. His arm snaked around your waist. You struggled as best as you can, but his grip got so tight a squeak left your lungs.

“Aw, N/n-chan, you so adorable,” He nuzzles into your neck. He trailed his cold nose up the slope your neck, purposely digging into the bruise, up to your cheek so he could whisper in your ear, “Have you ever heard of cute aggression? It’s quite a funny concept. Humans when we see something cute, we just find the need to squeeze it until it cries or even die. Funny, right?” As he speaks his grip only got tighter and you stand straight as a pole as he licked the shell of your ear, again.

“Get the fuck away from her, you freak.” 

Bakugou took a step towards you, but Midoriya dropped his hold on your wrist, to fish something from his dress pants pocket. The hero observed the other man, not wanting to be too brash when your life is on the line. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

Midoriya started to fiddle with what looks like a remote between his gloved fingers. “I would be careful what you say, Kacchan, because the results may be… shocking,” He smirked to himself at his own little inside joke. 

“What was I saying, my angel?” Midoriya began, but you kneed him in the crouch and jumped away from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You commanded, ready to fight your childhood friend—no, this villain.

Instead of instantly attacking, Midoriya stayed bent down, clutching his stomach as he giggled. A shiver crawled up your spine at his laugh that lost all warmth it once had. He was insane. He cackled for what seemed to be ages before he stands up straight and all humor gone from his face. 

“Interrupt me one more time, and I swear to god,” He snarled, his doe eyes dropped into menacing slits. “As I was saying,” Midoriya reached for you again, but you slapped it away.

“I said don’t touch me,” You spat at him.

“Fine be like that, fucking brat.” 

Searing hot pain was all you felt. You screamed at the top of your lungs as you collapsed onto the cement floor in front the villain. Bakugou could only watch in horror at your shrill howls. You desperately clawed at the collar around your throat as it felt as if liquid fire was shot into your veins. 

“What are you doing? Fucking stop it, you’re hurting her!” Bakugou practically begs as your body withered in agony. 

Midoriya only shrugged, “I believe that dwindling down the pain is the best way to train."

You gasped for breath, struggling to get even an ounce of oxygen. 

“She’s not a damn dog!” Bakugou felt so helpless as he watched you struggled to inhale and he growled when your face starts to turn vermillion. “She can’t fucking breathe, you bastard!”

Cold washed over your body. Falling onto your side, you sucked in as much air as you can try to ignore the urge to vomit. 

With such a disgusting poise, Midoriya beny down and sat you up. He forced you to lean against his chest just as you did with Bakugou. “Poor baby, you tried so hard to save you and Bakugou. You even attempted to use your quirk. Isn’t it scary? You still sleep with the lights on, don’t you?” He cradled you and his tone was just so condescending but you couldn’t do anything about it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bakugou questioned.

“Oh, he doesn’t know,” Midoriya teased, keeping his eyes on you. He felt twisted arousal at those tear stained cheek and how you lips shimmered with spit. “The poor, little baby is terrified of the dark. Absolutely terrified!”

"What?"

"Pretty juvenile, isn't it?” He mocked, then turned his attention to the hero a couple feet from him. “To be honest, she didn't plan ever using her quirk again after that incident when she first got her quirk. You remember it, right? She was missing for hours, poor thing was stuck in the shadows all alone. But, after seeing you captured by that slimy fuck and my 'disappearance' poor thing blamed herself for not being strong enough. That day on she promised to become stronger to find me and make sure her dear friends will never be harmed again. Isn't that just sweet. The perfect hero story."

Multiple emotions flashed on Bakugou’s face; confusion, worry, anger and guilt. "Why— why would you become a hero for such a stupid reason, huh?! I can protect myself!" His words were sharp as he glared you down, hating how dazed you look. Despite his declarement, guilt tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but think if he was just a little stronger and didn’t fuel your need to be a hero, than either of you would be in this situation. 

Softly, the villain started to wipe away the drool that pooled in the corner of your mouth and the tears that had yet to dry from your face. You furrowed your brow and tried to focus on Bakugou and answer his question that sounded more like a plea. 

"I just wanted to be strong, too. You and Izu-chan always protected me so I wanted to return the favor." The words were slurred but it still stirred something in both of the men. 

"And just how sweet," Deku seethed, now gripping your cheeks so hard your lips became puckered. He pulldc your face close to his before he clicked his tongue and pushed your face away, letting your body dropped as he stood. 

“Fuck,” you hissed. Your reactions were slow so your head hit the concrete with an audible thud.

Bakugou attempted to go to you to check you were okay, but Midoriya held up the remote.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tutted at the hero with a wagging finger, “If you haven’t noticed, I get to say what goes and I don’t think I said you could go near her.”

Bakugou only growled like a feral dog but doesn’t move in fear of seeing you in such misery again. “You’re a bastard I hope you know that.”

“And what does that make you, Kaccan,” Midoriya’s tone was cold, so cold that the temperature dropped. 

You stared down the remote, formulating a plan. If you could only grab the damn remote then he won’t hold so much power you both and you can move freely. Seeing that he was distracted by Bakugou, you pushed yourself up to stand. Not caring how your bones screamed to rest, you slinked up and reeled your fist up to punch him with all your might. A whoosh came from how fast your went to strike. Your breath caught in your throat as Midoriya seize your fist without even looking at you.

“You stupid, stupid girl,” He sung without any emotion. He snatched your jaw and shook your head, amusement in his eyes as you tried to kick and squirm. Without any effort, he threw you away and you fell to a heap onto the floor. “Stupid, stupid girl,” He repeated and then he pressed onto the remote. 

A loud grunt cracked and echoed into the basement. You watched in horror as Bakugou crampled to the cement, trying his damndest to get the collar off. A shiver ran down your back, knowing exactly how he must feel.

“He didn’t didn't do anything!" You screeched.

"Right now he didn't," Midoriya shrugged, watching how the mighty fall with a smile. 

Bakugou let out a shout he tried to hold back, not wanting to give Midoriya the satisfaction or to worry you. It was too late for that though as you crawled over to the villain. You clutched onto his pants, begging, “Please just let him go. Just make it stop please.” New tears started to form watching the most important person to you crumpled over in pain on his knees. 

A gagging noise rings in your ears as his face is now red like a rose. 

“Please!” You screeched, now hugging Midoriya’s legs and gazing up at him with watery eyes. Snot and tears ran down your visage as you repeated please over and over again. “I’ll do anything, just please let him go, he can’t breathe!” You babbled pleases as if it was the only words you know. 

Midoriya’s eyes lit up a maniac green seeing you gravel at his feet. God, you were so fucking pathetic. His cock twitched as you begged you were made to. 

"Anything?" He drawled out, not caring how Bakugou choked. It was only background noise to him.

"Yes, anything! Just please stop all of this, I'll do anything you say." There was clear desperation in your voice.

Midoriya let out a hum before answering and turning off the collar, "Call me Izu-chan again like you used when we were kids."

You tilt your head at the simple command. It was easy enough, you were about to reply then Bakugou gasps out, "Don’t do anything that sick bastard tells you to!"

Pure ire flashes on Midoriya’s face. He snarled as he looked at Bakugou’s quivering form trying to suck up oxygen and was about to press the button again until he hears your heavenly voice.

"I-Izu-chan, Izu-chan please don't!" You pulled yourself closer, so close that your breasts squished against his shins. You kept gaze up at Midoriya, trying to look innocent as possible to please him. Honestly, it was working because as you looked up at him with those teary eyes, he can’t help but notice how beautiful you look at his feet. Worshipping him as if he is a god. Midoriya reached down and cradled your cheek within his gloved palm. You closed your eyes and snuggled further into its warmth, trying to seem inconspicuous as you hear Bakugou start to stand. Pouting, you laid it on thick praying he kept his attention on you. "Don't hurt him! He-he's just being brash like usual. Please he doesn't know any better."

“You’re right,” Midoriya stared at you with adoration, but it fell when he locked gazes with the hero inches away from punching him in the face, “He doesn’t know any better.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened as he froze at how he was able to catch on so fast. He was about to send an explosion towards the villain when Midoriya kicks you further away from Bakugou and pressed the damn remote again. 

You could only whimper out a little, “Katsu,” that breaks his heart. He went toward you again but he felt that pain once again. He fell to the floor not too far from you. Body exhausted, he just collapsed to heap on the floor. The shocks were gone as fast as they came, but before he could even attempt to crawl to you, Midoriya straddles his back. He tries to buck him off but his arms were grabbed and harshly forced behind his back. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” Bakugou tried to say but the hand not holding his arms, pushed his head into the ground. He grunted when the side of his face hit the concrete, leaving him immobile. Midoriya adjusted himself so that he was now stranding the back of Bakugou’s thigh, spreading the hero’s leg. 

He giggledvwhile cruelly shoving his knee into Bakugou’s crotch, "Now if you are both done interrupting me, we can finally get this show on the road." 

A huff left Bakugou at the stimulation that grinded against his groin.

“What are doing you bastard!” Bakugou barked, slight desperation in his voice as his cock started to spring to life. Midoriya only ignored him as he pressed hard, reveling in the tiny groan that left Bakugou’s chest. “I said, what are you doing?” Bakugou squirmed more, but nothing happens.

Midoriya pressed his front into Bakugou’s back and whispered in his ear, “How does it feel to be the one pushed down. Not so fun is it?” 

“What is this? Some sort of fucking revenge fantasy, sicko?” Bakugou groaned, hating how his body was betraying him.

Humming, Midoriya kept his knee grinding into the hero. Bakugou tried to scramble away, not wanting you to see him so weak, but Midoriya got a lot stronger with age. An uncanny amount.

Against the small of his back, Bakugou felt how hard Midoriya was. The need to vomit built up in his throat. Shuffling himself, the villain put himself between his childhood friend’s hips. Through the thin material of his sweatpants, Midoriya’s length rubbed against the line of his ass.

Leaning down so his lips brushed against the hero’s ear, Midoriya’s breath stuttered. He had been waiting for this moment for so long. His tip leaked in the confides of his slacks, begging to sink into Bakugou or your heat. The way Bakugou struggled against him only added more stimulation.

Not wanting to get too ahead of himself, Midoriya opened to see you crawling to the shadows on the wall. Sighing into Bakugou’s ear, the man under him shuddered. Still grinding his cock into Bakugou’s withering hips, he pressed the remote to see go slack against the floor. Your whimper had Bakugou turn his focus to your writhing form.

“S-stop,” His words had a double meaning.

Giving one last harsh thrust that if there weren’t clothes between the two men, his cock would have surely breached the hero’s hole, Midoriya got up. He clicked off the eletricity and followed how drool foamed out your mouth.

“Get on the bed. Sit at the head and wait, if you don’t,” He waved the remote in front of Bakugou’s flustered face, “You know what will happen.” Midoriya pointed with his chin at your form.

As Midoriya pulled his weight and grip from Bakugou, he went to the bed as instructed. Heaven knew he wanted to knock the motherfucker out, but your life was on the line. Settling into the metal bars of the headboard, he watched Midoriya go to your pliant form.

Or so he thought.

When Midoriya bent down to grab you, you snapped your foot up and kicked him right in the nose.

“Shit!” He cradled his nose, tears flooding his sight.

Sprinting to Bakugou, you reached for him and prepared to barrel into the darkness. Falling onto the bed, Midoriya quickly recovered and pinned you underneath him. You screamed and clawed at the bedsheets. Kicking and squirmed, you did anything you could to get him off you.

Midoriya grabbed your head and smothered your face into the cushions.

“Don’t,” He bit. Not at you, but at Bakugou who got ready to fight. “I’ll fucking snap her neck and make you fuck her cooling corpse.”

Grinding his teeth, Bakugou could only watch as Midoriya maneuvered your thrashing form. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he placed your body across thighs so you were butt was perked up on his lap.

“Damn, I thought Bakugou would be the brat, not you.”

“Fuck you!” You screeched.

You were so sick of being antagonized by him. Adrenaline in your system had you acting out of character. Wrenching your arms behind your back, Midoriya ripped off your shorts and your panties. Terrified, you fought more, not liking where this was going. Before you could move more, a thundering slap burned in your bare bum. Screaming, you whipped your head to Midoriya.

Tears pierced your waterline. He- he just spanked you like you were a child.

His face stone-cold, he didn’t offer any comfort. Bringing his hand down again, your feet kicked pathetically at the sting. He hit the same place again. Sobbing, your head fell into the bed. The fight in you left as quick as it came.

Seeing you were more calm, Midoriya rubbed his large, calloused hand over your burning bum. “You done?”

Whimpering, you nodded your head.

Despite your form sagging, he doesn’t lift you up. If anything, his hand wandered until his fingers brushed against your slit. Gasping, your head sprung up to try and make eye contact with him. He ignored you to spread your legs and get more of a view of your cunt.

“S-stop it,” You begged.

Midoriya dipped into your hole to gather some of the wetness that unwillingly spilled from you.

“Why stop when your pussy is so wet for me?”

Swirling your clit, your legs twitched from the stimulation. Going back to your hole, he breached you with two fingers. You winced from the intrusion. Thrashing, you didn’t want someone to touching you there, especially for the first time.

Midoriya caught attention to your flinch, “Oh, are you a virgin?”

A shit-eating grin spread across his face when you sob, not stopping shoving his thick fingers further into you. Looking over at Bakugou, he isn’t ignorant to how the hero’s nostrils flared. “Aww poor Kacchan, you wanted to get to her first, didn’t you?”

“Die,” Bakugou snarled, but his eyes didn’t leave the fingers splitting you open.

Midoriya huffed a laugh, and leaned down to you, “I bet he would have made it real special. Too bad all he’s gonna get is my sloppy seconds.”

Ripping his fingers from you, you gasped at suddenly being empty. Licking your escense from his appendages, Midoriya forced you up. Roughtly, he ripped off your shirt so you were completely bare. Without care, he threw you down between Bakugou’s legs, a pillow below you. Getting behind you, he propped your hips up so you were face down and ass up.

Not giving two shits what Midoriya says, Bakugou gripped onto one of your hands as a small form of comfort. You clutched onto him, fear turning your tummy in tiny twists.

Midoriya unzipped his pants and brought them down to pull his cock from the tight cloth. Sighing in relief, Midoriya stoked himself with a few weak pumps. One his knees, he dragged himself closer to inspect both of your holes on display for him. With thumb, he ran it down from your ring of muscles over your hole and to your clit. Brushing it, he went back to your hole, he hooked his thumb inside and pried you apart.

A shuttering moan left at being exposed for his greedy eyes. Not caring you weren’t prepped enough, Midoriya brought his cockhead to your pussy.

“W-wait!” You begged, but he only bullied his way inside.

Only the tip was inside and you were being ripped apart. Bakugou gasped your hand tighter. More and more of your ex-childhood friend shoved himself inside. At halfway, he pulled out until it was just the head, and then slammed all the way to the hilt.

Screaming into the pillow, you cried as he tore his way into you. His balls slapped against your clit as he started a brutal pace. Your nipples chaffed against the rough texture of the bedding.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Midoriya moaned.

He didn’t hold back his noises. Fucking into you, he groaned and whimpered, loving to finally be inside you. He had waited for years to feel how warm you were. When he was still a hormonal teen, he would spend hours yanking his cock to the thought of tearing you open. Who was he kidding? Even well into his adults years, he still fucked himself to you.

And him getting to you before Bakugou was the cherry on top.

A petty, insecure him wanted to shout, ‘I win!’ right at the man in front him. But staring at him, as he silently seethed at watching you get fucked by the man he hated, was much sweeter.

Crowding you, Midoriya leaned down to groan in your ear, “Look at you. Your sloppy cunt molding just for my cock. You were made for me.”

His head leaned down further to suck the length of your neck. Kissing the nape, he harshly bit into it and you screamed at the piercing ache. Tilting his hips, he hit the spongy part in you, a moan finally leaving you. He kept abusing it as his hand went down to your clit. Instinctively, you spread yourself further for him. His cock stretching you past your limits had your brain fog up in pleasure. Mouth gape, you whimpered into the pillow.

Working you over, Midoriya didn’t stop his pace or how he twiddled your clit. Too fast for your liking, a tightness tugged in your lower stomach.

“N-no.”

Midoriya caught on to how you scrambled away from the pleasure, “Oh, are you- fuck- are you gonna cum?”

In denial, you shook your head.

Laughing at you, Midoriya didn’t stop, just kept going as he was. Pinching your clit, your legs spasmed. You bit your lip to hold off the orgasm, but it was too late.

With a pound into your g-spot, you moaned as you came all over the villain’s dick. Groaning, Midoriya’s hips stuttered, but he was far from completing with you. Licking your neck, he bit into your flesh.

The pleasure quickly turned into pain as he didn’t stop. “Stop, it h-hurts!”

“Good.”

Ramping up his thrusts, you screeched into the pillow. Clutching onto it with your free hand, Bakugou stroked your hair to help you work through the agony. Tilting your head up, you looked up at the hero with bleary eyes. Drooling dripped down from your lips for a different reason.

From your fucked out expression, Bakugou almost came just from that. He knew it was wrong, but his cock has never been harder. You looked so beautiful ruined. If only it was him splitting you apart until you were crying.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prepared for the next orgasm that threatened to rip through you. Midoriya’s thrust turned sloppy, he finally let up on your clit to focus on his own end. Gripping your hips, he forced them back to fuck you further on him.

You screeched and clenched around him when he bumped your cervix. At that, Midoriya stilled his hips. Cum shot out from him and deep in your cunt. He didn’t move until all of his cum spilled inside you. Your body hummed and twitched.

Sagging down, you were exhausted. Midoriya pulled out from you and you whimpered at being empty after being fucked open. Though, he didn’t leave you alone. His hand cupped your cunt, not letting any cum dribble out.

“Your turn,” Midoriya addressed Bakugou.

“What?” The hero asked stupidly.

“I did say you would get my sloppy seconds, didn’t I?” He tilted his head, mocking him. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Steeling his resolve, he agreed, “Fine.”

Like a puppet on strings, Midoriya pushed you onto Bakugou’s lap. Hand still cupped over you cunt, Bakugou tugged down his sweatpants and boxers. Sighing as his cock slapped against his clothed stomach, he grabbed your thigh to bring you closer.

With Midoriya’s help, you were positioned over his cock. Pressing against your back, you noticed he didn’t put his own away. Ignoring it, you locked gazes with Bakugou. He returned it.

Taking the reigns, Bakugou tugged you from Midoriya’s grip and he let him. Pulling his hand from your cunny, Bakugou replaced it with the blunt head of his cock. Cum spilled down to your thighs. Using it as lube and still stretched open, Bakugou slipped inside you with little resistance. He was a little bit bigger than Midoriya and thicker. Despite that, you didn’t wince as you sank down to the hilt.

Grasping you, Bakugou cradled your face. With little patience, he began thrusting inside you. Moaning, you didn’t stray away from his ruby eyes. Here, in this moment, you could pretend it’s just you two. Maybe the tension between you finally bubbled over and he took your virginity like you secretly wanted. And maybe, just maybe, Bakugou could take it like he longed for as much you did.

Matching his momentum, Bakugou brought his thumb over you parted lips. Dragging it across your bottom lip, he slipped his thumb inside. Moaning, you licked at the oddly sweet skin.

Midoriya cut into the moment, “Don’t you dare cum until I say so.”

Glancing at him, you see him sitting at the end of the bed, working himself back up slowly. His hand twisting over his length a lot slower than Bakugou’s thrusts.

Hooking his thumb on your bottom teeth, he brought your attention back to him. Eyes not straying from his, he let his hand slither down to hold your throat. The grip gentle. You sunk into his hold, it so much softer than you ever expected.

His other hand went to your neglected clit, circling it. Moaning for him. your thighs shook. Hands on his plush chest, you traveled down to grip his wrist. If he kept going, you would cum and you didn’t want to know what Midoriya would do.

Bakugou took at as encouragement and pressed further.

“I- I can’t!” You hiccupped.

Taking mercy on you, Midoriya said with a wavering voice, “Cum. Now.”

Not wasting a moment, Bakugou pushed you down onto the bed. Hand still on your throat, he hovered over you. In the tangle, his cock fell out, but he quickly fucked it back in you. Like a man starved, he slammed his dick in and out of you.

Groaning, you tilted your hips to encasing him inside you more. With his knees, he spread you further and went back to your bundle of nerves.

“You’re so pretty,” Bakugou leaned down, and bit right where Midoriya did before. He tried his best to cover all of that bastard with himself.

His sweet words had your vision swarm. Kicking your feet and curling your toes, his next bite did you in. Cumming with a loud moan right in his ear, Bakugou quickly followed. His cum mixed with Midoriya’s.

Flopping on top of you, he kissed where he bit you as an apology. Deep in you, his cock softened and fell out. Whimpering, you welcomed being empty once more. Your hips were battered and bruised.

“How cute,” Midoriya mocked.

From under Bakugou, you stared at the man who towered the both of you, still stroking his own cock. “I’m far from done with you two.”

Twisting his head to the villain, Bakugou sneered, “Fuck off. We did what you wanted.” He refused to move, covering your form with his to protect you.

The shorter male’s face dropped. “If both don’t get to work sucking my cock, I’ll shock you until you’re fucking stupid and nothing more than little fuck dolls.” Hand tight around the remote, you didn’t take his threat lightly.

Crawling out from under the hero, you went down on your knees on the cold concrete floors. The bones already ached. Glaring at Midoriya, Bakugou didn’t break eye contact as he got on his knees right next to you. It was comically how his form swallowed yours.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Midoriya had you two between his knees. Raising his brow in impatience, you leaned over to lick his cockhead. Bakugou copied you to focus on his balls. Sucking one of them in his mouth, Midoriya bucked up forcing you to take more of his length.

“S-so good,” With both hands, he gripped you and Bakugou’s hair.

Pulling off his cock, you kissed furthered down until you met with Bakugou’s mouth. Departing from Midoriya’s sack, Bakugou licked up until your mouths connected. Over his dick, you both made out, tongues brushing against each other.

Your moan vibrated against Midoriya causing him to shutter.

“For a virgin, you are a natural.”

Clenching your eyes closed, you tuned out his voice and went down to his balls. Taking your place, he went to Midoriya’s cock and took it all in one go. Leaning over you, your lids went half mast, watching Bakugou swallow the villain causing him to give a girlish moan.

Moving to his other ball, you gave it attention, sucking it your mouth. Your tongue swirled around it. Bakugou moved up and down his cock with expertise, smirking when Midoriya whimpered again.

“F-fuck!” He groaned and pulled you both off him.

Ripping his hand from the one in Bakugou’s hair, he stroked his cock and aimed it at you. With two pumps, he came all over your face. You flinched back as it almost hit your right eye.

Releasing you, he leaned forward as shame washed over you. Cum still spilled from your cunt. Being the only one covered in cum and naked, you felt dirty. This time, tears did pour over as you refused to make eye contact with the man above you.

Sensing your shame and pissed at being degraded, Bakugou glared at Midoriya. Hatred seeped from his pores.

Midoriya merely smirked. Tapping your collar, you were forced to look at him.

“It’s going to be so much fun completely breaking you two.”

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-one of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“Sure,” Tim says in a mostly-reasonable imitation of a normal person who is not in a good ten feet over their head, taking the seat Kon left him. Kon flashes him another grin and unzips his jeans. He is still wearing his suit underneath them. It still does not even slightly matter to Tim’s stupid idiot hormones. 

He tries not to stare at Kon stripping off his boots and jeans, but absolutely, undeniably fails. The situation is not improved when Kon turns his back towards him and smirks back over his shoulder at him. 

“Unzip me?” he asks, the bastard. Tim does not in any way believe he needs the help unzipping his suit, but also Tim is a stupid idiot with stupid idiot hormones and he does, in fact, lean forward on the bench and reach up to do so. He pulls Kon’s zipper down his spine and, miraculously, does not spontaneously combust in the process. 

New information: Kon doesn’t wear any kind of underlayer under his suit. At least not over his torso, anyway. Which Tim supposes shouldn’t be a surprise, but certainly is something he’s noticing right now. 

He can’t even decide if he’s hoping for him to be wearing underwear or not. He should be hoping for him to be wearing it, given they’re here to try on clothes and that’s therefore kind of necessary, but . . . 

Kon strips the rest of his suit off. He is, unfortunately, wearing boxer briefs. Very small and very tight boxer briefs, but boxer briefs all the same. Tim tries not to stare at Kon’s ass and then immediately encounters the larger problem of accidentally looking at Kon’s reflection in the changing room mirror, which offers the opportunity to stare at other things that belong to Kon. Like his chest. And his abs. And his Adonis belt and–

Fuck his life, Tim thinks feelingly, barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes before he can embarrass himself. He’s already embarrassing himself; it is way too damn late for anything like that to help. 

“What should I try on first?” Kon asks. Tim, in mute panic, grabs the first thing off the top of the pile and shoves it at him. Kon, unfortunately, accepts it. 

More unfortunately, it turns out to be a very clingy black T-shirt with a very deep V-neck. Kon doesn't have actual cleavage, obviously, but that T-shirt has not gotten the memo. 

And apparently neither have his pecs. 

Fuck, Tim thinks with great feeling, still barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes. Fuuuuuck. 

“Hmmm,” Kon says, tugging at the dip of the V-neck with a finger. “What do you think? My color or naw?” 

Tim is suffering. There is a hell and he is currently in it, right here and now. 

“Black isn’t a particularly daring color choice, most people look good in it,” he says, clearing his throat. “The fit’s nice, though.” 

“Fair enough,” Kon says, plucking at the collar again and then stripping the shirt off. While facing Tim. Directly. So Tim therefore has a front-row seat to his bare abs stretching and flexing and–

Jesus. Just–Jesus. 

“Next?” Kon asks, holding out an expectant hand and smirking at him. 

Bastard. 

Tim, in vengeance, hands over the leather pants. It immediately backfires, because Kon just smirks wider and steps right into them, and in fact the process of watching Kon get into leather pants is . . . well, it's a fucking process, alright. And then Tim is alone in a changing room with a shirtless Kon in very tight leather pants and absolutely no one else around to interrupt. Not a single convenient supervillain attack to be seen. 

Fuck, Tim reflects with great feeling. 

“Guess this still isn’t a very daring color choice, huh?” Kon asks, tugging casually at his own waistband. Tim's teeth would also like to do that, please. Like. He has never done that to anyone's waistband in his life, but he would like to start. Right now, ideally. “Maybe I should've gone for something else.” 

“They look alright,” Tim says, desperately trying not to choke and die. He may or may not have had to put one of the shopping bags in his lap. Kon seems unconcerned and just twists to check out his ass in the mirror. His ass which is in very tight black leather. With belts. And buckles. 

And straps. 

Tim is disproportionately fixated on the straps, maybe. 

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” Kon tells him with a smug grin. 

“I . . . kinda want to?” Tim admits helplessly, then winces at himself. Oh, that was the literal opposite of smooth. Kon laughs anyway, though.

“Oh do you now,” he purrs teasingly. “Is that why you were so concerned about getting me a phone with a good camera, pretty boy?” 

“. . . technically it only matters if my phone has a good camera in that situation,” Tim points out, and Kon actually pouts at him. It’s clearly a put-on, since he’s still half-smirking, but it’s a pout all the same. 

“Aw, you don't want me to send you any pics, Tim?” he asks. 

Tim might be, like, dead now. That might be a thing. He might just be dead. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking rapidly a few times in a desperate attempt to make his brain do literally anything but go down that particular avenue.

“These are a little tight, though,” Kon muses casually as he looks back down to the pants in the mirror, and then smooths a hand down his thigh because he apparently wants Tim to die. The bright fluorescent lights glint across his earring and make those inhumanly blue eyes even more undeniably inhumanly blue, and also make all his muscle definition all very, very visible. 

Technically, Kon has muscles like these because he's a genetically-enhanced half-alien who's all jacked up on solar power. Tim is perfectly aware of that fact. A normal unenhanced human being built like this would probably need an assist from steroids and a ridiculously-specialized diet and to basically never leave the gym. And also probably they'd be at least a little bit dehydrated, to look this cut. 

Tim can tell himself all that all that he likes, but Kon still looks like the bodybuilder edition of Playgirl right now. 

“Since when do you mind tight?” he asks. 

“I don't,” Kon says, sparing him another smirk. “But if I didn't make sure to keep my TTK on them 24/7, they'd probably rip. Leather's a little less forgiving than spandex, you know?” 

Tim is fairly sure Kon said some words after “rip”, but fuck if he could tell anyone. He couldn't tell anyone with a gun to his head. He couldn't tell Batman. 

Fucking hell. 

“Then I'll buy you another pair,” he says reflexively. Kon laughs, ducking his head. He is still shirtless. Very, very shirtless. 

“Man, I don't care what you think you owe me, you cannot possibly wanna buy me this much stuff,” he says. 

Tim tries to figure out how to say “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need” without actually saying “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need”. It's difficult, mostly because the alternate and equally true answer is “I think I'm kind of getting off on this, actually”. Which is actually kind of weird and questionable of him even if Kon is flirting with him and acting kind of–

Yeah, he really needs to stop being weird about this. 

“I have the money,” he says reasonably. “It’s not any harder for me than using your powers is for you. And I like doing it.” 

“You like doing it?” Kon says, tilting his head. Possibly Tim should’ve phrased that differently. Or just not said it at all, more like. 

“Yeah,” he says, then quickly changes the subject in self-defense. “And you did me a favor. I want to pay it back.” 

“There’s ‘paying it back’ and there’s ‘signing a lease’, man,” Kon says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, you offered me an apartment.” 

“If you’d let me I’d give you a fully-furnished apartment, bills and expenses, and an allowance,” Tim says wryly, and belatedly realizes that last one maybe sounds a little bit patronizing or weird when Kon–pauses.

“An allowance?” he repeats, just barely frowning. 

“Yes,” Tim says, because fuck it, he’s committed now and trying to backtrack would just make it more awkward. If he acts like that was a normal offer to make, maybe Kon will buy it. It’s not like he doesn’t know his initial socialization and education came from a bunch of weird nerds in a lab. “You know, rent and bills and groceries and a little extra, so you don’t have to call me up every time you want something.” 

“Because I saved your life?” Kon says, fidgeting with the button of his pants for a moment. Tim pretends not to notice. Pretends very hard not to notice. It’s . . . arguably a success. Maybe. 

“Yes,” Tim lies. Kon’s saved his life plenty of times; it’s really not relevant to wanting to see him actually properly taken care of and not just ditched in a lab without any damn windows in it. 

Seriously. Kon is solar-powered and Cadmus is underground. What advantage-taking idiots thought he belonged there? 

“Just that?” Kon asks, biting his lip. Tim . . . pauses. 

That’s a weird question, he thinks. It is, right? 

He’s not sure how to answer it. He lies to Batman, so that’s not a concern, but . . .

But. 

“Not just that,” he says after a moment, and just . . . doesn’t elaborate. Kon reddens a little, and then, weirdly, smiles a little. Tim does his damnedest to deal with the sight of him half-in civilian clothes and looking very, very touchable. Just–very close and touchable. He could just . . . reach right out. And touch him. 

Kon’s just . . . very close right now, is all. Like . . . very, very close. 

Fuck. 

“Hi,” Kon says with a little smile, then steps forward right in-between Tim’s knees still half-dressed in black leather and belts and buckles and straps. Tim almost falls off the bench. 

“Hi?” he tries. He very suddenly feels like he might be cooking in his own skin and maybe needs a couple decades to recover before he actually does die here. Because he definitely feels like he's about to die right now, oh god. Did Ivy pollen the mall? Maybe Ivy pollened the mall. Maybe–

Kon leans down over him and into his personal space, and Tim ends up with his back pressed against the changing room wall. 

Nope, never mind. This is all him. This is exclusively a Tim problem. All Tim all the way. All Tim all the time. 

Fuuuuuck.

“Uh,” he chokes in mortification, feeling his face absolutely burn. Kon braces a hand against the wall and very literally bats his eyes at him, the fucking bastard. He is . . . so attractive. So, so attractive. Like every kind of attractive Tim can currently envision and then some. Why is he so attractive? Why is he this far up in Tim’s space? Why is he–

Oh, fuck, Tim thinks. 

“Oh my god, I in no way meant to make you think this was, like, a condition or–!” he starts to sputter in horror, and Kon cuts him off by putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him up tighter against the wall with a very, very pleased smirk. 

“Shut up and kiss me, you weird little nerd,” he says, and then leans in close enough to be kissed, his eyes soft and half-lidded and mouth still curved into that same pleased smirk. Tim’s brain shorts out entirely. Tim’s brain effectively electrocutes itself, actually. 

Oh god, he thinks feebly. 

He can’t kiss Kon, obviously. That would be a very stupid thing to actually do. Flirting and joking around is one thing, but actually kissing him . . . 

Kon bites his lip, a little flicker of uncertainty reflecting in his eyes. Tim has been in literal death traps that were less upsetting than that little flicker. 

“Okay,” he manages, useless and breathless, and then–like an idiot–kisses him.

[n-i-m-u-e]

So instead of sleeping, I wrote this to my dream parenting!AU

Aemond is this one, who is most outraged about the rumors about the ancestry of her older sister's children and takes it as a personal attack. Because… because he has very personal reasons!

For the first time, Aemond hears whispers from the maids shortly after Luke's birth. It's an incoherent ‘princess's children,’ ‘dark hair,’ ’strong‘ and, what makes him clench his fists, ‘bastards’. He goes to Aegon and retells what he has heard, but his brother shrugs lightly and says to ignore the ‘chatter of stupid laundresses because our nephews are Targaryens and nothing else matters’.

But Aemond is not willing to accept this. He doesn't want to hear a single insulting word about his sister and her children. Especially little Luke. Not after he's been waiting so incredibly long for him to appear!

The fact is that when Daeron and Jace were born, he was still too young, and so they ‘belonged’ to Aegon from the beginning. Helaena belonged… to her own world, and Aemond… he belonged to no one and no one belonged to him, not even the dragon.

But one evening, as usual, Rhaenyra came to say goodnight and revealed that a new member would soon be joining the family. From that moment on, Aemond knew that he would soon no longer be alone.

He was patient and impatient at the same time. On the day his youngest nephew was born, for the first time in his life, Aemond ran away from his classes and hid in the corridor, not far from Rhaenyra's chambers. Until a deafening baby cry reached his ears, and he followed the sound as if enchanted.

The midwives and maids were bustling around, but no one noticed the little boy slipping into the room. Everyone's attention was on the princess, and it was understandable - Rhaenyra looked exhausted. But all of Aemond's attention at that moment belonged to a small screaming bundle in the arms of one of the women. Aemond needed to see it. Aemond must see it!

‘A healthy boy, Your Highness!’ someone said as he handed Rhaenyra the bundle.’

Oh… Aemond must see the boy!

But for some reason his legs did not move, he was literally frozen and could not take one step. A terrible thought crossed his mind: what if nothing changes anyway? Aemond was supposed to have his own dragon, an egg was put in his cradle, but the dragon never appeared, and the egg turned into stone. So, the appearance of this boy does not mean that he will want to belong to Aemond and that Aemond will belong to him.

But he didn't have time to go deeper into his fear, because at that moment Sir Laenor almost tripped over him as he ran into his wife's chambers. But the knight stopped in time and gently held Aemond.

‘Oh, Aem, kiddo, what are you doing here? Have you come to meet your new nephew?’

Aemond nodded uncertainly in response. Laenor smiled back at him and put out his hand.

‘Then let's go!’

The two of them walked over to his sister's bed and Laenor pulled him onto the edge. When Aemond cautiously moved closer, Rhaenyra looked up at him and asked with a gentle smile:

‘Do you want to welcome us, little brother?’

Once again, he could only nod in the affirmative, and she turned the still sobbing baby towards him.

‘Then say hello to our sweet boy. His name will be Lucerys.‘

And then this happened. The crown of the baby's head peeked out from the open blanket, with its sparse dark hair. As soon as Aemond dared to reach out and pull back the edge of the blanket to get a better look, his finger was gripped incredibly tightly by a very small hand. He felt as if his heart had skipped a beat. But the child stopped crying.

And as he looked into the dark eyes of the tiny, round, red face, Aemond realized that at least some of his fears were unfounded.

He really wasn't no longer alone. And he will at all costs protect, defend and cherish his sweet Lucerys!

[ccycloneblogging]

I have a Question.

The honey badger smiling critter player/angel.

How have they adapted to being a smiling critter and has anyone of them try to show player that there can be sum good that come from being a smiling critter. It not so bad type of thing.

"It's sweet that they've all been working so hard to make me feel welcomed. Everyone has been going the extra mile... We've been doing so much together..."

"DogDay especially. He's gone out of his way to make sure that I'm a part of the group. He's dragged me along to every single outing. Heck, I've almost forgotten what it was like to have friends like this."

"...But the it's weird. The more I spend time with them..."

"...The less I remember about who I was before."

[oh-no-its-bird]

Speaking about au crossovers, suddenly absoloutley infected w the idea of a team ro time travel au + the team ro defects from Konoha to join sound au mashup

So many time travel to the warring state aus hit the beats of "oh yeah were from the future village u made, which btw is awesome" but what happens when that diverse team of clans, that team of mismatched uchiha/hatake/suspected senju that people of the time gape at seeing work so smoothly together, instead of vouching for the village condemn it?

But there's also an added layer of like— some of these characters still care about the village. Honestly all of team ro does on some level.

Itachi and Shisui are still village loyalists, just forced to leave for their own self preservation when Danzo would have them killed

Tenzo is still struggling with his own brainwashing and even tho he may have chosen the team and his friends over konoha, he still has that "you live for the village you die for the village" mentality implanted deep in his heart. He may actually try to compensate for it by being vocally against konoha when given the opportunity (lying to himself ab it)

Kakashi is complicated. He's probably the one among them who it can truly be said is against konoha— for a refresher on the detector au, he left after finding out Danzo had his father killed, then walked in on him trying to kill Shisui + this was around the time where Danzo was trying to get him to kill Sarutobi (and he was straight up willing to do it too) so there's a LOT going on in that head of his. I think he considers Konoha to be it's people— and unfortunatley he has very little people left there to truly care about. Doubly unfortunatley (for Konoha) a chunk of the people he finds himself willing to "allow" himself to care for have also come with him in this defection. So.

It's complicated.

Anyways, all of this is to say is that these guys have some seriously complex thoughts on Konoha and whether it's truly "good" or not, and I think that'd make for an interesting read when they eventually meet the founders

Also like. There's a pretty heavy Uchiha bias among them, let's be real.

Tenzo may have the Mokuton and may or may not be some sort of Senju bastard, but his education wasn't shit. He has absoloutley no opinions on the Senju in general but his only friends in the entire world are 2/3rd uchiha, so.

Shisui and Itachi are literally Uchiha. Itachi is the fucking clan heir. I don't even need to elaborate.

Kakashi is the only one who could claim to be any sort of neutral (hes even distantly related to Tobirama, though he doesnt even know it) but it was also established in the detector au that he has some sort of positive relation to Mikoto. I like to HC that Tsunade was a good friend of his father and even babysat him when he was younger tho, so there's that. But like. Still. There is a much bigger Uchiha influence on (literally his entire) life than Senju.

Anyways I don't really have any specific thoughts for this one? They don't have the same konoha loyal motivations as the original team ro time travel au, but they also don't have any motivations to like, STOP the founding of Konoha itself. They're smart enough to recognize it was a net positive for all of shinobi kind. But they don't wanna be involved.

If Orochimaru came with them maybe they can try to create sound way back when? That could be cool

Call up the Hatake and the Orochi of the warring states and see if we can make a new first ever shinobi village with a different image in mind

Fucking Orochimaru headed medical revolution 100 years earlier than it has any buisness being ,,,

Mmm this is just making me think ab an Orochimaru time travel fic actually and that's not what I want with this specific thing so let's shelve that for later maybe

But like. Team Ro time travels to the warring states but it's the team Ro that defected from Konoha

OH FUCK THAT MEANS SASUKE IS WITH THEM TOO

Rip Sasuke, my favorite little Izuna look alike. He's like 8 and the second any Uchiha see him they're going to have a stroke and go tell Madara and Izuna they might have stumbled upon something seriously sinister

Oops <3

[hexed-padlock]

Hi. As requested by a few people, here’s a fic of my AU/Headcanon where Tav killed Strahd but keeps it a secret from the party. I’m planning a few different scenarios of the reveal, but here’s the first (and most serious). Next ones are gonna embody the original premise more. Couldn’t get this scene out of my head though. Also a bit of Astarion x Tav here.

Takes place as you meet Cazador, where he starts mocking Astarion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do the cattle not know you?”

They were below the Palace, facing Cazador as he readies the ritual for his Ascension. 200 years of torment and this is where it all ends. Here and now.

Astarion tenses, seconds from lunging. This was his tormentor, the bastard who robbed him of his freedom, the monster who destroyed thousands of lives. A vampire hundreds have tried and failed to kill.

The room grows colder as Cazador continues to humiliate, to mock, to belittle.

Astarion’s jaw clenches and-

Tav laughs, loud and mocking. They’ve barely reacted thus far, and the sudden noise catches everyone off guard. Their eyes glint, one natural and the other burning with fiery, infernal magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you seriously anymore. You truly are pathetic.” Tav taunts, head tilting as a lazy smirk crawls onto their face.

Cazador’s own mocking grin turns down into a sharp frown as he finally turns his attention to Tav. “Just what makes you think you can speak to me that way? You’re nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter. Cattle to be consumed. An animal at best.”

“Are all vampires this delusional?” Tav voices the question to no one in particular. Cazador seethes, and the party tenses.

What was Tav doing? Were they insane?!

Astarion moves to grab Tav as they take a couple steps forward, but misses as they smoothly sidestep away from his grasp.

Tav pulls out a sword hilt from the pouch on their hip, testing it’s weight in their hand absentmindedly. The party never understood the significance of this old sword hilt. Sure, it was beautiful, made of an elegant platinum, but it has long since lost it’s blade. Dammon once offered to forge it a new blade but Tav politely declined.

“I’ve met another vampire before you. He was always prattling on and on about being all powerful, lord of the night… something something.” Tav pauses to shift the sword hilt to their left hand. Slowly, deliberately, Tav locks eyes with Cazador (pointedly ignoring their party). “He’s dead now, of course.”

For a moment, Cazador pauses, before the same mocking grin returns. “A spawn is hardly considered a vampire. Though perhaps to you, worm, you see no difference.” Cazador then begins speaking slowly, as if communicating with a child or an animal. The mocking grin grows. “Allow me to enlighten you-“

“I never said ‘spawn’,” Tav cuts off Cazador. “Maybe your old age is finally getting to you, leech.”

Tav shifts the sword hilt back to their dominant hand, subtly maneuvering the hilt into a proper grip. “Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name eludes me. Forgive me, but it’s been a few years. I think it starts with an S.”

All the while, the party is flabbergasted. Sure, they’ve seen Tav do some questionable things over the past few months such as walk straight into a goblin camp, lick some spider meat, and even taunt Mizora—but this is a new level of insane.

Astarion tries to get their partner to stop, because for the love of everything, shut up. He’s never seen Cazador this mad before. Sure, they’ve survived some pretty dangerous situations before, but taunting a vampire lord is madness. However, each time he tries to move or speak, his voice dies in his throat. He’s terrified, he’s rooted on the spot. He’s afraid of Cazador yes, but he’s even more afraid for Tav. The brilliant, shining light of his life. The one person who showed him kindness, love. He’s afraid of Cazador, but he’s more scared of losing them.

Before Astarion could try to intervene again, he feels Tav send a wave of reassurance through the tadpole. They glance back at him for a moment, narrowed eyes softening, before turning once more to face Cazador.

Tav hums for a couple seconds as they pause to think. “Samael? No. Maybe it was Seraph?” They huff for a bit as they make a show of wracking their mind for the name. “Aha! I remember now.”

They brace for combat and the Sunsword answers its wielders call.

Tav’s smirk turns into a cold sneer. Their eyes glow as the hilt in their hand erupts in a fiery plume, a blade of radiant light now burning in the darkness. “It was Strahd.”

————————

Idk… if anyone wants to be notified of a new fic in this AU/series you can let me know?

Anyway, next these will all be independent of each other. Each will be an alternate take on the reveal.

I haven’t written anything besides D&D backstories in literal years so please forgive me if this is rather rough. Always open to constructive criticism.

[santaasi]

DANCE WITH ME

pairing: jj maybank x dancer!fem!reader

summary: jj maybank loves the sea, the sandy beach of north carolina and the warm sun. new york is the exact opposite of all this. and he hates it. but she... she changes everything.

warnings: new york au, fluff, slight angst (as usual), but happy ending, miscommunication trope, a little use of y/n, some language, english is not my first language

word count: 5.9k

a/n: first of all, thank u all for supporting my first two works here. I rly couldn’t have expected so much love and support from all of u, but i appreciate it. secondly, I can't write summaries, so i think it sounds kinda shitty. thirdly, it was supposed to be a small blurb, but I was carried away and I couldn't stop. and fourthly, I listened to Slaves - Body on Fire and Katy Perry - Wide Awake while writing this oneshot, so I advise everyone to do the same.

The huge theater hall of the New York School of the Fine Arts was getting more crowded and noisier by the second. People dressed in ridiculously posh suits, as if they had come to a reception at Buckingham Palace, took their seats and from time to time looked askance at the two guys sitting in one of the front rows.

In particular, all those present, as it seemed to JJ himself, looked at him with special disapproval interest. Compared to this bunch of rich bastards who had nothing to do on Thursday night except watch their ‘creatively gifted’ children jumping around the stage in tutus, he looked like a black sheep in his dark jeans, a white T-shirt with unwashed ketchup stains and a cap on. He looked like a total looser, who had missed his shift at a godforsaken restaurant in the Bronx only to watch his best friend’s new girlfriend performance, while everyone around him was showing off their wealth and position. Showing JJ his place.

JJ Maybank had no place in this money-rotten world. And he knew it perfectly well.

And why was he sitting here then?

Just as simple as it is. Because of John Booker Routledge. JJ Maybank adored his best friend. No, not best friend. JJ Maybank adored his brother, John B., who saved him from an abusive and alcoholic father, allowing him to move into his small flat in the Bronx and gave him a chance to make a fresh start.

John B. Routledge was always there for JJ. They spent all the happy and sad moments together, supporting and helping each other. And Maybank, in gratitude for everything, was ready to do anything for John B. Absolutely anything.

That's why he was now sitting in a maroon-upholstered theater chair, waiting for the start of a ballet performance in which John B's new girlfriend, Sarah, had the main role, and felt all these rich jerks staring at him. And it annoyed him.

He was annoyed by all these vain idiots and how they always looked down on guys like John and J, who had to literally fight for their lives in this huge city, while those rich bastards were drinking prosecco on the veranda of their Soho estate.

He was annoyed by the kids of these jerks who studied at these luxurious art schools, a semester in which cost so much that JJ could live happily on this money for five years or even more.

He was annoyed by whole this situation, which literally screamed: “Look at us! We have a lot of money that we spend on stupid school performances, so that our kids would think they're talented.”

JJ Maybank was not envious. It was just that he, a man who had worked his whole life in order not to starve, did not perceive all this creative entertainments as something serious at all. He didn't go to theaters, operas, ballets and the like. For him, it was stupid shows to launder money from these rich peeps. And JJ wouldn't be sitting in this chair waiting for the play to start if it wasn't for John B. John B., who needed his support in this fashionable enemy lair.

Exhaling irritably, catching another look of disgust from some elderly lady in furs, J took off his cap and ran fingers through his blond hair, turning to John B., who was looking at the curtains and tapping his feet on the floor.

“I'm going to take a leak and smoke, okay, John?" JJ patted him on the shoulder before getting up from his seat and heading out of the hall. John just nodded without taking his eyes off the stage.

This guy was obsessed with Sarah. And it's not that JJ didn't understand what his best mate found in a pretty blonde girl, it's just... it's just that Maybank never thought that John B would be all lovey-dovey with some chick that was completely out of his league. Although Routledge always had freer views in this rich/poor hierarchy, while JJ was sure that all the kids born with a golden spoon in their mouths were stuck up bitches not worth his attention.

Of course, Sarah Cameron proved the opposite. As they would say in North Carolina, she was kook on the outside, but a true pogue in her heart. But, as Maybank believed, this was a one-in-a-million exception.

JJ was walking along a bright corridor, trying to find the exit, when he caught a barely audible melodie. The guy followed the sound, looking through the glass in the slightly ajar door leading to a bright, spacious ballroom with large panoramic windows and ballet bars. In the middle of the sunset-drenched hall stood a young girl, who sometimes came with Sarah to hang out with John and JJ, but he never paid enough attention to her.

More precisely, she was too out of reach for a guy like JJ, to pay her attention that he wanted to. She was kind, sincere, her smile could light up, it seemed, the whole world. She always laughed at his jokes, even the dumbest ones. The mere touch of her fingers on his skin made JJ burn as if he were being immersed in a flaming cauldron of hell.

She was incredibly smart, funny and breathtakingly beautiful. Just the sight of her in a small summer dress made everything in front of his eyes fade, leaving only her. She was too perfect in his eyes, like an angel descending from heaven to torment him, JJ Maybank, showing him what he could never have. Making him hate his position and his life. Making him envious of these dumb rich assholes. Because she was too good for a bad guy like JJ Maybank.

And now, looking at her fragile frame, watching the elegant swings of her hands, perfectly honed movements and the flight of her hair from each new spin, JJ's heart in the chest was treacherously squeezed with delight. His breathing, as well as time, stopped, and it seemed to the guy as if the world had stopped too, leaving only her in his field of vision. Neat facial features, flushed cheeks, slightly parted lips, gaze concentrated on the mirror, but as if looking into another dimension. She looked beautiful, flawless... No, she looked divine.

JJ didn't know how long he had been standing in the hallway looking at Sarah Cameron's friend. But as soon as the music ended, and she ran her hand over her hot face, pushing back the hair stuck to her skin. As soon as she raised a bottle of water to her lips taking a couple of sips. And as soon as her gaze fell on the guy on the other side of the door. Maybank immediately came out of his entranced state, feeling caught and ashamed.

Turning around on his heels, JJ walked swiftly to the exit, still feeling his heart beating in his chest at breakneck speed, and her gentle image rises before his eyes. A wave of the hand. Jump. Spin. And again the hand is in the air. Jump… Spin… The music is like the sound of the sea... Her eyes are like warm sand…

The cold February wind hit him in the face and without even thinking, the guy lit a cigarette, looking into the void.

He hated New York and the cold of the city. He missed North Carolina. Kildare with its warm sun and sandy beaches. The smell of the sea, the sound of waves and surfing…

Why is he even thinking about the Outer Banks now, three years after he left without even once looking back…?

JJ Maybank did not return to that room full of these loaded bastards, steeped in luxury and affectation. Instead, he lowered his head and got to their shared apartment on the outskirts of the Bronx, where the rats and the crazy granny neighbor who was always bothering him for nothing were waiting for him.

But for the first time in three years, JJ Maybank didn't care about any of this. He was still standing in that hallway. He looked through the glass at the sunlit room.

A wave of the hand. Jump. Spin.

And again. Her hand is in the air... Jump… Spin…

The music is like the sound of the sea... Her eyes are like warm sand… And her light smile, like the warm sun of Kildare…

JJ Maybank fell in love.

If someone had told him six months ago that his heart would beat a thousand beats per minute just by looking at her, or that when talking to her, he would not be able to find more than one suitable word and would only stand and watch her giggle softly at his reaction... He would have laughed in the man's face. Because JJ Maybank doesn't fall in love. He spends one night with a girl and forgets about her in the morning. He takes napkins with numbers he will never call and throws them in the nearest trash can.

JJ Maybank is not made for relationships. He does not get attached and cannot love. But for some reason, he feels differently with her.

JJ Maybank fell in love.

And if six months ago he would have been told that he would work two shifts to buy himself a white dress shirt and a pair of decent trousers just to sit in a maroon velvet armchair among rich pompous bastards and watch her dance on stage... Watch how she transforms in her dance, becoming even more beautiful... Watch her every move, every curve of her body and the soft rise of her hands just to catch the smallest changes on her flawless face…

And then, meet her in the hall with a bouquet of her favorite tulips in his hands, for which he borrowed money from John B., just to see her smile like Kildare's sun and hear her laugh that reminds him of waves crashing on the shore.

JJ Maybank fell head over heels in love with her.

And it was obvious to everyone as a clear day.

John B. saw his friend's pupils turn into two big throbbing hearts when he saw her. John B. saw how JJ, who had always been confident around the girls, turned into a small helpless puppy who could not utter a single word as soon as she appeared next to him. John B. noticed how his best friend's life changed dramatically with the arrival of her in JJ's life.

JJ Maybank's life, which previously consisted only of home, work and a couple of weekend parties, now consisted only of work and meetings with her after which he went back to work.

Sarah wasn't blind to the changes in JJ's behavior either. The first time she saw him on the steps of the NYAFA, she thought that something had happened to John B., but when she realized that Maybank was not waiting for her, but for her friend, everything immediately fell into place. JJ's frequent appearance at performances at the academy, even when John B. did not go to them, the flowers that changed every three days in their shared with Y/N house, his questions about her best friend's preferences and many other things finally made sense.

Therefore, at her birthday party, Sarah decided to be a wingman and do everything possible to connect loving hearts. After all, Cameron did not escape the reactions from Y/N, who too often began to ask questions about JJ, who began to devote more time to her appearance and blushed every time Sarah mentioned only the name of the blonde.

Now JJ was sitting at a table in the Cameron's house backyard in Soho, which was decorated with sparkling lights in honor of the birthday girl, and stirring a glass of brandy in his hand. His gaze was once again focused only on her, dancing with Sarah on an improvised dance floor to some Latin music. The skirt of her white dress was like sea foam rising and falling with her every movement, and her ringing laughter made his heart skip a beat. During the four months of his addiction to her, it became a habitual body reaction for him.

JJ chuckled as he drained the rest of the brandy before lifting his head and meeting her glittering, emerald-like eyes. Her cheeks were red and her lips stretched into a wide smile. The guy saw how her chest quickly fell and rose after active dancing. The girl tilted her head slightly, bringing a red cup with drink to her lips before sitting down next to Maybank.

“Are you enjoying the party, Jay?" the girl teased. Her velvety voice carried like an electric current through his body before Maybank turned his head in her direction.

“Rather enjoying the view,” JJ grinned, winking at her, making the poor girl blush. She giggled softly and rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him lightly on the shoulder.

“I'm serious, by the way. You look tired,” the girl murmured and a line appeared between her brows. “And lately, I- I rarely see you.”

JJ's heart skipped a beat at the thought that she was worried about him and a corners of his mouth lifted. He sat closure to her, putting his hand on the back of her chair, looking straight into her doe-eyes. The girl felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs by the very sight of that self-confident grin and the look into those deep blue eyes. J's hand softly touched her cheek as he brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. The girl sucked in a loud breath and involuntarily leaned into his touch.

“You shouldn't bother that pretty little head of yours with worries about me, princess,” the guy whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“And what if I want to take care of you...” the girl said in a barely audible voice, swallowing a lump in her throat.

She could feel her heart about to burst out when JJ slightly closed the distance between them. His lips were unbearably close to hers and she felt his hot breath burning her skin, and his hand continued to gently stroke her cheek. She had never wanted to kiss someone so much in her life.

For the past four months, all she could think about was the guy who came to her every performance when even her parents weren't there. The guy who meets her every night from rehearsals and asks her about her day. The guy who gives her his hoodie when she gets cold. The guy who brings her a bouquet of her favorite tulips every three days and leaves cute notes inside that she keeps in a shoe box under the bed.

Before JJ Maybank, all her thoughts were occupied only with dancing, which she lived and breathed, rehearsals, preparations for concerts and dreams of Broadway.

Now everything that surrounded her: a fresh bouquet of tulips in the kitchen, a blue hoodie with the smell of the sea in her closet, notes in a box under her bed and even the music she danced to - reminds her of him. She thinks about JJ when she wakes up and when she fall asleep. When she's dancing, when she's choosing music for a new performance, when she's walking, when she's reading, when she's resting. She thinks about JJ Maybank, about his light soft disheveled hair, about his blue eyes in which she could drown, about the smell of the salty sea that seemed to soak into his skin, constantly.

And now that he was so close to her, when he touched her face and looked at her with such tenderness, all she wanted to do was pull him closer and kiss him. But instead she swallowed, barely breaking away from him as Sarah's voice shattered their little vacuum world. Maybank cursed softly, running his hand through his hair before looking back at the girl who had already got up from her seat, preparing to head towards Sarah.

“Will you dance with me when I'm done with her?" A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she turned around halfway, looking hopefully at the guy.

JJ was taken aback. He wanted to agree. He wanted to say that he would be happy to dance with her, but... but he couldn't dance. And he was ashamed to admit it to someone for whom dancing was hers whole life. And he didn't want their first dance to be a complete failure just because he was a fool who couldn't move his bear paws and didn't know where to put his hands and how to behave properly and…

“Mhm. I'm already leaving. I have a night shift, so… Maybe another time?” the guy said distantly and shrugged, getting up from his chair.

Meeting her gaze, which literally screamed disappointment and that his answer hurt her, J immediately regretted his words and wanted to return them, but it was too late. The girl faked a smile and nodded.

“Then... maybe... another time? See ya, Jay,” she said finally and disappeared into the crowd, trying to suppress the tears that are starting to fill her eyes.

"Yeah… next time," the guy echoed, watching her move further away from him.

JJ Maybank was head over heels in love.

And even though he wasn't a genius before, he was a complete fool now.

Three weeks later, her dreams and her heart were broken. Three weeks after Sarah's birthday, she realized that all of JJ's feelings for her were just her own delusions.

At first, they just started seeing each other less often. He no longer met her after rehearsals, as he took extra shifts at work, but still sent her flowers every three days. He messaged her every day asking how her day was and how she was feeling, told her funny stories from work on their evenings phone calls and everything seemed fine. But after two weeks, all their communication came to naught. She offered to meet a couple of times, but JJ refused, saying that he had a job and as soon as his co-worker will recover from his unexpected illness, they would definitely meet.

And she believed him. And waited.

Until one day she saw JJ Maybank with a cup of coffee in his hand, strolling down Lexington Avenue smiling at a dark-haired girl, so beautiful as if she had stepped off the cover of vogue magazine when, according to him, he was supposed to be at work.

And at that moment, her whole world seemed to collapse.

She knew that she had no rights to the guy, that he had promised her nothing. And she understood perfectly well that they were not in a relationship, and that in fact he could spend his time with anyone. But her heart beat painfully in her chest from the realization that all those sweet and meaningful moments with him were now just nothing.

All those notes, flowers, late-night calls and conversations, that almost kiss - were now nothing and it broke her heart.

But the worst thing about this situation was the realization that instead of talking, JJ just decided to ignore her and ghost her, coming up with stupid excuses not to see her.

Maybe she did something wrong? Or maybe some of her words hurt him? Or was she too clingy? A lot of questions were spinning in the girl's head, but all she could do was lock herself in her room and cry, glad that Sarah had gone to her family for a couple of days. She didn't want to discuss this topic with anyone, not even with her best friend.

From that day on, she stopped texting JJ in the morning and calling in the evenings when she returned from rehearsals. She stopped opening the door to the courier, who continued to bring her flowers from him. And she hid his hoodie, smelling of the sea, away in the closet. She cut JJ Maybank out of her life, devoting herself to dancing, shutting herself off from the world around her.

At first, JJ did not notice that the girl had pulled away from him, immersed in her business and work.

More precisely, he noticed that she no longer wrote or called him after training, but for the first three days he attributed it to her busy schedule. Maybank remembered that she had mentioned preparing for an audition for a Broadway troupe, and thought that was what she was doing. But when he hadn't heard from her for a week, he got worried.

To tell the truth, JJ has been restless all week. He was so used to her presence in his life, to her morning messages that gave him energy for the whole day, to her evening calls and laughter on the phone that made his soul feel better, that the absence of these small moments felt like emptiness. Like a black corridor with no exit.

And JJ started writing to her himself, but he didn't get a reply. Then he started calling her, but all the calls were forwarded to the voicemail. He went to the academy, but he never saw her. And eventually he met Sarah, who was also completely unaware.

“Since I came from my parents, she hasn't been herself,” Sarah admitted, biting her lip, frowning slightly. “She hardly talks to me, she's always rehearsing, and it's like she's dropped out of life. I do not know what's wrong with her, JJ.”

Because of the whole situation, JJ Maybank couldn't live fully.

He continued to write to her, call her, even wrote letters by hand, as in those romantic films that she loved so much, throwing them under her door, but he never received an answer. Not a single response in a month.

He had been living without her in his life for a whole fucking month, and if before he was sure that he was in love with her, now JJ Maybank was a thousand percent sure that he loved her to the point of insanity and physical pain.

He wanted to hear her laugh every day. He wanted to wake up and see her smile and sparkling eyes first. He wanted to listen to her endless chatter about her favorite actors, singers and dancers. He wanted to watch her dance, watch how her soul seemed to rise somewhere higher, to where he had no access. He wanted to watch her laugh, blush, cry, be sad or angry for the rest of his life.

JJ Maybank wanted to spend his whole life with her. Because she is life itself. She is the ocean, the sound of waves, wet sand and warm sun. She's Kildare. She's his home.

And JJ Maybank wasn't going to give up on that. Not today. Not now. Never.

The sun had long sunk below the horizon. It was raining like hell, and even if JJ had an umbrella, it definitely wouldn't have saved him. No one could hide from the spring rains of New York.

JJ was standing under a tree near the entrance to the Academy of Fine Arts, waiting for her.

Today, JJ will solve all their problems and confess his feelings to her. No matter the weather, no matter her mood, or even the meteor shower, he will do everything to make her listen to him. And if after that she decides that she doesn't want to see him, then he will leave her life forever. But if, for once in his life, luck would be on his side, and she reciprocates, then... then he will never let her go.

The big front door opened and Y/N walked out of the building, lifting her head up, looking at the sky. JJ froze for a second, watching as she lifted her backpack over her head and walked down the marble steps so beautiful and elegant. He hadn't seen her for almost a month and a half, and now that she was so close to him, all thoughts and intentions left his head. And just like the first time they met, he could only look at her and enjoy the view. But as soon as her foot hit the sidewalk and she headed for the bus stop, JJ came out of his hiding place calling her name.

The girl stopped halfway, slowly looking over her shoulder at the blond man approaching her. The world stopped around her in a second. She felt her knees ready to buckle, and her heart began to beat a painfully familiar accelerated rhythm. But before her feelings could fully grasp her again, the girl pulled herself together and turned away, swiftly walking away from him.

“No, wait! We need to talk!" JJ shouted through the noise of the rain, starting to run, catching her by the forearm and turning her towards him. The girl's eyes widened when his hand touched the bare skin of her forearm and her whole body felt like it was on fire.

“Let me go,” she said coldly, and JJ was a little taken aback, but did not let go of her hands, shaking his head negatively. He won't leave until he's sorted it out. He needed answers. And he needed her even more.

“I won't let you go until you tell me what's the matter with you"

The girl stared at the guy in shock, and then laughed out loud, throwing her head back, lowering the bag, as her hand was tired of holding it over her head. Raindrops immediately began to roll down her face and hair, drenching her to the skin in a second.

“Are you serious? What's the matter? You tell me what's the matter, JJ! Tired of your new doll and you decided to come back to me again, huh?”

Her eyes sparkled with the fire of anger, burning a hole in the uncomprehending JJ. She was furious and it was the first time he had seen her like this and did not understand what he had done to arouse such reaction in her. Her bag fell to the sidewalk and she came closer, lifting her head a little higher, looking straight into his eyes.

“What? Did you also play with her, made her feel needed, desired, and then dumped her? Yeah, Maybank? Did you do the same to her?”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and pushed her palms into his chest. The guy staggered, but remained standing in place, frowning, watching her eyes fill with tears. Or was it just the rain?

“Why aren't you saying anything? Answer me! Did you do the same to her as you did to me?" The girl roared in his face, pushing him in the chest once more before taking a step back, shaking her head.

She turned away for a couple of seconds, gathering her thoughts. JJ heard her sniffle and felt his heart clench with pain. He didn't understand what she was angry about, who she was talking about and what she wanted him to say. Maybank wanted to pull her closer to him and calm her down, to tell her that everything would be fine and that they could work it out, but he was too overwhelmed by everything that was happening and couldn't even move.

“You know, I believed that you really liked me. I believed that for the first time in my life, someone liked me, and not Sarah or one of my friends, but you...” she sniffled again, wiping the tears that rolled down her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I-I really believed you… Why didn't you tell me you weren't interested in me? Why didn't you say you didn't want to talk to me? Why did you make up excuses that you were working or-”

“Excuses? I was really working. I took extra shifts and I-” finally realizing the reality of the situation, JJ began to speak, but she immediately interrupted him, throwing a look full of pain and resentment.

“I saw you and that girl coming out of the coffee shop together when you said you were going to work!" She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands, running her fingers through her dump hair.

JJ rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out what she meant, which girl she was talking about, until he remembered Brittany, his dance coach. He signed up for dance classes a month ago. Was it really all because of that? Was she ignoring him because she thought he was just having fun with her? No, no, she couldn't have thought that.…

“Hey, hey, no, it's all not what it seems,” the guy shook his head, taking a step forward, reaching for her hands, removing them from her face, squeezing them in his own.

His eyes scanned her face. The mascara flowed from moisture and tears, the eyes were slightly reddened, and the nose was swollen. And JJ looked at her again. Not understanding why she would even think that he would like someone like Brittany when she was all he could dream of. His hands cupped her face and with his thumbs he gently wiped away the black marks under her eyes. A soft sob escaped her lips and a fresh batch of tears rolled down her cheeks. He exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers, swallowing, breathing heavily.

“The truth is... that Brittany girl... she's my dance teacher,” JJ whispered and looked into her eyes, which were looking at him questioningly. She looked like a little lost child and he chuckled softly.

“That night, at Sarah's birthday party, when you asked me to dance…" J closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. He hoped that he would never have to admit it, and that his dancing lessons would remain a secret, but she had to know the truth so as not to consider him the jerk who played with her feelings. JJ didn't want her to think that of him. “I refused because I can't dance. And I was... I was ashamed. Dancing is your whole life and I would just embarrass myself in front of you… And you'd think I was some kind of fool...”

“But I-I would never have th-thought that,” the girl whispered softly. J opened his eyes, caught her sincere gaze and smiled. God, what a fool he was.

“That's right, but I... I was an insecure jerk, princess,” the guy admitted, grinning, tucking a wet curl behind her ear. “I'm… It all happened so fast and I... I never saw myself catching these feelings. I never asked for help or needed the healing. And I decided to take these damn dance classes for you... and I didn't want you to find out because I... because I'm a complete idiot, apparently,” the guy laughed softly, shaking his head.

JJ let go of her face and took a couple of steps back, giving her time to process everything he said. He could feel his heart beating wildly against the walls of his chest while she stood and was silent, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Listen, Princess. I know I should have told you and all that earlier, but I... God, you're driving me crazy, you know? I can't think, speak, or breathe when you're around. I'm head over heels in love with you, angel” Maybank ran his fingers through the hair, trying to collect his thoughts. “I can't stop the way that this felt. It keeps coming round and round and round and back again”

She looked at him in silence, feeling as if the heart that she had broken herself was beginning to heal from his words. And she wanted to cry how stupid she had been to believe that JJ was playing with her. While he was taking dance lessons so as not to look like a fool in front of her… She knew he didn't like dancing, but for her sake he went to classes to learn. For her sake, he stepped over himself a bunch of times, worked overtime and did everything to make her happy, and she just...

A loud sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand, feeling tears blurring her eyes. Her legs buckled and she almost fell to the ground, but JJ quickly picked her up, hugging her to him.

“I'm sorry, Jay! I'm so so so sorry, I was such a fool! I-I-I didn't mean to! I-I-didn't know,” the girl whimpered into his chest, clinging to his soaked T-shirt. His free hand slowly stroked her wet hair while his other hand held her on her feet.

“Shhh… Everything's fine now, right? We'll figure it out and everything will be fine,” the guy whispered in her ear, kissing the top of her head. “You believe me, don't you?”

The girl raised her head looking at his calm face, on which raindrops were running, at his wet hair and soft smile, and her soul felt so warm, as if in a second she was at home in the warmth next to the fireplace with a warm mug of tea in her hands, and not standing under the cold pouring rain in the middle of the street. Her hand slowly soared into the air and removed the bangs that stuck to his forehead before nodding in agreement.

JJ's gaze swept over her soft features. First the eyes, then the pink cheeks and plump lips that he wanted to kiss so much. The guy exhaled, raising his eyes again, looking into hers.

“Will you dance with me?” He whispered hoarsely, without taking his eyes off her, holding out his hand.

She smiled, and it seemed to him that this smile could light up the whole world if the sun ever went out. She gently placed her hand in his palm, and put the other on his shoulder. JJ squeezed her hand, pulling her closer by the waist, so that he felt every cell of her body and took the first hesitant step, which she followed without even thinking.

Her gaze was focused on his eyes, blue as two oceans, in which she was drowning more and more with each new step of the dance. For the first time, she didn't think about what move she should make next, or what position to stand in to look good on stage, or about getting to the beat of the music. For the first time in a long time, she danced just for herself, as she felt and as she wanted, completely trusting in the hands of JJ Maybank. He with trepidation and tenderness whirled her around in a dance on the ever-hurrying streets of New York, which at that moment stopped their run. Leaving only her, JJ and their dance in this vast world.

“I think love you, JJ,” she whispered softly, looking into his eyes, feeling a lump rise in her throat from excitement. Maybank stopped holding her in his arms, studying her face carefully before saying hoarsely, “Say it again".

“I love you,” she said on an exhale, and as soon as these words were uttered for the second time, Maybank pulled her face closer and kissed her. Gently. No rush. Like he haven't kissed anyone else before her. Trying to feel every emotion to the fullest.

The New York's rain comes pouring down, not even thinking to stop. And JJ Maybank didn't like the New York's rain. He didn't like New York and the people who live here. He disliked theater, ballet and dancing.

But JJ Maybank loved the sea, the sun and sandy beaches. He also loved surfing and Kildare, which he had to leave three years ago. He loved his home, which was thousands of miles from New York.

Y/N Y/L loved New York with its weather and people. She lived by dancing and dreamed of performing on Broadway and had never been to North Carolina. But despite this, JJ Maybank saw her as his home: the waves of the sea in her laughter, the sandy beaches in her eyes and the warmth of the sun in her smile.

And next to her, it turned out that New York and North Carolina were not so different, and that his home would never be a thousand miles away. And from now on, It will always stay next to him, in his arms, on his lips, in his heart.

Because now JJ Maybank knew that his home had never been a place. It's always been a person. And it's her.

that’s my first such loooong oneshot here so, i’m a little nervous to post it. but i rly hope it came out good n not too boring.

I will be glad to receive any feedback. a comment, like or reblog always pleases that little writer’s heart of mine.

but, nevertheless, thankx for reading <3

– your santi ✨

masterlist

[callmeajorallie]

Got bored, made some art in regards to ii 16 & 17 but the gkgg au instead (With text)

(Without text)

On other news, here's a rant about this au because why tf not + this au has been my hyperfixation for months now despite the fact it is literally a roleswap au & just things I have been pondering ever since ii 15 came out (Which for those who don't know what the gkgg au is, here. Because you'll need context to understand half of this.) I kinda always thought Mecintosh would be the one to side with Paintbrush, because I don't really think 4s would turn on Cobs, but then again, with how Cobs relationship is portrayed in the au, it is hard for me to see any of them breaking off from him (Besides 4 but it was more like Cobs broke off from him). Next, there's the whole ending thingy, which god damn would the endings be different tenfold, my source? Now I couldn't find the exact post, however, I do recall when swap Sliver was revealed (fulfilling the role of Candle), he was given a backstory as to how he discovered the shine or something (My memories fuzzy okay?), & that it was stated that him & knife were brothers, now why is this important? Simple, as much as we're aware, Cobs did not create the contestants. With this backstory supporting the fact, albeit this post I am referring to could be very much outdated for various reasons. But my point still stands until proven otherwise, so take it with a grain of salt Now, another thing that would change things tenfold is gkgg mp4's motives. Why would he delete the contestants (Also I'm pretty sure the explanation as for how bro's able to do so is the same), does he view them as an obstacle? Does he want to reconnect with his creator who he pushed away by being emotionally inept? Is he doing it because he can & he's just being a massive bastard? Who knows, I don't. Anyway, I could see mp4 telling Test Tube & Baseball that they aren't real to turn them against Cobs, with the statement being complete bullshit but bro has enough evidence to back it up. Also Mepad going against mp4 because bro wants answers & 3gs singing the future is so yesterday because mp4 needed to distract him somehow from everything else going on. Anyway, that was my rant about an ii roleswap au that has consumed me for the past several months at least The gkgg ii au belongs to @maxphilippa, supported by @burgycreeper405-blog (I am scared for my life if Max or Burgy finds this my social anxiety will not be able to handle it)

[dokojuice]

one piece au where everything is exactly the same except sanji had already previously met ace at the baratie during one of ace’s solo voyages

-

“Nice seeing you again.” Sanji said, lifting a cigarette up to his lips with a smile.

Ace turned towards the voice and his face lit up with joy. He points at Sanji with glee.

“Yo! Luffy, you have this guy on your crew? He’s great!”

Luffy’s head turns back and forth, darting between his cook and his brother. “Huh? Ace, do you know Sanji?”

Ace nods happily. “We met back in East Blue, at that restaurant.”

“I should have known you two were related.” Sanji shakes his head with a feigned exasperation. “Same bottomless appetite.”

-

“What the fuck is happening inside there?” Sanji muttered, blowing out a puff of smoke before walking back through the back-door into the kitchens where he returned from his brief smoke break

The kitchen was in a frenzy, every cook rushing between sizzling pans and boiling pots, and servers even opting in and out of prepping dishes for serving.

“What the hell?! Oi,” Sanji grabbed one of the new rookie chefs by the back of the collar. “What’s going on?”

“A-A customer outside! He ordered one of everything on the menu!”

“HUH?!”

The Baratie menu was five pages, double-sided, with four dishes on each, excluding the drinks and desserts.

“What kind of customer orders forty dishes?!”

“SHHH!” The rookie chef looks around frantically, as if hiding from someone beneath all the noise in the chaos. “He’s a Whitebeard Pirate Commander!”

Sanji’s eyes widened in shock, and steadily joins in preparing the dishes. He carries the first quarter dozen and sets it down on the man’s table. It wasn’t that hard to find, considering the man had a giant tattoo of the infamous Whitebeard’s jolly roger on his back. Also, he was a pirate, so he sat like one. Slack, with legs wide apart and hands behind his head with a bright orange hat settling over his face.

“Your food, sir.” Sanji starts, spreading out the four plates across as another server followed close behind, setting down another three.

The man sat up immediately and looked down with glee. “Thanks so much!”

As if to chime in, Sanji heard the man’s stomach rumble loudly. Sanji smiled. It’s a joy in his life to serve those who are hungry. “Enjoy it. It’s the greatest damn food on the sea.”

The man nodded, thanking him again and digging in. Sanji figured that the first seven plates would be enough to at least sage the appetite of the man a little, so he held up a hand when another one of the servers was on their way out with another four.

“Hold on, there’s no way he’s-”

Sanji’s cut off by a loud slam behind him, followed by loud gasps and screams. He whips his head around and pushes open the kitchen door to the dining area, to see the man face-down in the table, surrounded by shards of broken glass on the floor and in a ring around his head.

“Did he just-?!”

Sanji runs over and carries the man out of his chair, laying him out on the floor. He lays a finger on the side of the man’s neck, desperately searching for a pulse.

“Shit...”

He takes his place over the man’s torso and begins to press Sanji turns his head up towards the shocked diners, who are at a loss just as much as he is.

“IS ANYONE A DOC-”

“Snrk- Oh?”

The man sits up in a shock, dazed and confused. He blinks the sleep away from his eyes, which widen when he sees the cute waiter on his lap. Said waiter is looking down at him with his eyes wide in shock.

“Ah. Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”

Sanji’s brain short-circuits before his face flushes red.

“YOU BASTARD!” Sanji brings a fist down and knocks him on the head before thinking. The guests gasp again, this time in shock.

“He just hit a Whitebeard commander!”

“Do you think he’s gonna come here?!”

“Ah-” Sanji’s eyes boggle even wider and he jumps off the man in a hassle (why was he still on him?!) “I-I’m so sorry, p-please, don’t hold this against the restaurant.”

To his surprise, and the shock of all the patrons around him, the man begins to laugh. He throws his head back and laughs so hard, his hat falls off his head. Loose black curls fall around his face in a cute halo. His chortles die down and he shakes his head, waving his arms up in a ‘no way’ gesture.

“Please, rest assured, I won’t do anything like that. I imagine I caused quite a shock anyways so that was pretty well-warranted.”

He rubs his head tenderly with a smirk. “You know, you’re pretty strong. Wanna join the Whitebeard pirates? We could always use more cooks. All the better if they’re strong, too.”

Sanji splutters with a heavy blush at the praise before turning and stomping away, cursing under his breath that the man was an idiot.

-

It was when Sanji came back from his third smoke break of the night when he sees that man again, this time over one of the sinks in the kitchen.

“EH-What are you doing back here?!”

The man lifts his head over the plate he’s washing, and Sanji doesn’t like the little twist his heart does at the sight of the man’s hair tied back out of his face.

“Oh! Hi again. The old guy told me I had to wash the dishes to pay for the ones I broke. He’s a pretty scary guy, I can see where you get your strength from.”

“Don’t compliment me as if that solves anything, bastard.” Sanji mutters, rolling up his sleeves as he makes his way to another sink, joining in attacking the large pile of dirty dishes looming over them. 

“Sorry for scaring you like that. I really have no idea why that happens, even the doctors on our ship can’t figure it out.” The man apologizes again.

He runs his hand under the water to rinse off the suds of soap and briefly shakes it before thrusting it towards Sanji with a newfound determined grin. “I’m Ace.”

Sanji looks at his outstretched hand and sighs, pulling his out of the water and shaking it. “Sanji.”

“How long have you been a cook here?”

“As long as I can remember.” He responds. “I basically grew up here.”

“With these guys? No wonder you’re so tough.” Ace chuckles. Sanji smiles and shakes his head.

“They’re all temperamental bastards. Especially the old man.”

“It’s nice to say you grew up around good people.” Ace says wistfully, scrubbing away at a plate with stubborn flakes of whatever.

“Even if I imagine the old guy was as tough on you as he was on me.” Ace chuckles again, shaking his head and sighing before rubbing a hand on his sore cheek, where a new bruise was forming. “You think his leg would break with how hard he kicked me back there.”

Sanji’s mind lightens with memories of Zeff as a child, and his smile returns. “Yeah, he’s the worst one of ‘em all. Still can’t imagine how I would have turned out without him, though.”

“It’s the same way with my little brother.” Ace says, and a large smile grows on his face. “God, he was the most annoying little kid you could ever imagine. But there’s no doubt he’s the greatest thing that happened to me.”

“Is he a pirate as well? Is he on your ship?”

Ace shakes his head. “No, he’s just about done training to set off on his own. But he’s gonna shake the world.”

“Jeez, that crazy, huh?”

“I hope he finds his way here, he’d love the food.”

“If I ever meet him, I’ll make sure he gets fed well.”

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page...(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader Bookshop! AU) pt 1

After a disastrous breakup, you, an American author, escape to a little London bookstore with your best friend. However, when one patron takes a certain interest in you, you wonder if your story has been finished after all...

Part 2, Masterlist

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Nothing seems as pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

Smooth lyrics picked with a bass line and beats in on the radio, your ears perked up and catching the beginning of fluorescent adolescent you sighed. The song wasn't helping your down mood and you pick up your phone, ignoring the 10+ missed calls from your ex, and changed the song. After shuffling for a moment another piercing ring lit up your phone.

God leave me alone!

You sigh to yourself and toss your phone back on the counter of the bookstore as the door rings, announcing a customer. Your eyes flick to the door as a tall man enters. Lightly buzzed hair looks soft in the light and you catch yourself staring a little and he grins at you. You welcome him in and he nods then heads towards the history section. You watch how he carries himself. Strong and steady with a soldier's confidence. You think a little about it, the strength those arms carry before your phone rings again...

Your hand flies to your phone and you finally silence the poor thing, the buzzing remaining like a dying animal, a fit allusion to your past relationship. You remember the glittering smirks of the ladies and your fiance's grin, eyes shadowed with greed as you stood in a winning dress. The bastard ruined your image and your future with one moment, pulling the girl to him for a steaming kiss. Flashes of lights as the crowding press pushed past you and left you in the dark.

Glittering lights turned to stars as you left the gala alone, pushing the cheating bastard and your ‘friends’, truthfully venomous colleagues, to the back of your mind. You had gotten back home to your flat, packed everything you could, and kicked it to stay with a friend. You could imagine the headlines. “Downbeat author loses job and life!” You groan wipe a hand down your face and force yourself into the present.

You stand and shift your weight from foot to foot. It was a practice Sam had taught you when you both first moved out. His extended family was in the publishing business and owned a bookstore in London proper with an attached apartment on top. It was easy for him to steal his best friend away and across the pond for a new life chasing words through the drizzly streets of London.

Put yourself in the current moment, and learn to reset yourself if needed!

His warm voice rings in your ears and you smile, stretching and taking stock of the current moment. It was currently 5:36 on a Thursday, it was the middle of February so it was cold outside, currently not raining but cloudy. If you look you can see covered strangers pass back and forth outside the windows of the bookshop.

It had been a few months since you settled in but they were full of meeting Sam’s family and getting your writing career back on your feet. After the shame of the breakup, you had taken an extended break from writing. However restful for you, your manager was insistent on getting a book finished by the middle of the year, or year's end at worst. So you dutifully spent your time manning the bookshop and writing when you could bear to. But every time you opened that blank white screen you grimaced, seeing...

A large thunk on the counter makes you jump. Your eyes and mind darting back to the present.

“Aye sorry lass.” A thick Scottish voice apologizes and you catch first his smile, he's teasing.

You shake yourself out of it and reach over the counter to grab at his book, A History of Military Maneuvers.

“You certainly chose some dense reading material,” You quip at him as an easy smile lights up your face as well. You take the book and bag it, mentioning the price as he passes you a card.

“It's not too bad when you live it.” He explains simply. That would explain the physique.

“Did you serve?”

“I did once, not anymore. Took one too many and it put me on the sidelines. I found quieter work around the city.” He says it calmly but you catch his hand and rub his shoulder. It seems a sore spot for him. You think of your career back in the States and frown.

“I don’t blame you,” a hurt passes over your eyes. Your writer's brain latches onto his character. He seemed to enjoy part of his career, but you can see the injury in your mind's eye now, one moment normal then the next some career-ending injury.

“What do you do? I've seen you in the store before.” He brushes a hand through his hair a little ashamed.

You raise a brow,

“Been watching have you? I am an author back in the States for your information, Mr…?”

He grins at you and offers his hand across the counter,

“John, John MacTavish but my friends just call me Soap.”

You return his handshake. His hands are rough and completely engulf yours, a fact that makes your heart skip a beat at the realization.

His phone then rings and he pulls away from you to check it. 

“I got to get this love, but it was nice finally putting a name to the face. I'll be seeing ye around.”

With that Soap takes the bag and makes his exit into the cold evening. With his departure, you feel your spirits lift. Maybe, you think flexing your hand, there is a story to be written after all.