#but the regret and guilt are something I know all too well
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2020 <> can you hear me in the silence?
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word count: 2.3k TW: downbad!wonwoo, hints at cyana's past, fluff, comfort, one swear word italics are in english, bolded words are in japanese a/n: we love a downbad wonwoo moment and oblivious cyana- this pairing is always so fun to write! threw in a little sneak peak of cyana's past and what's to come...
Wonwoo felt a swirl of guilt and nausea each time he saw Cyana. Ever since that night - where Wonwoo had fainted backstage and Cyana had kindly stayed next to him through it all - he felt he owed the girl immensely. They hadn't talked at all since - Wonwoo knew he was continuing to avoid the girl - not because of his fear this time, but out of guilt. He knew he had been rude and callous to the girl since day one and regretted it deeply.
There was nothing he could say however, each time he tried to speak to her, his tongue refused to cooperate and his throat would close up. He'd end up looking like a fool in front of her, his usually charismatic self reduced into silence.
He figured he had always been better at showing instead of telling.
ONE:
Cyana was woefully overstimulated and it was showing. Her eyes had glazed over, as she sat in between DK and Dino, bearing the front of all the chaos.
Wonwoo knew it had been a long day for the girl. Cyana had been paraded around Tokyo, finishing interviews and photoshoots and still making time to grab dinner with Joshua and Jun. He had seen how eager she had been to crash in her room the moment they had returned back to the hotel. It was purely because she couldn't say no to Dino that she was still awake, joining them all for late night drinks.
"...and then you would've believe what she told me." DK continued on with his story, halfway through his third can of beer. His voice was loud, as the alcohol lowered his inhibitions.
"Dokyeom-ah." Wonwoo cut in before he could continue. His voice was quiet, but firm nonetheless.
The boy in question turned his head to the corner of room where Wonwoo sat. "Oh, hyung."
"Let's lower our voices, okay?" He reminded gently, still eyeing Cyana. "We don't want to get another noise complaint."
DK nodded. "Whoops." He smiled sheepishly. "You're right."
Wonwoo turned to look at Hoshi and Mingyu as well, who had both been cackling over something on Mingyu's phone. "You two as well."
The volume died significantly, and Wonwoo could see Cyana's shoulders relax. He turned back to nursing his own can of beer, watching as she blinked out of her stupor and leaned comfortably against Dino to listen to DK's story.
TWO:
Joshua would've joked that Wonwoo seemed to be stalking Cyana had it not been very true. He could see his eyes following her every move, and wondered whether or not Cyana could feel them too.
"What's going on with you?" He asked Wonwoo as they walked outside for a quick lunch.
Wonwoo frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You've been following Cyana with your eyes like 24/7 ever since our Japan concert."
He could swear he saw Wonwoo blush. "I don't know what you're talking about, man." He denied, moving past him to open the door to the cafe.
Joshua shrugged. It really wasn't any of his business, and Wonwoo always had been a little weird about Cyana since the beginning. His lips quirked up into a tiny smile, enjoying this newfound side of his friend. It was hard to see Wonwoo as anything but calm and collected.
As they sat down to order, he watched from over the menu as Wonwoo scanned the options.
"Have you been here before?" Joshua asked, confused. Wonwoo was looking at the menu like he already knew what he wanted to order.
Wonwoo glanced up before returning his eyes to the menu. "What?" He mumbled. "No."
"How'd you even find this place anyways?" Joshua wondered out loud. "Must be really popular, if you said we needed to come here." Wonwoo had approached him with the idea of going to a cafe 15 minutes away and Joshua had gladly accepted.
Wonwoo shook his head. "It's actually pretty underground." He revealed. "It took me awhile to find."
Joshua frowned. His friend was giving him more questions than answers.
Before he could ask how Wonwoo even knew of the place, the server approached them with a pad of paper, ready to take their order. "Hello, what can I get for you?"
Wonwoo gestured at Joshua to go first. Reaching for his limited knowledge of Japanese, he pointed at the pastry that had caught his eye. "I'll have one of these, please. And a latte."
The waiter nodded, looking over at Wonwoo expectantly.
"I'll have one of these, please." Wonwoo pointed to something on the menu. He paused before speaking again. "And can I take this to go?"
The waiter glanced down at what he was pointing at and nodded. "Yes, I'll have it packed up for you."
"Thank you." Wonwoo nodded in thanks as the waiter left.
--
Joshua kept his questions to himself as they ate, all the while eyeing the takeout container the waiter had placed next to Wonwoo. He finally gave up as they exited the cafe, his curiosity peaking.
"What's in the box?"
Wonwoo looked down at the container he was holding onto, as if he himself hadn't realized he had it. "It's their takoyaki." He explained, shrugging. "Apparently it's the best or whatever."
A lightbulb ignited within Joshua's mind. He recalled a conversation he had overheard two nights ago, as he passed by Dino and Cyana's shared room.
"I think I'd murder someone for takoyaki right now." Cyana had mumbled out, eyes closed as she recalled the flavour. "There was this cafe I went to as a kid that served the best takoyaki. Ever."
Dino had laughed at her want. "Is it far?"
"I don't know." She groaned out, upset. "Don't remember the name. I just know they had like- wooden exterior and bamboo walls." Her nose scrunched as she recalled the memory. "Very traditional Japanese."
"No fucking way." Joshua stared at Wonwoo, his mouth gaped open.
The younger man frowned at him, raising a hand to push his glasses up. "What." He gave him an unamused expression.
"Is that," Joshua pointed at the box in his hands. "For Cyana?"
Wonwoo's cheeks turned red. "Maybe."
"Oh my goodness." Joshua couldn't help but laugh at how adorable the situation was. "You're pathetic, oh my god. Don't tell me you found the cafe just by her description of the exterior."
Wonwoo's face was ablaze as they continued walking. "I google mapped the thing," he mumbled, embarrassed. "clicked on every place that sold takoyaki and checked the exterior for bamboo and wood." He frowned when Joshua only laughed louder. "Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not-" Joshua wheezed out, slapping Wonwoo on the back. "Props to you, man. That's some dedication."
"Shut up."
THREE:
"Dino?" Cyana called out from their shared hotel room to the boy who was currently in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed.
"Hm?"
She was staring at the box filled with takoyaki, still steaming and hot. "Did you go out and get takoyaki today?"
Dino popped his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. "Nuh uh."
"Hm." Cyana frowned, wondering who had. Shrugging, the scent of the food overtook her curiosity as she sat down and took a bite. "Oh my god." Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she couldn't help but shiver at the nostalgic taste. "The takoyaki gods have answered my prayers." She muttered through a mouthful.
Dino let out a snort from behind her, having finished getting ready for bed. "More like the takoyaki tooth fairy."
"I am so in love." She mumbled through another mouthful, moving the box away from Dino when he tried sneaking a bite. "You already brushed your teeth, bro."
"This isn't fair." Dino pouted, flopping onto the bed. "Everything you say has been coming true recently."
Cyana frowned, realizing he was right. Just yesterday, she had lingered in front of a store on their way to a interview. A purple and white notebook had caught her attention - perfect for storing her lyrics in. That same notebook had ended up on top of her suitcase later that night - no note, no receipt. Nobody had owned up to the act when she asked during breakfast the next day.
"From how I see it-" Dino was talking, breaking Cyana out of her thoughts. "One of us messed up- bad. And they're trying to get on your good side before you find out."
She gave him a look, taking another bite of her takoyaki. "Or~" She gave him a goofy grin. "It could be my fairy godmother. Finally showing up."
Dino snorted. "Childish."
FOUR:
They were halfway through their North American leg of the tour and Wonwoo could tell returning to LA had done something to the girl. She was no longer participating in their antics and hangouts after concerts - choosing to reside in her room instead. It resulted in Dino having to room with him and Jun, the younger boy moping around like a kicked puppy over losing his roommate.
"Something's very wrong with her." Dino muttered one night, having had enough of everyone pretending Cyana was okay.
"You're just saying that cause she asked to room alone for the rest of tour and you're pissed." Hoshi muttered back.
"No." Dino corrected quickly, getting up from his spot on the couch. "All she does is perform, practice, hide in her room, perform, practice, hide in her room." He listed. "It's like she's in a loop."
"Give her some time." Joshua sighed, and everyone turned to look at him.
"You know something." Dino pointed an accusatory finger at the older boy.
Joshua nodded. "I do. And it's nothing that concerns us. Cyana will share when she wants to share."
Dino huffed, clearly not liking being kept in the dark. "She's my twin, hyung."
Wonwoo could barely pinpoint the sadness in Joshua's eyes, but it was there. "I know. Give her time."
Wonwoo stood up, leaving the room without a word. Knocking quietly on their manager's door, he entered to see him working on his computer. "Can we get a day off?" He asked.
The manager blinked at the sudden request. "What do you want to do?"
"There's a bookstore close by, right?" Wonwoo remembered Vernon saying something about that. "Barnes and Nobles. Can we go?"
He knew it wasn't much, but Cyana had complained a long time ago that she missed having English books to read. He figured he couldn't do much to help the girl through whatever she was going through right now, but this- this he could do.
FIVE:
It was half-past four in the morning and Wonwoo was still awake. It was officially their last day on tour - tomorrow they'd be flying back to Korea. He couldn't tell whether that made him happy or sad. He was relieved though - hoping that maybe being back home would help heal everyone.
Their hotel floor was eerily quiet tonight as all the members had gone to sleep. He figured it was the crash that often came with tour ending - as if their bodies knew it was finally over and the adrenaline that kept them going washed away.
"Jun?" A tiny voice sounded from the entrance of his hotel room, making him flinch at the sudden sound.
He turned, spotting a bleary-eyed Cyana padding in, her feet bare.
"Jun's sleeping." He whispered, nodding towards the boy in question, who was sleeping soundly in bed.
He watched as her shoulders fell and she perched upon the table, her legs swinging gently above the floor. He watched her watch Jun sleep in silence.
It seemed like forever until Cyana spoke, finally raising her head to look at Wonwoo.
"Are you my fairy godmother?" She whispered, and Wonwoo felt as if she wasn't really all there. Her eyes seemed to look through him, as if she was trying too hard to look at him and failed.
He knew what she meant. He simply nodded, afraid that if he tried to say something, his words would betray him.
"Did you do something wrong?" She asked next, rubbing her sleepy eyes to look at him better. "Dino said whoever gave me those things probably did something wrong."
Wonwoo thought the question was very subjective. "Do you think I did something wrong?" He asked her instead, curious.
Cyana shook her head. "No."
"I thought I'd be nice for a change." He admitted. "I felt bad. And you were going through so much."
She didn't say anything, so he didn't say anything else either.
"Thank you." She whispered, after much silence.
Wonwoo could only nod. No need, he wanted to say. Or maybe As long as it helped you - through whatever it is that Joshua won't tell us. Whatever secret he's keeping for you. Whatever happened in LA. But he didn't say any of that- Cyana looked fragile enough.
"I like this."
Her voice shook him out of his thoughts as he looked back at her.
"The silence." She clarified. "You give nice silence."
His lips quirked at the creative way she had put it. He found she always had a strange way with words, but beautiful nonetheless. "Thank you." He didn't know what else to say.
Watching wordlessly as she walked over to Jun, sliding into bed next to him and curling herself up, Wonwoo moved to get ready for bed. By the time he returned, Jun had moved, as if his body could sense Cyana's presence and moved to compliment it - even while unconscious.
He pulled out his phone and took a picture, sending it to Jun for when the boy woke up. Settling into bed himself, he mulled over Cyana's words. You give nice silence. It made him happy just thinking about it. Silence was something he excelled at- and he always believed it to be a weakness. But if his silence was nice, and if it was something Cyana needed - perhaps it was a strength instead.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen ot13#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#svt#svt imagines#svt fluff#seventeen#seventeen 14th member#idol oc#wonwoo x reader#cyanawritings#oc#kpop x reader#kpop oc#kpop imagines#kpop addition#kpop#seventeen fanfic#seventeen fic#svt fanfic#svt fic#idolverse#idol fic#female idol#jun x reader#joshua x reader
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No Surprises.
pairing: Simon âGhostâ Riley x female!Reader
synopsis: What starts as Simonâs small act of kindnessâleaving flowers on an abandoned graveâtakes an unexpected turn when he learns the dark truth about the man buried there. A chance meeting at another grave, however, leads to a connection he never saw coming.
warnings: mentions of death, grief, murder (briefly described, not graphic), guilt, emotional vulnerability. Mostly fluff with humor and a touch of angst.
word count: 1367
a/n: Inspired by a hilarious, and slightly dark, Twitter thread that I stumbled across (this one) and written while listening to Radioheadâso, yeah, heavily inspired. This spiraled into something bigger than I planned, but I loved how it turned out!
Simon visits his mom pretty often. At least once a week when he isnât on deployment.
He would buy her bouquets and her grave was the most well-taken care of all Southern Cemetery, it frequently resembled a solid third place at Chelsea Flower Show.
But the guy next to her didnât have much luck. His grave was abandoned and never received flowers, the only readable information about the man was his name and that he died on christmas day at age 33.
There was something unsettling about the headstone that Simon couldnât shake. Maybe it was the way the chiseled name seemed to fade quicker than the others around it, or the date etched so starklyâChristmas Day. It felt like the grave itself bore a story too heavy for time to carry.
Every week, as Simon walked past that abandoned grave, he couldnât help but feel a pang of guilt. Not for the man, but for what the man representedâa life wasted, forgotten, abandoned by time and loved ones. It was as if Simon could almost hear the echoes of the manâs lonely final days, a voice in the silence that reminded him of his own lost moments, his own griefs that had never been healed. He was doing it for both of them, in a wayâhe was making up for something he couldnât even name.
No one ever left him flowers and each time he passed the grave, his eyes lingered on the wilted weeds and worn stone, an ache settling in his chest.
The feeling was eating Si alive.
He thought of his mother, resting just a few rows down, her grave adorned with flowers he could no longer place there himself. Maybe, just maybe, this strangerâs memory deserved a similar kindness⌠when he looked outside the iron gate and saw the pop-up florist and had an idea.
That's how Simon started buying flowers for a deceased man he had never met. And after some time Simon even started adding little touchesâfresh soil to the base of the tombstone, cleaning the headstone when the rain left stains, sometimes even rearranging the flowers into a new arrangement.
Simon didnât know why he caredâit wasnât like the man would notice. Still, an odd sense of duty settled on him, as though heâd become the custodian of a memory long forsaken.
It was like he was making the world better, one bunch of flowers at a time. He did this for quite some time, but never told it to a soul. He knew it sounded weird, kinda lonely but he came to think about him as a friend. The loneliness of it all gnawed at him. He wondered, was he doing this for the strangerâor for himself, to fill some silent void he couldnât quite name?
As Simon approached the grave that week, the familiar pang returned, sharper than before. He stood still, the wind teasing the edge of his jacket. The flowers in his hand felt weightier than usual, as though the guilt he carried seeped into their petals.
âWhat am I doing here?â he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. But no one answeredânot the man beneath the stone nor the ghost of his own regrets.
He wondered if there was a hidden connection between them, something that drew Simon to him. Maybe they went to the same school, or maybe both supported Manchester United football club or whatever. So he decided to google his name.
Finger hovering over the enter button, he hesitated. It was silly, he knew, but he couldnât shake the feeling that he was about to unearth something better left buried.
When Simon first Googled the manâs name, he found nothing.
But, just like Price says, âCuriosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.â
The days had passed, and curiosity gnawed at him until, one night, he gave in. With a few beers in a pub with the 141 clouding his judgment and hours of searching through online records, he finally found a Newspaper article.
His pulse quickened. When the article loaded, Simon froze. The words blurred together at first, the screen swimming in his vision.
âFamily Tragedy Ends in Suicide on Christmas Day.â
âMurdered herâŚâ he whispered aloud, his mouth going dry.
The words clawed their way up his throat, and the details stood out like jagged shardsâmurdered his wife and in-laws on a Christmas night. His hands shook as he scrolled, the bedroom suddenly feeling too small. The man heâd been honoring wasnât a victim but a villain.
His wife didnât leave him flowers because he murdered her on christmas day. After murdering his wife he also killed her parents and then jumped in front of the only train passing in Piccadilly Train Station that christmas night.
His stomach churned as he read on, his hand trembling against the mouse. By the end, he wasnât sure if the nausea came from the manâs actions or the realization that Simon had spent years tending to the grave of a killer.
Simonâs heart sank while reading all the news, he felt like a terrible person and felt so sorry for his wife and parents. He felt he needed to do something to soothe the guilty and that's the situation he found himself in, he wouldnât buy them flowers for almost two years but he was going to apologise.
After searching where they were buried he bought them flowers and drove to the Blackley Cemetery.
The smell of damp earth and fresh-cut flowers hung in the air, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional distant crow. It was quiet, reverent, a sanctuaryâand yet, under it all, a gnawing sadness.
Standing in front of their graves, Simonâs hands trembled. The flowers heâd brought felt heavy, like a physical manifestation of the guilt he hadnât even known he was carrying.
What right did he have to apologize for a crime he never committed?
The flowers became more than just a gift; they were a ritual. With every petal he placed, Simon felt as though he were piecing together something brokenânot the strangersâ lives, but perhaps his own. And when he laid that last bouquet at the foot of the victimsâ graves, it was less an offering and more an apology whispered through the blooms.
Kneeling before the graves, Simon fumbled with the bouquet, his fingers clumsy and unsure. He cleared his throat, but his voice cracked anyway. âIâm sorry,â he whispered, the words escaping like a confession.
The headstones didnât respond, their silence deafening, but Simon kept going. âI didnât know. I shouldâveâŚâ His words trailed off, swallowed by the damp air, leaving only the faint rustle of trees to answer him and a nudge on his shoulder.
âHi,â she said, her voice calm but mildly woolly. âWhy are you leaving flowers for my aunt and grandparents?â
Simon was startled. He turned, finding a woman standing a few feet away, arms crossed but her expression more puzzled than angry. His throat tightened. âI, uh⌠itâs complicated,â he stammered, his face flushing under her steady gaze
Her eyes were full of something he couldnât placeâcuriosity, disbelief, maybe even a little amusement. The words heâd rehearsed in his mind felt silly now, but he said them anyway, rambling about flowers and apologies.
Simon shifted, glancing from her face to the graves. âItâs⌠a long story, one Iâm not even sure makes sense.â
She tilted her head, lips quirking into a half-smile. âYou know, weird as it is, those are usually the best stories. So, how about you tell me over coffee?â Her face softened, the tension easing as he listens, there was no judgment, only a quiet understanding that unsettled Simon more than anything.
He blinked, surprised. âI, uh⌠yeah. Iâd like that.â
As they walked away from the cemetery, the weight in Simonâs chest lightened. Maybe it was the fresh air, or maybe it was the odd sense of peace that seemed to hang between them now. He couldnât put his finger on it, but something had shifted. The ache in his chest had faded, replaced by a soft, unfamiliar warmth. It was as if, in trying to make the world a little better for a stranger, heâd found a piece of something heâd been missing too.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#cod ghost#cod mw2#call of duty#ghost x reader#task force 141#tf 141 x reader#cod 141#Spotify#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#cod modern warfare#cod#cod mwii
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Secrets (post war, bkdk, mutual yearning and idiocy)
Izuku quite liked settling into a habit with Kacchan, where the young ProHero would come visit the UA campus on their lunch breaks and they would share a meal together. He was still an understudy and teacher assistant, and so he didn't have his own classroom, but Katsuki could always find him through the windows.
The more they lunched together, the more Izuku happened to notice a lot of texts popping up on Katsuki's phone, sitting on the table next to where Katsuki scarfed down his daily bento.
He could see, when the little push notification popped up, the name "Pink Support Girl", popping up more and more.
He doesn't immediately think much of it, after all, Hatsume is a skilled, professional support tech now and he likely has her working on upgrades and fixes for his gear.
But sometimes, Katsuki will pick up the phone and check the message. And then, sometimes, this strange grin would show up on his face. And sometimes he would tap back a message at an alarming speed.
Izuku is intrigued by it. But whenever he hears the text alert on Katsuki's phone and sees Hatsume light up on the screen and concludes that Katsuki is very obviously in a deep back and forth...
He can't help but feel...strangely anxious.
One day, he sucks it up and asks awkwardly over lunch,
"Kacchan...are you and Mei Hatsume...dating?"
Katsuki chokes on his food a little and looks at Izuku like he's grown a second head.
"Dating?? What the hell are you talking about?"
Izuku regrets asking, but inches forward anyway.
"Sorry, it's intrusive of me! But i just... I notice you two have been texting a lot. I mean if you are, that's fine! I was just...curious?"
Katsuki's face traveled through a range of reactions as Izuku had babbled, but landed on a vague tinge of apprehension bordering on the guilt of getting caught in something.
Shit, he should have known better than to engage in those conversations too much in front of Izuku. Izuku is clever and observant, and he knew it. Of course he would catch on to something going on.
"Hell no," Katsuki didn't miss a beat, scoffing as he usually would. "There's a project I'm having her work on, it's kind of involved...she won't leave me alone with updates and shit."
Well, he couldn't exactly lie to his best friend and rival, after all...
The expression on Izukus face went from genuine confusion(and perhaps a hint of dread), to one of excitement.
"A new project? Oh my gosh, what is it? New gear? Is it new gauntlets?" The spark in his eyes showed that Izuku's nerd side had been activated. Katsuki snorted with a laugh, thinking that the teacher in training was seconds away from grabbing his current Quirk notebook to try to update his "Kacchan: GEMG DynaMight" entries in a flurry.
"Sure, sure," Katsuki accepted the assumption as his cover story. New gauntlets, truthfully, were on his to-do list, though he had prioritized them far below funding Izuku's secret suit. "I've got some big plans. You'll see." He grinned at Izuku, and Izuku recalled all the smaller grins that he had given to the texts from Mei.
Izuku smiled, now realizing that the grins were of deep pride for Katsuki, not at all of affection for a lover. He really was eager to share.
"Oh I hope so! I can't wait! If it's not too forward of me...again... is it too late to tell you and Hatsume my own thoughts on your gauntlets?" He asked, almost shyly.
Katsuki was tongue-tied, looking at the earnest, and frankly, adorable look on Izuku's face as he implored him. He felt his face heating up, feeling the rest of his resolve just melting. Izuku had no idea that this wasn't even about Katsuki's own gear...it was all for him. And Katsuki was aware enough now to know that Izuku truly wanted to help him, one of his most heroic(and attractive) features.
Katsuki felt a yearning inside; He wanted to share his secret so badly, wanted to show Izuku so many schematics and drafts that were buzzing constantly in his head as he went about daily life, but he knew, they were still years and a whole lot of money, from the point of reveal.
Katsuki caved to Izuku's request.
He leaned closer to Izuku, whose heart skipped a beat with the sudden proximity to the blonde.
"You have 10 minutes before I have to get back out to patrol," Katsuki said smoothly, only his crimson eyes slinking to the clock on the wall of the empty classroom, and back to smolder at Izuku's sparkling green eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Tell me what's in that nerdy notebook of yours."
--
B: Hey. Need to talk to you.
H: Sure, got those specs for me?? I need em asap
B: In a second.
B: I need to move all non-urgent communication to email
H: Inconvenient, inefficient. Absolutely not. Why??
B: Deku noticed how much we have been texting
B: thought we were dating.
H: lmao!!! Dating!!!
B: stfu I dont want him figuring out what is going on until it's time!!
B: Damn nerd too smart for his own good
H: đ
B: đĽđĽđĽ fuck off
H: no way to speak to your engineer. Specs please.
H: also hey, just mute your notifications and turn off push if you don't want him seeing who's texting you. I'm not waiting for emails while you're out doing hero stuff in the field all day. I'll start making my own executive decisions and charging you extra at that point!!
B: UGH FINE
B: hey...
B: there's one other thing...
H: what?
B: ....I need to get some new Gauntlets made.
#aaand thats how Katsuki got those new Gauntlets made after the war lmao#post war bkdk#drabble#bkdk fic#bnha spoilers#bakudeku#kacchan struggling to keep the suit a secret is hilarious to me#a bit of flirty kacchan towards that end#kacchan had to make gauntlets bc izuku was getting too clever#YEP ITS JUST GAUNTLETS NOTHING TO SEE HERE#katsuki bakugou is down bad#boys just date already#cut to izuku and katsuki poring over izukus notes and designing gauntlets together lmao
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Why do people think Nanami purposfully killed the kitten??
Like, did you see her reaction when it went over the waterfall?
That is NOT the reaction of someone who killed something on purpose.
She was very young in these scenes and clearly didn't grasp the gravity of what she was doing or what would happen after she did it until she saw the consequences too little too late!
SHe was an angry child who had not thought her plan through and clearly, she felt regret for what she did
She's crying and begging her brother to forgive her!
How does one come away from this episode and think she truly wanted to hurt that kitten?!
Noralities, I'm talking to you!
youtube
#it's spelled out clear as day#yet it somehow people have completely missed the obvious;#SHE WAS TOO YOUNG TO GRASP WHAT SHE WAS DOING UNTIL REALITY SMACKED IN THE FACE AT THE VERY LAST MINUTE.#And the fact she looked back in the first place makes it clear that she didn't truly want it hurt#she was an angry young child who just wanted the thing that she perceived as coming between her and her brother to go away#and unfortunately#that lead to her acting out in anger and doing something in the heat of that#also#I'm not justifying what she did#it's just that as someone who was also an emotional and angry kid who would do things in the spur of the moment without thinking them#through and the gravity of what I did only hit immediately after I did it#I know what was going through her head!#i never did anything as bad as nanami did#but the regret and guilt are something I know all too well#rgu#revolutionary girl utena#sku#shoujo kakumei utena#nanami kiryuu#utena discourse#my stuff#Youtube
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8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)
#i guess it affected me more than i'd like to#i don't want to make people uncomfortable#and i am sorry if i did that with any of my posts i know they have been overly emotional and maybe a bit insane#it's true that i am trying to deal with losing and finding peace i am not very good at this due to my intense emotions#and my fear of loneliness and losing people. i am also in a very bad depressive episode. i am aware that this isn't an excuse for any#of my behavior. i never had a support system so dealing with all this on my own and getting no therapist who is willing to see you#it's a downer. guilt is eating me alive and my mental condition is the something that has ruined a lot for me but it has never before done#such a terrible job before. recovering from that and dealing with the aftermath of this is exhausting and has taken a toll on my physical#and mental health i know this post doesn't mean anything to most of all and is at best confusing but i guess it's my poor attempt#of avoiding that people will hate me. i don't want to self-pity more than i already did. but i do that all on my own already.#i know that life is so much more difficult than fiction and you can't expect miracles or believe in faith to fix anything#i know there is no cure to who i am. i can only try to navigate it better in the future. it doesn't mean that i can't regret what i did.#that i can't feel guilty about it. i know that won't change anything but i am also trying to get better and i understand if that's not#visible. i just have to believe that one day it will be enough for people to say 'hey. i know you are fucked up.#and you hurt me and you've been a bitch. but we'll work on it. i believe in you.' otherwise i have to believe that this loneliness#is all there is and that i'm gonna die hollow#i don't want much. i just want some patience and peace#i want to believe that i am worthy of love and that i can get a future. and yes. me talking about wanting a wife and this stupid apple pie#life... maybe it's cliche and stupid but i have been alone for years and i am so tired of fighting. is it so bad that i don't want to do#this alone? and that goes for friends as well. i want to cook for people built things and tend to a garden to take care of animals#and to create instead of destroying for once.#i don't know why i am still writing i guess when the dam breaks... again. i am sorry for ever making people uncomfortable or even hurting#them that was never my intention. i promise#so i really hope. whoever is reading this. i hope you are doing alright. i hope you had/have a good day. tell the people you care about#you love them and enjoy the little things. read that book. eat that chocolate or do whatever brings you joy. the world is so difficult to#navigate but you are doing such a great job by just existing. you are making this world a better place with the light you radiate#the last thing I want to do something I never can forgive myself for is hurting people#not only but especially the ones I care about. but beyond that those I barely know too because I care about you guys too#I just don't want that... I want to leave the world better than I found it but I'm having a hard time doing it due to this stupid fucking#brain of mine.
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the whole world of ffxiv is very dear to me
#đ.rambles#[ ffxiv. ]#i'm catching up on some quests. particularly the role quests for crafters rn n#THE WRITING IS SO GOOD#i love how the side stories n all these side characters. have. actual character to them#i remember a few months back when i finally finished the. hmmm. i can't rmb but it was the one with the harp. or the bard idk#I CANT REMEMBER BUT YK THE QUEST WHERE THE SONG FROM. ONE OF THE OLD FINAN FANTASIES#THE LUTE! THE LUTE YK FROM. AAAA WAS IT FFIV OR FFIII OR SMTH ELSE I CAN'T REMEMBER đ#that said though i rmb something abt that like.. oh my god shadowbringers n.#HOPE! hope is one of my favorite themes ever n ffxiv always does so well w it for me#n then. stuff like. guilt. regret. past present n future.... ffxiv touches on it all is such a personal way.#then again. maybe i also really like the feeling of playing the protagonist or 'hero' through a video game#helping people. making memories through this fantasy world. having profound achievements n being productive#i've said this so much but it's bcs i rlly mean it; ffxiv as an mmorpg really changed my life#i'm. really happy. for the past year my motivation n energy has been really inconsistent n all but#recently.. i've managed to be kinder to myself?#idk oh man i remember last year i wasn't rlly too conscious of time in a. kind of obsessive way like i am now but not really hmmm#wait i'm just reflecting rn UWAH THAT SAID THOUGH#i'll just do what i can! i know i'll be able to do what i want in time anyways#that's just the kind of person i am. i'll work hard. i'll succeed in every aspect i want to.#it's certainly not easy n failure n disappointment will be inevitable but i know i'll make it through it all n do my best. fly. bloom.#being able to rest n take it slow w like ffxiv or wtvr's rlly helped#my social battery is nonexistent still but i always feel safe at least when i'm certain with myself#but i'll always challenge myself to do better. once more i'm excited for the new year#i'm rambling hdkgjskg but indulging in stuff i love like ffxiv rlly just!!!! makes me remember myself!!!!#this is who i am!!!!!!!!!!!! next year i'm gna do a lot better let's fucking go#THE OST OF THE CRYSTARIUM MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. SO MUCH MEMORIES. I MISS SHADOWBRINGERS :<<#hehe i'd really love to live in ffxiv. or to create my own world like it. a dream come true.. but i'll just do my best in this world.#i love the amaros so much :c 'still good in this world'.. yeah. the past few years have taught me that.#i. want to be like my wol honestly. but yk i do know deep down that it's enough to just be myself. that's what i love anyways.
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Rivals to Lovers â Mingyu
â Synopsis: You were willing to do everything to win the science fair and claim the $500 prize, hoping to outdo Mingyu, your college rival. You successfully win the prize, but your excitement took a hit when you found out that Mingyu actually wanted to use the prize money to support a dog adoption campaign. â WC: 9.1k â WARNINGS: smut, angst, fluff, some messages archives! sabotaging a school project, which could be interpreted as a form of cheating, pet adoption, rumors, guilt/regret, oral (f. receiving), bulge kink, face slap, dirty talk, mentions of fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, creampie, creampie eating, big cock!mingyu.
You never thought you'd have a rival. Enemies? Definitely not. You never even wanted one. Why bother? For what? Life is hard enough without unnecessary drama. But things have just changed.
Your science professor has announced a competition. The task? Create a clay volcano for the upcoming college science fair. Itâs a throwback to middle school projects, something you havenât done in years. The prize, however, is enticing: $500.
"Easy," you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. Your name is consistently at the top of all your class grade scores. This should be a walk in the park.
But then thereâs Mingyu. You and Mingyu are always neck and neck academically. Your rivalry isnât born out of animosity, but thereâs a real tension between the two of you. Itâs as if the universe decided to pair you up as academic sparring partners.
As you sit in the lecture hall, the announcement still fresh in your mind, you canât help but glance over at Mingyu. Heâs already deep in thought, probably planning his volcano. Typical. You shake your head and chuckle quietly to yourself.
The whole college is buzzing with talk about the upcoming science fair. Everyone seems to have an opinion on whoâs going to make the best volcano and walk away with the prize. Your name comes up a lot, but so does Mingyuâs, along with a few other students. The competition is heating up.
One afternoon, you��re in the library when Mingyu saunters over, a cocky grin on his face.
��Hey, Y/N,â he says, leaning casually against the table. âI hope youâre ready to lose. My volcano is going to blow yours out of the water.â
You raise an eyebrow, feeling a spark of irritation. âOh, really? And what makes you so sure?â
He shrugs, his grin widening. âJust a hunch. You might as well not even bother showing up.â
You narrow your eyes, your competitive spirit ignited. You didnât intend for this to be such a cutthroat competition. It doesnât even affect your grade; you just wanted the prize. But now, with Mingyuâs teasing, youâre ready to do whatever it takes to win. Even if it means cheating.
The week before the fair, youâre working overtime. Your room is a chaotic mix of clay, paint, and scientific paraphernalia. Not only are you perfecting your volcano, but youâre also hatching a plan to sabotage Mingyuâs. You overheard him mentioning heâs going to use bicarbonate for his lava. Perfect.
Itâs late one evening when you spot Mingyu in the hallway. Heâs carrying a bag of supplies, looking as smug as ever. You canât resist the urge to confront him.
âHey, Mingyu,â you call out, walking up to him. âI hope youâre not getting too confident. You might just be setting yourself up for disappointment.â
He stops, turning to face you. âOh, please. Iâve got this in the bag. Maybe you should focus more on your project instead of worrying about mine.â
You scoff, crossing your arms. âI am focused. More than you know. Just donât come crying when you lose.â
Mingyuâs expression darkens, and he steps closer. âYou know, for someone who claims to be so good, you sure talk a lot of trash. Maybe itâs because deep down, youâre scared youâre not as great as you think.â
Your blood boils, and you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. âWatch it, Mingyu. You might be good, but youâre not unbeatable.â
âNeither are you,â he snaps, his eyes flashing with irritation.
The tension is thick, and for a moment, it feels like you might actually come to blows. But then a passing professor gives you both a stern look, and you back off, muttering under your breath.
That night, your resolve hardens. Youâre going to win this. Youâll work doubly hard on your volcano and ensure Mingyuâs project doesnât go as planned.
On the day of the fair, the hall is packed with students and faculty, all eager to see the displays. You manage to sneak into the lab when no oneâs around before the presentations begin. You swap the bicarbonate inside Mingyuâs volcano for salt, ensuring his project will be a complete flop.
Your volcano stands proudly, a testament to your hard work and determination. As you watch Mingyu set up his project, you canât help but smirk, knowing whatâs coming.
When the time comes for the demonstrations, you go first. You add the substances, and your volcano erupts perfectly. The foam drips beautifully over the clay, drawing gasps and applause from the other students. The professor praises you, saying, âPerfect as always, Y/N.â
You beam with pride, soaking in the admiration. As you watch Mingyu with crossed arms, you canât resist a little tease. âGood luck, Mingyu. Youâre gonna need it.â
He gives you a sharp look but then turns his attention to his volcano, the picture of confidence.Â
But as soon as he adds the final ingredient, nothing happens.Â
The salt just mixes with the vinegar, and the expected eruption is a complete failure. Mingyu gives a strained smile to the professor, who watches with disinterest, as he tries to stir the mixture, but nothing happens.
The crowd murmurs, and you see Mingyuâs face fall. You look on from your table, feeling a rush of satisfaction. As Mingyu continues to fumble with his project, you walk out like nothing happened, feeling no guilt at all.Â
Your name is called as the winner, and you step forward to accept the prize. As you hold the trophy, you feel a surge of triumph. Maybe this rivalry has gone too far. But for now, youâre on top, and thatâs what matters. The envelope with the $500 is in your hand.
As you leave the university building, you slip the envelope into your bag. Some students congratulate you, and you give them your best smile as you advance to your car. Turning the key in the ignition, you glance at the group sitting by the fountain. There, a very frustrated Mingyu sits with his friends Joshua and Wonwoo, who are trying to comfort him. You look over your shoulder at them before getting into your car and driving away.
Over the next few days, the campus buzzes with talk about the volcanoesâmostly about your perfect eruption and Mingyuâs epic fail. Every time you stumble upon him in the hallway, you flash a devilish grin, ready to tease him, but he just walks away, mumbling an apology.
Was this really too much? You begin to wonder. The comments about the science fair slowly die down within the week, but Mingyu remains resentful. This puzzles you. Determined to confront him, you find him alone in the grandstand, reading some books.
You sit down beside him. He immediately starts gathering his things, but you hold his book down, stopping him.
âAre you really going to be all pitiful because of this stupid science fair?â you ask, your tone sharper than intended.
He huffs, looking up at you with frustration. âWhat do you want, Y/N? You want me to congratulate you? Fine. Congratulations! I donât know what the fuck you did with that stupid money, but I wanted it. I really wanted that $500. Is that what you want to hear?â
You stay in shock, his words and tone catching you off guard. You and Mingyu have never argued like this before. You've never seen him lose his cool.
âMingyu, Iââ
But he doesnât let you finish. He gathers the rest of his books and stands up, looking down at you with anger.
âYou know what? Forget it. Just forget it,â he mutters before walking away, leaving you alone in pure disbelief.
Why did Mingyu want that money so badly? You try to ask some of your classmates, but no one knows. As you walk out of the university door, you hear Joshua's voice nearby. Glancing around, you see him apparently alone. Deciding to take the moment, you approach him.
âHey, Joshua,â you say, trying to sound casual. âCan I ask you something?â
He looks up, surprised, but nods. âSure, whatâs up?â
You ask, âDo you know why Mingyu wanted that $500 so much?âÂ
Joshua frowns, contemplating whether or not to reveal the reason. After a moment, he breathes out and says, âMingyu is a volunteer at a dog shelter. He wanted to use the money for a dog adoption campaign there.â
Your shoulders fall. âThatâs why he wanted the money so badly?â
Joshua nods. âYeah, heâs been volunteering there for years. Heâs really dedicated to those dogs.â
Back at home, you sit on your bed, staring at the envelope on your bedside table. You havenât even used the money yet. Closing your eyes, the regret beats at your door, relentless and insistent. You grab your notebook and start stalking Mingyu's social media.
When you pull up his LinkedIn, you see that heâs been volunteering at the kennel for five years. There are countless photos of him playing with puppies and grown dogs, some with disabilities, some older. Your heart clenches at the sight.
As you scroll through the photos, you see the joy and love on Mingyu's face, surrounded by the dogs he cares so deeply about. The realization hits you hardâhis frustration and anger werenât just about losing a competition. They were about losing the chance to help those dogs, to make a change.
You look back at the envelope, untouched and alone. The victory that once felt so sweet now tastes bitter.
You know what you have to do.Â
The next morning, Mingyu arrives at the dog shelter, adjusting his volunteer shirt on his torso. He greets Mrs. Lee, who immediately coos at him.
âWhy are you here today, Mingyu? It's Saturday, the sun is shining. You should be hanging out with your friends.â
He smiles and shakes his head. âI was planning to make up some extra hours here and help with the donations later.â
Mrs. Lee's eyes light up, and she claps her hands. âNo need for that, dear. A kind lady came by today and covered the donation. She gave us $500! Isn't that great?â
Mingyu frowns in confusion. Donations of that size are unusual for this shelter. âReally? Who was it?â
Mrs. Lee continues, âShe's outside playing with the puppies. It's such a cute sceneâyou need to see it!â
She holds his hand and leads him to the open field. There, you are, lying on the ground, surrounded by a flurry of excited puppies. They lick your face and jump on you, their clumsy movements making you laugh. The scene is one of pure joy and innocence, and Mingyu can see that both you and the puppies are enjoying every moment.
He stands there, watching in awe. As if sensing his presence, you look up and meet his gaze. A smile spreads across your face, and you gently push the puppies off you, standing up and dusting off your clothes.
After a moment, Mingyu's expression turns serious. He waits for you to notice his presence. âWhat are you doing here?â he asks, his voice sharp.
You look down, avoiding his eyes. âI heard that you volunteer here andââ
âYeah, I know. Joshua told me. What do you want?â Mingyu cuts you off.
You take a deep breath, looking everywhere but at him. A puppy cries at your feet, trying to get your attention, and you pick him up, nestling him in your arms as you caress him. âIâm sorry, Mingyu. If I had known that this was the reason you needed the money, I would have helped you with your volcano. Or I would have donated this earlier.â
He stands there, reluctant. âDid you really donate all the prize?â
You nod. âYes. Iâm really sorry.â
Just then, Mrs. Lee appears again, beaming. âLook, Y/N, whoâs ready to go home!â In her arms, she holds a caramel puppy with a cute pink bow.
Mingyu's eyes widen. âLola!â
Mrs. Lee continues, âYes! Lola is finally getting a home. Sheâs such a sweet girl.â
Lola was a caramel dog who had a problem at birth and only had one eye.Â
You smile softly, looking at Lola and then back at Mingyu. âI heard about Lola from Joshua. She deserves a good home.â âI fell in love with Lola,â you continue, sniffling the head of the puppy.Â
Lola wriggles in your arms, her little tail wagging furiously. Mingyu watches you, trying to hide the way his heart throbs at the sight.
âLola had a hard time getting adopted,â he says quietly. âI never thought youâd be the one to take her home.â
You smile, looking down at the puppy whoâs now nuzzling into your neck. âI couldnât resist her. Sheâs special.â
Mingyu nods, his expression softening even more. âYeah, she is. Sheâs been here for a while, you know. I was worried sheâd never find a home.â
You lift your eyes to meet his. âWell, now she has one. Iâm going to make sure sheâs happy.â
He pouts a little, thinking about how Lola wonât be teething his pants or his shoelaces when he arrives at the shelter anymore. âIâm going to miss her.â
âYou can visit anytime,â you offer, then stop to think if it hadn't sounded too appealing. âI mean, if you want.â
âYeah, Iâd like that,â he says, a small smile forming.Â
You shrug, feeling a sense of relief and a twinge of regret. âItâs the least I could do. Iâm really sorry for what I did, Mingyu. I hope this makes up for it, even just a little.â
âIt does,â he admits. âSeeing you with Lola⌠itâs a good sight. She looks happy.â
âShe is,â you say, watching as Lolaâs eyes droop sleepily in your arms. âAnd so am I.â
Mingyu chuckles softly. âI guess she found the right person after all.â
For a moment, you both stand there in comfortable silence, watching the puppies play. The rivalry that once felt so consuming now seems distant, replaced by a shared understanding and a newfound⌠respect.
âMaybe we could work together next time,â Mingyu suggests, breaking the silence.
âI bet you want to work together because you know I'm the best, right?â you tease, a playful glint in your eye.
Mingyu rolls his eyes, laughing. âYeah, right. Keep dreaming, Y/N.â
As you turn to leave the shelter, Lola nestled contentedly in your arms, Mingyu watches you go, a smile lingering on his face.Â
[...]
In the days that follow at college, Mingyu's friends find it strange to see the two of you greeting each other kindly, for what they believe is the first time. You don't force anything, knowing that pushing for kindness right now would feel hypocritical.
Mingyu always wondered why you were so gentle to everyone but him, but he also remembered that he wasnât the easiest person to talk to, given your rivalry and his constant teasing. Now, seeing this different side of you, the resentment he held begins to fade.
In the quiet moments of your day, you reflect on the past weeks. How quickly things had escalated between you and Mingyu, from academic rivals to almost enemies. It felt strange, now that the tension was easing, to think about how much energy you had spent on trying to outdo him. You wonder if it was worth it.
The next day, you see Mingyu in the hallway. Heâs standing with Joshua and Wonwoo, and they glance at you as you approach. You give them a small wave and a genuine smile.
âHey, Mingyu,â you say.
âHey, Y/N,â he replies, his tone surprisingly warm.
Joshua and Wonwoo exchange bewildered looks, but you donât pay them much attention. âHowâs Lola settling in?â Mingyu asks.
âSheâs great,â you reply, the memory of her wagging tail bringing a smile to your face. âSheâs already made herself at home.â
Mingyu nods, his expression softening. âThatâs good to hear.â
As the days pass, you notice the way people react to your newfound harmony with Mingyu. They seem curious, whispering to each other as they watch the two of you interact. You and Mingyu arenât best friends overnight, but the hostility is gone, replaced by a cautious but genuine friendliness.
Well, that's what you thought until now.
You walk into the hallway, the usual buzz of students replaced with an unsettling silence. Eyes follow you, not with curiosity but with judgment. The whispers you once ignored now feel like sharp blades. You push the bad feeling down your throat, trying to keep your head high as you make your way to the courtyard.
As you approach your friends, you notice their uneasy expressions. They exchange nervous glances, unsure whether to walk away or stay put. âWhatâs going on?â you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
One of your friends steps forward, looking uncomfortable. âThereâs a video, Y/N,â they begin hesitantly. âOn the university blog... it shows you sabotaging Mingyuâs volcano. Itâs a little dark, but itâs you.â
Your heart sinks, a cold chill spreading through your chest. âWhat?â you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips.
Another friend chimes in, their voice low. âPeople are saying you might get kicked out of the university. Theyâre already talking about disciplinary actions.â
You feel the weight of their words settle on you, heavier than you couldâve imagined. Your thoughts race as you try to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Kicked out? Youâd worked so hard to get here, and now it might all be over because of a moment of weakness and petty rivalry.
Your mind drifts to Mingyu, the awkward but promising start of a truce between you two. You wonder if heâs seen the video, if he knows the full extent of what you did. The thought makes you feel sick.
You glance around the courtyard, suddenly hyper-aware of the stares and whispers. Your friends stand by, uncertain and uncomfortable. You canât blame them; they didnât sign up for this drama. The fear of repercussions, the shame of being caughtâit's all too much. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry.
âIâI need to go,â you stammer, turning away from the group. You donât wait for their reactions as you walk briskly toward the building's exit. The video, the possibility of expulsion, Mingyuâall of it spins around in your head, a chaotic mess you canât straighten.
The thought of your parents, the disappointment in their eyes if they find out, makes you feel even worse.
You sit in your car in the parking lot, tears streaming down your face as you watch the damning video on your phone for what feels like the hundredth time. The grainy footage shows you sneaking into the lab, swapping out the bicarbonate for salt in Mingyuâs volcano. Your heart sinks with each replay, the weight of your actions pressing down on you.
Then, a notification catches your eye. A new comment appears right after the post, marked by the blog admin so that it's fixed at the top. Itâs from Mingyu.
kmingyu_1577: "hey everyone, just wanted to clarify that this video doesn't tell the whole story. the truth is, i had already messed up my volcano. the bicarbonate i used was expired, and i didnât realize it until it was too late. y/n knew about it and was just trying to help me out. itâs not her fault. please stop the hate."
You blink through your tears, rereading the comment to make sure you didnât misinterpret it. The comments below start shifting, the tide of public opinion turning. Relief and understanding replace the initial anger and disappointment.
âWow, Mingyuâs so mature about this.â
âGlad to know the truth. Poor Y/N, she must have been so scared.â
âThanks for clearing this up, Mingyu. Youâre a good guy.â
You sit back, stunned. Why would Mingyu do this? After everything, why would he cover for you?
You hear a knock on your window, and your heart sinks. There he is, Mingyu, standing outside your car with a serious look. Youâre too embarrassed to face him, but you roll the window down slowly, your hands trembling. He gestures for you to step out, his expression softening just slightly. You nod and step out of the car, trying to discreetly dry your tears, but the redness of your nose and eyes betrays you.
Mingyu stands in front of you, his posture relaxed but his eyes full of unease. He takes a deep breath, his voice calm as he speaks. âWhy did you do this, Y/N? I mean, you're incredibly talented and intelligent. Youâve always been at the top, outshining everyone. Thereâs no need for you to resort to something like this. It doesnât make sense... not for someone like you.â
His words hit you like a wave, and you canât bring yourself to look up. You feel the weight of your actions pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. But then you feel his hand gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and you see the genuine concern in his gaze.
âY/N, youâre so much better than this. Youâve always been more than just your grades, more than just this rivalry weâve had. You have so much potential, so much to offer. Sabotaging my project... itâs not who you are. Itâs not who I believe you can be.â
You sniffle, trying to hold back the tears, but itâs no use. They spill over, running down your cheeks. Mingyuâs eyes soften even more, and he sighs.Â
You feel the lump in your throat grow, and a sob escapes your lips. âIâm so sorry,â you choke out. âI just... I didnât know what else to do. I wanted to win so badly, I lost sight of everything else. I didnât mean to hurt you.â
Mingyu steps closer, his expression easing as he listens. He hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. You freeze for a second, surprised by the gesture, but then you melt into him, the sobs coming harder now. He holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing your back.
âShh, itâs okay,â he whispers.Â
You cling to him, feeling the regret starting to lift, just a little. The heat of his embrace feels like a safe haven. Mingyu doesnât let go, even as your tears soak into his shirt. He just holds you, steady and patient.
Eventually, your sobs quiet down, and you pull away slightly, wiping your eyes.
A question lingers in your mind, and you finally find the courage to voice it. âWhy did you leave that comment?â you ask. âYou didnât have to say those things, you didnât have to defend me like that. After everything I did... why?â
âI canât lose my favorite rival that easily. Our rivalry... itâs pushed both of us to be better, to work harder. And I think, deep down, we both know that.âÂ
You chuckle softly. âSo, youâre saying you did it because you need me as your competition?â
Mingyu laughs, the sound warm and genuine. âInstead of tearing each other down, why donât we join forces for a change?â
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. âJoin forces? What do you have in mind?â
He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. âWell, thereâs a whole new batch of freshmen who think they can waltz in and take over. Theyâre talented, sure, but they have no idea what theyâre up against. I say we show them how itâs done. What do you think? Team up and teach them a thing or two?â
You can't help but smile; the idea sparks a sense of harmony you hadnât felt in a while. âSo, youâre proposing an alliance?â
âJust think about it,â he replies.. âWe could be unstoppable. The dynamic duo.â
Later that day, you scroll through the university blog and notice a new post: a photo of you and Mingyu sharing a heartfelt hug in the parking lot. The caption reads, âThe unexpected truce: rivals turned allies?â Below the post, a comment catches your eye:
JoshuaHong_223: âI always thought they would make a powerful couple.â
[...]
You walk into the library, scanning the rows of bookshelves. Your mind is still buzzing with the encounter you had earlier. As you turn a corner, you spot Mingyu sitting at a table, surrounded by a pile of books. Heâs focused, scribbling notes, but your presence doesn't go unnoticed. He looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees the expression on your face.
You stride over to him, your steps quick. When you reach his table, you crouch down to his level, trying to keep your voice low but unable to hide your frustration. âMingyu, can you believe what just happened? One of the new freshmen had the nerve to confront me in the hallway. Can you imagine?â
Mingyu raises an eyebrow, closing his book slowly as he leans back in his chair. âSeriously? What did they say?â He keeps his voice calm, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.
You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. âThey came up to me, all smug and confident, and basically implied that they were going to knock us off the top spot. Like they could actually compete with us.â
Mingyuâs lips twitch into a slight smirk. âWow, bold move. Did they really think they could take you on just like that?â
You nod, still fuming.Â
Mingyu chuckles softly, leaning forward with an amused twinkle in his eye. âGuess they have no idea what kind of competition theyâve signed up for. Ya! this could be fun. A little extra motivation to keep us sharp.â
You roll your eyes, though a small smile tugs at your lips. âFun for you, maybe. I just donât like the idea of someone thinking they can walk all over us.â
He reaches out and gently taps the back of your hand, a reassuring gesture. âRelax, Y/N. Weâve got this. If they want a challenge, weâll give them one.â
You sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit.Â
Youâre walking towards your car, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders, when you hear that all-too-familiar voice. Itâs one of the new freshmen, and her tone is dripping with smugness. You freeze, feeling a surge of irritation as her words cut through the quiet of the parking lot.
You turn around sharply, spotting her standing a few feet away with a smirk on her face. Her attitude is infuriating, and you feel your patience snapping. Mingyu, standing a distance away, watches with a knowing look, sensing that youâre about to lose your shit.
As you close the distance between you, you see her expression shift from confident to slightly uncertain. You get right up in her space, your chest touching hers. âListen here,â you say, your voice low and controlled but bounded with anger. âIâve had enough of your crap. Iâm not afraid to beat your ass.â
She narrows her eyes, not backing down. âOh? And what are you going to do? Risk getting kicked out of the university again?â
You scoff, shoving your bag through the open window of your car. The motion emphasizing your frustration. âReally? You think you can scare me with that? Youâre just a freshman, and youâve got some nerve talking to me like that. The parking lot is outside university grounds. No one here can touch us. And I'm not afraid to beat your ass.â
Her eyes widen as she processes your words, the confidence draining from her expression. âYou think you can just intimidate me and get away with it?â
You lean in closer, your voice a dangerous whisper. âIâm not here to play games. If youâve got a problem, we can sort it out. But donât think for a second that youâre going to walk all over me without consequences.â
As you push your chest into the girlâs, you feel her shove back, her rage matching yours. The confrontation is heating up, and just as youâre about to respond, Mingyu strides over and steps in between you, pulling you back against him. His arms wrap around your shoulders and arms, his chest pressing against your back.
âHey, hey, thatâs enough,â Mingyu says, his voice authoritative. âLetâs not escalate this further.â
You struggle slightly, but his hold is steady, keeping you securely against him.Â
âHow about you give me a ride and let me help you get away from this situation?â He whispers exaggeratedly.
You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze, and sighing. Mingyu releases you from his embrace but keeps a protective hand on your back as you both walk towards your car. The freshman watches, but she doesnât make a move to follow.
As you open the car door and slide into the driverâs seat, Mingyu gets in beside you, placing your bag on his lap, and settling into the passenger seat.Â
As you focus intently on the road, your jaw clenched and your eyes angrily fierce, Mingyu canât help but notice the vigor of your expression. The anger from the conflict still simmers beneath the surface, and every so often, you grip the steering wheel a bit harder, your knuckles white. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than he intends, his eyes admiring the mad energy that radiates from you.
Heâs seen you angry before, but thisâthis is something different. Thereâs a raw, magnetic energy about you when youâre like this, and he canât help but be captivated by it.
Mingyu bites his bottom lip, trying to steady himself. Part of him is charmed by how hot you look when youâre mad. Itâs as if your anger fuels a side of you thatâs irresistible. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts. This isnât the time for that.
He straightens up in his seat, looking out the window, focusing on the blur of trees and buildings rushing by. The silence in the car is thick, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of gears.Â
Mingyu knows he needs to break the silence, to offer some kind of reassurance. But heâs also aware that now might not be the best time for his usual teasing.
Oh, maybe that's why he liked to tease youâthe sight of you mad.
His hand, initially resting awkwardly at his side, slowly finds its way to your thigh. The touch is tentative at first, his fingers feeling the warmth of your skin through your jeans. He gives it a firm squeeze, trying to offer some comfort.
âHey, Y/N,â Mingyu says softly. âTry to relax a bit. Youâre too wound up.â
You soften your jaw, releasing some of the tightness, and let your shoulders relax. You lean your head slightly against the headrest. Mingyuâs thumb begins to make slow, soothing circles on your thigh. His touch is like a balm, easing some of the tension from your body.
You pull up in front of Mingyuâs home, the car coming to a gentle stop. The quiet of the night envelops you both as you turn off the engine. Mingyu glances at you, his eyes softening as he gives a small, grateful smile.
âThanks for the ride, Y/N,â he says sincerely.Â
He reaches out, his fingers pinching the tense curve of your neck.Â
âOuch!â You pout.Â
âYouâre so tense,â he teases with a soft laugh, his fingers lingering for a moment.
You canât help but sulk slightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. âWell, you did just see me almost start a fight.â
Mingyuâs smile widens, and he leans in closer. âLet me help with that. Iâm pretty good at taking away tension.â
Before you can respond, he starts kissing the curve of your neck with an unhurried, conscious trail of saliva. The sensation of his warm lips against your skin is making you melt against the seat. His hand moves to the other side of your neck, his fingers kneading the tense muscles with gentle strokes.
The combination of his kisses and the soothing massage leaves you in a state of blissful easeâbut probably wet. You close your eyes, your head tilting back slightly as you surrender to the feeling.Â
Mingyuâs touch eventually slows, and he pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face. âThanks for letting me help with that. Youâre much better now.â
You nod, still slightly dazed from the unexpected massage. âYouâre welcome. Iââ
He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, opening the car door. âOh, and before I forget,â he says, glancing back at you with a touch of playful seriousness. âSend me a message when you get home, okay?â
You nod again, managing a small smile as he steps out of the car. âI will.â
Mingyu closes the door with a final, lingering look, his smile wide as he heads up to his front door.Â
As Mingyu is about to open his front door, you call out to him. âHey, Mingyu!â
He pauses, turning back with a curious eyebrow raised. âYeah?â
âYou nasty! Making a move like that right before you leave.â
Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling with naughtiness. âOh, was I too forward? I just wanted to help you relax. Maybe I got a bit carried away.â
You narrow your eyes playfully. âA bit carried away? You practically turned my neck into a love nest.â
He grins, stepping closer to the car. âWell, if it means getting you to loosen up a bit, Iâd say it was worth it. Besides, I thought you might enjoy it.â
Your cheeks flush slightly as you fight to keep your composure. âIâwell, I did. But donât think you can just get away with it.â
Mingyu leans against the car door, his expression smug. âOh, Iâm not worried about that. Iâm sure youâll be thinking about it on your ride home.â
You give him a mock glare, trying to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. âFine, fine. Just donât think youâre off the hook for being a tease.â
Mingyuâs eyes twinkle with delight as he starts to head back toward his door. âOh, donât worry. Iâm sure youâll have plenty of chances to get back at me. Until then, keep that bottom lip tight between your teeth. Itâs kind of sexy when you do.â
You let the bottom lip escape from your teeth, your expression gawked.Â
âDonât forget to text me when you get home, or I might have to come check on you.â
With that, Mingyu heads inside, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a tight grip on your bottom lip as you drive away, the naughty exchange lingering in your mind.
(open the photos)
The next day, Mingyu looked like heâd barely slept. His pristine appearance was disheveled, his eyes a bit glassy, and there was a certain exhaustion about him that was hard to miss. It was clear that your midnight message had taken a toll on him.
His tired eyes and the slight stubble on his face made it evident heâd been up all night, likely replaying your audio moaning and the hickey photo in his mind. You couldnât suppress a smirk at the thought of how your little game had left him looking so disoriented.
âMorning, Mingyu. Rough night?â you teased, unable to resist the opportunity.
He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. âYou have no idea. What was that last night?â His voice was incredulous.
âYou looked like you needed a wake-up call.â
Mingyuâs face flushed slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. âI didnât expect you to take it that far. Seriously, whatâs your problem?â
âJust keeping things interesting. You know, making sure you donât get too comfortable. Besides, you started it.â
He shook his head, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. âYeah, well, you definitely made your point. I think I might be feeling this one for a while.â
âGlad to hear it. I'll consider it a compliment.â You smirked, enjoying the way he was visibly trying to regroup.
Mingyu gave a reluctant chuckle, finally being able to see the humor in the situation. âAlright, alright. Iâll give you that. Just donât make a habit of it. I need to survive the rest of this semester.â
Certainly, you and Mingyu hadnât exactly become best friends overnight, but the dynamic between you two had undeniably shifted after what happened last night.Â
There was a new kind of tension in the air, an electric undercurrent that had nothing to do with animosity and everything to do with the teasing games you both seemed so fond of.
Mingyu was too attracted to your fiery expressions to let things slide, and he had to admitâsomething was thrilling about the way your usual small spats had taken a new direction.
 But the teasing? That still remained, stronger than ever.
You were in the last class of the day, and you could tell from the way Mingyuâs gaze kept drifting toward you that he was aware of everything you were doing.Â
Earlier, you had been sliding your middle and ring fingers slowly inside the slit of your book, your smile widening as you noticed his eyes glued to your movements. Mingyu hadnât missed a thing.
In the lab, he had been at the table right next to yours, and when you crouched down to pick up something âaccidentallyâ dropped, you made sure to lift the front of your skirt just enough to give him a glimpse of your thighs. The fabric had risen provocatively, and you didnât miss the way his eyes blackened, nor how he subtly adjusted his position as if to ease some tension.Â
On the third provocation, it clicked for himâhe finally understood the game you were playing, and he was more than ready to play along.
Now, in the current lecture, you found yourself seated right beside him. You were doing your best to focus on the lecture, but when you glanced sideways, you saw him palming himself through his pants.Â
The motion was subtle enough not to draw attention from others, but obvious enough for you to notice the perfect outline of his cock pressing against the fabric. Your breath hitched as your thighs instinctively pressed together under the table.
Mingyu caught your reaction immediately, and you saw a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He licked his finger slowly, before using it to turn the page of his book, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. It was a blatant taunt, a silent challenge that he was not backing down.
But you werenât about to let him have the upper hand. Not just yet.
You shifted in your seat, leaning back slightly as you let one of your legs brush against his under the table. The touch was light, almost accidental, but the way his body tensed told you he felt it.Â
You let the edge of your shoe graze up the inside of his calf, teasing your way higher as you pretended to be engrossed in your notes. Mingyu didnât move, his breath growing shallower, but he didnât pull away either.
Your hand slowly made its way to your lap, where you began tracing small circles on the fabric of your skirt, inching the hem higher just enough that he could see your fingers playing with the material.
You knew his eyes were glued to the action, his own hand still resting against his thigh, tense, almost daring you to keep going.
Without warning, you let your fingers dip beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing over the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. You could practically feel the restraint he was forcing on himself. His stare darted between your face, your hand, and the bit of exposed skin, as if he couldnât decide which to focus on.
Then, leaning in slightly as if you were about to whisper something in his ear, you let your hand trail higher, just shy of the edge of your underwear. You didnât touch yourself, but the implication was clear. Mingyuâs breathing hitched, and you could tell he was holding back a groan. His eyes were burning into you, the heat between you two palpable.
He wasnât going to let this go unanswered. Not a chance.
Mingyuâs hand moved from his thigh to the edge of his desk, fingers tapping rhythmically as he tried to maintain his composure. But when you let out a small, barely audible sighâone that could have been mistaken for frustration, but you knew betterâhis resolve broke.
Mingyu leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, âKeep going like that, and I wonât be able to focus on anything but you. Is that what you want?â
You bit your bottom lip, glancing at him through your lashes, and nodded ever so slightly. Mingyuâs eyes darkened further, and he let out a quiet, almost desperate laugh.
âGood,â he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âBecause Iâm going to make you regret teasing me like this when weâre alone.â
The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture, you didnât waste any time. Gathering your things quickly, you slipped out of the classroom, moving fast through the hallways with a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.Â
The rush of the chase made your heart race, knowing full well that Mingyu was right behind you. The game was on, and you had no intention of making it easy for him.
You headed straight for your car, hoping to put some distance between you and Mingyu, but before you could reach the driver's side, a firm grip caught your arm.
A strong hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around. Mingyu was right there, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge.
âRunning away from me, are you?â he teased, his voice low and laced with a smirk.
You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh as you looked up at him, your eyes gleaming with the same playful energy.
 But before you could respond, Mingyuâs hand slid up to your jaw, his fingers firm yet gentle as he pressed you against the side of your car. Your back hit the cool metal, and you widened your eyes in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.
There were people aroundâstudents lingering in the parking lot, walking to their cars, chatting in small groups. But the way Mingyu looked at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race, made it clear that he didnât care who was watching.Â
And from the heat in your gaze, he could tell you didnât either.Â
The next thing you knew, the scene had shifted.Â
You were no longer in the parking lot, but somewhere far more yours. Your clothes were discarded in a trail leading to the bed, and now, Mingyuâs body was pressed flush against yours.Â
The teasing, the back-and-forth, the playful banterâit had all led to this moment, and now there was nothing holding either of you back.
You hated yourself for not being able to resist him.
Despite everything, despite knowing you shouldnât be this weak for him, here you were, looking into his eyes, your jaw slack as you practically drooled.Â
Mingyu had already made you cum more times than you could count, his fingers and mouth driving you to the edge and beyond, and now, as he hovered above you, you struggled to take him in, feeling stretched to your absolute limit.
âToo big, too big⌠Mingyuâah!â you cried out, your voice breaking as his cock pushed into you, filling you to the brim.Â
Mingyuâs lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he licked his lips, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling beneath him. âToo big, huh?â he teased. âShould I have mercy on you?â
Before you could respond, his fingers reached down to your clit, pinching it just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. The loud moan that escaped your lips was involuntary.Â
You felt a flush of embarrassment wash over you, ashamed of how desperate and clingy you were being for him, how you couldnât control yourself around him.
âShhh,â Mingyu chided softly. âYou donât want to be too loud, do you? Lolaâs right in the next room.â
You had made sure to put the dog away, closing the door before things heated up. Frustrated, you slapped him lightly on the chest, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it only made him chuckle.
âYouâre such a crybaby,â Mingyu whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as he started to rock his hips, each thrust making you sob. âFirst crying on my shoulder⌠now crying on my cock. What am I going to do with you?â
Your eyes drifted down, catching sight of the bulge from his cock pressing against your belly, making the stretch inside you all the more real, all the more intense. Mingyu noticed too, his gaze following yours before his hand, the one that had been tormenting your clit, moved up to caress the bulge. He pressed down on it, the added pressure making you gasp, your legs spasming around him.
âMotherfucker,â you grit through your teeth, the words almost a growl.
Mingyu only smirked at your reaction. âWatch your mouth,â he scolded, his voice low as he began thrusting harder, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust. âYou⌠need⌠to⌠learn⌠some⌠respect.â
With every thrust, your body tensed and then melted back into the sheets, the rhythm pushing you further into a state of desperate need.Â
Your chin quivered as you cried out, your voice trembling. One hand slid up his back, fingers digging into his skin, while the other wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your legs locked around his waist. You held him tight, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
Mingyu smiled, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. âYouâre so cute when I fuck you like this,â he murmured. âAll grumpy and stubborn outside, but here⌠you just melt for me.â
You wanted to respond, to say something back, but the pressure was too much, too intense, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body strung tight like a bow ready to snap.
And then it did.
Your entire body tensed, every muscle tightening as the pleasure yanked through you. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest against his as your nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks along his back.
Your legs tightened around him, trapping him in place as your body convulsed, your walls clenching around his cock in a desperate attempt to pull him even deeper. Your vision blurred, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as you sobbed his name, the sound of it broken, completely broken.
You couldnât breathe, couldnât thinkâeverything was white-hot pleasure, consuming you completely.
Mingyu stayed with you through it all, his own breath hitching as he watched you come undone beneath him.
Your body was still trembling from your orgasm, but Mingyu didnât give you a moment to recover. He continued thrusting into you, relentless despite how tight you were around him.Â
Sensing your haze, Mingyu pulled back slightly from your embrace, his strong arms still cradling your trembling frame. His hands found their way to your face, and before you could process it, he gave you a light slap, just enough to snap you back to reality.Â
The sting on your face was a shock, but it was the way your body reactedâclenching tighter around his cockâthat caught both of you off guard.
He watched your eyes widen. The effect it had on you was unmistakable, and Mingyu, ever the tease, decided to test it again. Another slap, this time a bit firmer, and the response was immediateâyour walls squeezed him so tightly that he hissed through his teeth.
âShit, youâre gonna make meââ His voice broke off into a moan as his hips stuttered, a hand flying to the pillow under your head to brace himself.Â
He came hard, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips as his head fell back, eyes rolling as his release filled you. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the high, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he drank in the way your body clung to his.
You looked up at him, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, annoyed at how effortlessly he pulled you under his spell.Â
He looked too good, too smug, and it pissed you offâespecially when he came with that full, satisfied grin plastered across his face. The sight of him, made your irritation spike, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else when he started to move again.
Mingyu wasnât done. He raised himself up slightly, and you couldnât help but feel confused. What was he planning now? Before you could ask, he began to lower himself, and your confusion turned into shock as the realization hit you.
Heâs not going to⌠You thought to yourself, eyes widening as you watched him get lower.
But he was.Â
Mingyu was about to do the nastiest shit, and the excitement was written all over his face. The look of surprise + disbelief on your face only fueled him further, making him more determined to see this through. He lowered his mouth to your core, the mix of your juices and his cum still leaking out of you, and without hesitation, he began to eat you out, his tongue lapping up the mess he had made.
The overstimulation, plus, something so dirty it made your head spin. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him in a trance. You could barely process what was happeningâhis lips, his tongue, all of it working on you again, despite the fact that you were already so sensitive, and full of his cum.
âMingyu, what the fuckââ you started, but the rest of your sentence was lost to a moan as his tongue flicked out to taste more of youâand⌠him. His own cum smeared across his lips and chin.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â He teased even as he continued to lap at you, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive flesh until your hips were twitching uncontrollably. âToo much for you? Or do you like watching me clean up my own mess?âÂ
You tried to speak, tried to tell him to stop or keep going; you werenât sure anymore, but all that came out were broken moans and gasps. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your already overstimulated body. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue worked you over.
He finally pulled back, leaving you breathless and trembling, your body still humming with the orgasm he'd just given you. You looked down at your pussy, glistening from his attention, but something didnât add up. There was no trace of the mess he had made earlier, just the slickness from his saliva. Confused, your eyes flicked back to him, then back down to yourself, your mind struggling to piece together what the fuck had just happened.
Mingyu caught your fogged look and let out a deep, satisfied laugh, the sound was rich, deep, and so incredibly self-satisfied.
He stuck his tongue out, showing you the clean, pink muscleâwithout a hint of the mess you expectedâand you nearly lost it. Did he really swallow it all? Your mind raced, and the disbelief was written all over your face.
âFuck... did you justâŚ?â you started, but the words got caught in your throat. You were too stunned to finish the thought.
He grinned, leaning on his elbows, completely unbothered by what had just transpired. âYeah,â he said, his voice a low, teasing drawl. âSwallowed every drop.â
Your eyes widened, shock flooding your system. You could hardly believe it. And the worst part? He looked so damn proud of himself.
You couldnât wrap your head around it. Not even you had tasted him like that, and yet he had done it without a second thought. The realization hit you like a truck, and before you knew it, you were pulling him back to you, needing to feel him, taste him, and confirm that it had really happened.
Your lips crashed into his, and you kissed him with an appetite that surprised even you. His mouth was warm and soft, the remnants of his earlier work still lingering, and it only made you more desperate.Â
Mingyuâs hands slid into your hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss, feeding off your urgency. When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, he gave you a smug smile, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip.
âTaste good, doesnât it?â he teased. âThought Iâd save you some, but⌠I couldnât help myself. It was too fucking good.â
You stared at him, still trying to process everything, and he just laughed again, the sound rumbling through his chest as he watched you grapple with the situation.
[...]
You didnât know how you managed to sleep after everything that had happened. By all accounts, you should have been wide awake, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. But exhaustion won out, and not only did you fall asleepâyou practically passed out. The weight of the nightâs events melted away as soon as your head hit the pillow, dragging you into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Morning crept up on you gently, the first thing you noticed being something warm and wet against your face. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with Lolaâs excited little face, her tongue happily lapping at your cheek. You groaned, half-heartedly trying to push her away, but she was relentless, her tail wagging furiously behind her.
âLola, come on⌠let her sleep,â came Mingyuâs voice, a shout-whisper from somewhere near the foot of the bed. You could hear the fun in his tone, despite the fact that he was trying to be serious.
A laugh bubbled up from your chest, surprising even you with its lightness. It felt strange, this casual morning after, as if last night hadnât completely turned your world upside down.Â
You wiped at your face Lola's excitement was contagious, and soon you were sitting up, rubbing your eyes and grinning at her.
Mingyu walked over, his hair still mussed from sleep, an easy smile on his face as he watched you. âGuess she missed you,â he said, shrugging as if to say he couldnât be held responsible for Lolaâs antics.
âYeah, I can tell,â you replied, your voice still thick with sleep as you scratched behind Lolaâs ears.
#seventeen headcanons#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen#seventeen reactions#seventeen fluff#seventeen smut#svt smut#svt imagines#mingyu smut#mingyu x reader#kim mingyu#svt#seventeen fanfic#mingyu fluff#mingyu imagines#mingyu scenarios#mingyu drabbles#mingyu sub#kim mingyu x reader#kim mingyu smut#kim mingyu fluff#kim mingyu imagines#kim mingyu x you#mingyu x you#mingyu x y/n#kim mingyu x y/n#mingyu angst#mingyu dom
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HE SAW FOREVER SO HE SMASHED IT UP
katsuki bakugou x reader
the times bakugou broke your heart
heavily inspired by mbobhft
1) the denial
âare we breaking up?â
ââŚyeah.â
âoh.â
his reasons made sense. he had a job, a goal, a burning drive to prove himself as the best. he was burnt out, his fingers worked to the bones. he couldnât give you not just what you wanted, but what you needed. and that killed him more than it did you.
it made sense. the gears turned. the writing was on paper. like almost everything he did, it worked out. of course it worked out for katsuki bakugou- heâs the best.
it wasnât all that set in stone for you, however.
he could have given you a million more reasons before the tears spilled. âiâm an asshole.â true. âi donât treat you right.â fair. âyou deserve so much fuckinâ better, [y/n.]â yeah, he was right.
but you always liked to challenge the acceptable.
at first, it didnât hit you as hard as you thought it would. you walked through your room, too numb to pay mind to the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and silently packed up his sweaters into a box. the necklace he gave you, the âkâ pendant, came off your neck like a butterfly lands on a branch, knowing that its death is inevitable and doing nothing to stop it.
at night, you cried, and cried, and cried. you called him about 27 times. he never answered. he texted you to make sure you were okay, but your tear-blurred eyes kept you from seeing the keyboard clearly. you left him on seen and prayed that he was worried, prayed that his heart would explode at your lack of an answer, prayed to god that he would come over just to check on. suffice to say your prayers were left unanswered.
you thought heâd call. but he didnât. but your soul remained devoted, eyes glued to your phone screen and hands shaking. he has to call. he has to tell you goodnight. he has to tell you that youâre an idiot. he has to tell you he loves you. heâs going too, idiot.
right?
2) the anger
if he wanted you dead, why didnât he just say?
your heart burned for anger. for salvation. for revenge. you knew katsuki bakugou knew anger well, but he had no idea the way your soul flared like a whole new depth of hell.
you laid in bed, awake, eyes excruciatingly drive from crying your tear ducts may as well have been burnt off. memories of him haunted your brain while your fists tightened.
you regretted giving him your heart. your love. your late nights and early mornings. your fights, your passions, your 2ams and your smiles. you hated the way you let him draw the laughter out of you, how he showed parts of himself to you he had never shown anyone.
and those little things that made up your love, he was going to use on someone else. you knew it.
he was going to cook them his special fried rice his mom taught him how to do. he was going to teach them how to punch because he doesnât want them to get hurt- something he did for you. he was going kiss them how he kissed you, love them in a way that should have only been you.
but he shouldnât. in fact, he should look back at what you had, and regret every. single. thing. he did to let is end. he should regret everything he didnât do to keep you. he should burn alive from guilt. scream. cry. fight for his life while his body is doused in gasoline. attempt miserably to tear the fire off his skin while it burned him to a crisp. he should die screaming.
he should deserved it, after all. because he heard your screams, and put his headphones on.
3) the bargaining
please. you wailed. who do i have to talk to? what do i have to do to get him back!?
you suddenly thought of so many scenarios in your head, scenarios fuelled by false hope. things youâd do to kiss him one last time, to hold him, to love him and be loved by him. youâd dry the ocean water. youâd turn stones into gold. youâd bring him to heaven and back. youâd get out of bed. youâd compromise more. you wouldnât forget to kiss him. youâd love him. youâd love him so much harder. please.
suddenly everything seemed possible. if someone answered your calls, if someone made a deal with you, youâd offer up everything. you were sure youâd place everything on the line for him. you want it all back- his yelling, his snark, his nicknames, his attitude, his everything- no, your everything. youâd pluck out your own eyes for his red ones, or your heart for his heroic soul that loved you brighter than anyone else. being loved by katsuki bakugou was something you wouldnât trade for anything- turns out you couldnât trade it either.
4) the depression
everything smelled like him. your sheets blossomed into his sweet, burnt scent, the one that heâd leave behind whenever he slept over simply because he left you. all your jackets felt like his chiseled arms, wrapped around you as if youâd be gone in a moments notice. his voice was everywhere. the songs on the radio, the words you read on your phone, and the memories that played like your favourite movie soundtrack.
you wondered if he knew you couldnât get out of bed. sometimes you imagined him calling your ass lazy, and then dragging you out of bed with a kiss to your forehead and a breakfast he cooked for you. maybe then youâd rip off the sheets and face the day. but right now, your bed was the only place you could mourn.
it was cruel, in a sense. letting you fall in love with him only to leave. letting you fall in love with his stupid smug smirk, his laugh, his teasing, his anger, his unreasonable handsomeness, his millions of pet peeves and trigger words, his clinginess, his distance, his days and nights, ups and downs, his hate and love all tied into one. he made you love him, knowing you would never get to love another katsuki bakugou.
5) the acceptance
acceptance was bakugou realizing how badly he fucked up.
part 2 soon!
#bnha kirishima#bnha shinsou#bsd chuuya#bnha todoroki#boku no hero acedamia#boku no academia#my hero academy fanfiction#mha manga spoilers#mha todoroki#mha roleplay#mha bakugou#mha x reader#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki bakugo x reader#bnha manga spoilers#mha dabi#boku no hero academia#bnha x y/n#bnha x reader#mha x gender neutral reader#my hero x reader#my hero academia#my hero acadamy#mha fanart#mha deku#mha oc
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Fall for Me
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he's good enough for you, but still wishes he could be your guy. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Longing, insecurities, "just friends" (for now), Steve is a good friend, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: We'll call this a Friday Feels inspired by a nonnie.â¤ď¸ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
It was a special kind of torture for Bucky to watch the person he loved flirt with someone else.
To be fair, he couldn't say for sure that you were flirting. Being friendly? Yes. You had a warm and welcoming personality, the kind he was drawn to the moment you two crossed paths months ago. One of the things he loved about you was how genuine you were. It was only natural that you pulled others in as well. Your compassion, charm, beauty, everything called to him.
You were the whole package, inside and out.
âWhat the hell am I doing here?â He muttered. He hadn't wanted to go to the bar, but Steve assured him it was a hole-in-the-wall sort of place. Not a lot of patrons on a night like this. Somewhere no one would bother them. He added at the last second that you were going.
Bucky grabbed his leather jacket to go as soon as those words left Steveâs mouth.
Instead of having a drink with you like he wanted or just talking, he simmered in silence in a booth while you stood at the bar. He narrowed his eyes as the guy you were talking to moved an inch closer. A bit too close for his liking.
Steve said his name was Will. They had met each other at some point in passing. Short blonde hair and a trimmed beard. Ex-military, but still built like he had a war to fight. Behind the guyâs blue eyes lurked pain, guilt, and regret that most would miss due to his general stoic demeanor. Bucky could relate all too well to horrors that haunted even the strongest of men.
But when Will looked at you, his eyes lit up. They held a sense of longing. Hope.
Once again, Bucky could relate all too well because that was how he looked at you.
âYouâre doing that staring thing again,â Steve said, grabbing a beer from the bucket and setting it down in front of him. âJust talk to her.â
Bucky took a swig, but didn't take his eyes off you. He was afraid if he looked away that Will might convince you to leave with him. âTalk to her about what?â
His best friend sighed. âYou know what.â
Steve knew how he felt about you. Talking about his feelings wasn't easy, but he had to tell his best friend. And it wasn't the first time Steve encouraged him to speak up. He said you had the right to know so the two of you could figure out how to move forward, whether as a couple or just friends, instead of dancing around it.
But how could Bucky admit how he felt when he didn't deserve someone like you?
âThereâs nothing to talk about,â he said.
âBullshit.â
âWe're friends,â Bucky stated. The words tasted as bitter as the beer he sipped. No, not bitter. He couldn't feel that way just because he had a piece of you when he wanted all of you.
Was he selfish for that?
He nearly shattered the bottle in his hand when you giggled at whatever Will said. Something akin to jealousy settled in his chest and he had no right to feel that way. The two of you weren't together. You were single and didn't owe him a thing.
But he knows if you gave him a chance, heâd treat you well. Better than any other guy before him. He would do his best to make you happy. Maybe that wasn't enough.
âWill is a good guy, but he isn't you, Buck. Youâre still one of the best guys I know,â Steve said.
âYou don't have to kiss my ass, punk,â he muttered, immediately regretting it. He was only trying to help and God knows he had done more than enough for him over the years.
Steve shook his head. âAnd you don't have to feel sorry for yourself, jerk.â
âIâm not,â he whispered. Maybe he was. He was sorry for so many things.
As if you sensed his sadness, you looked over your shoulder and met his gaze. You smiled at him, the kind of smile that stole the very breath from his lungs and made his head spin. He wanted to believe it was a smile you reserved only for him. And the softness in your beautiful eyes, he imagined he could see his future in them.
Could you see the endless love he had for you in his?
His heart ached when you turned away and put your hand on Willâs arm. Of course, you were attracted to the guy. Why wouldnât you be? The thought of you kissing him though, being intimate with him? He felt sick enough to finally look away.
Bucky glanced at his distorted reflection in the beer bottle. A long time ago, he would've called himself handsome. Not because he was full of himself, but because he knew himself then. He knew how to walk the line between confidence and cockiness. He was full of life and wonder once. Now the weight of his sins showed in how he carried himself.
Sins you never judged him for.
âJamie? Are you okay?â
Steve nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was so lost in his mind that he hadnât heard you call out to him. He shouldâve known since you were the only one who called him Jamie. When he looked up from his seat, he saw that you were no longer standing next to Will as he was still at the bar. And there was nothing but concern in your gaze as you set your drink down on the table.
âWhat? What happened?â He asked, not smooth at all.
Your eyes flickered to Steve and then back at him. âI asked if youâre okay. You donât look too well.â
âNot feeling so great,â he said, which wasnât a lie. âThis placeâŚâ
âOh,â you said, sliding into the booth beside him. He inhaled, your sweet scent soothing the pain in his heart and making it race all at once. âWell, why donât we head out? Thereâs no reason to stay if you donât want to stay.â
He gently smiled. You were always willing to go with the flow and change plans if things ever got too loud or too much for him. âIâm fine. Besides, you just got your drink and you havenât had a chance to play pool with Sam or Natasha,â he argued. He didnât want to spoil your night.
You put your hand on his arm, but it seemed different than when you touched Willâs arm. This was tender, soothing. âIf being here is making you uncomfortable, then I donât feel like sticking around. Theyâll understand. Steve, please, back me up on this.â
âSheâs right. You two should go,â Steve said, conveniently leaving himself and the others out of the equation.
Bucky spared Will a glance, who was now talking to the guys he went into the bar with. He swallowed hard before the next words left his mouth. âWhat about your new friend?â
âYou are my friend, Jamie,â you said. He winced inwardly at the reminder. Friends. You were just friends. âDonât worry about him. Letâs just go. How about a movie at your place? Something low-key so you feel better.â
âYou sure?â He asked, wondering just how eager he looked to leave with you.
âIâm sure,â you smiled, making his heart warm again.
âOkay. You convinced me,â he said. Not that it wouldâve taken much. Your smile could bend the will of just about anyone.
âYou know, I hear healthy conversations are also good to help people feel better,â Steve chimed in, earning an elbow to the side from Bucky.
You raised an eyebrow and slid out of the booth. âYeah. Sure. Jamie and I can have a healthy conversation and you all enjoy the rest of the night.â You offered Bucky a hand to help him out. He didnât want to let go. âCâmon. We have a movie waiting for us.â
âYes, maâam,â Bucky teased, proud of himself when you giggled.
Steve gave him an optimistic smile and he couldnât help but return it. He wasnât sure if Will had given you his number or if you planned to see him, but maybe heâd take a chance and tell you he had fallen for you. Maybe, if he was lucky, you had fallen for him, too.
Just maybe.
And maybe, just maybe, this could be a thing? Did Will give you his number? Will Bucky say how he feels? What's going to happen? Love and thanks for reading! â¤ď¸
Masterlist â Bucky Barnes Masterlist â Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan#bucky fic#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes imagine#sebastian stan x reader#the winter soldier
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Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - request: angst 1/3 - mama pov
"It's going to be fine."
Simon's forehead touches yours, and you take the opportunity to breathe him in, fingers knotted in his sweatshirt. "I know."
"I know you're nervous, but you don't have to be." You sway together in the silence, his lips moving your temple. "It won't be too long, and when I get back, we'll start packing to move."
"I can pack when you're not here." You mumble, still clinging onto him. You've grown too dependent, too reliant. You should have been livid about the house, about how he was arranging things in secret, behind your back, but you couldn't find it in yourself to hold a grudge. How could you? After everything he's been through, his life compared to yours, how could take a sense of safety, security away from him?
Love is sacrifice, you think. You're not sure, but you're still learning.
And in this moment, these last minutes before he leaves, love feels like a death march.
"I don't want you pushing yourself. You're balancing work and the baby now, don't stress about packing. We'll take care of it together, when I'm home." A tear slips over your cheek, and he swipes it away.
"Will you have your phone?" You ask, hopefully.
"I will. Probably won't be able to turn it on as much as I did last time, but I'll see what I can do, okay?" The house smells like lavender, chamomile, candles and tea an effort to soothe your nerves, help Orion sleep.
It worked for the baby, but not so much for you.
"Hey, look at me." He tips your chin, delivers a slow, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away. "It will go by really quick." You gulp.
"O-okay." There's something sad in the way he looks at you, a regretful sliver of doubt, filling you with guilt until it runs over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not good at this, I just can't stop thinking about all the bad things, all the things that could go wrong." The lump in the back of your throat gives way to a sob, its weight choking through your lips.
"Shhh." Simon cradles the back of your head tucks you into his chest, arms wrapped so tight across your shoulders he blocks out the light. "You don't have to be good at this, mama. I'd be a little concerned if you were. I don't want you to get yourself worked up and worry, I want you to focus on taking care of yourself and Orion, okay? I'll be home before you know it, I swear."
"Promise?" The plea is high pitched, weak. A trembling ray of hope against the anxiety and fear churning in your heart. He kisses your forehead.
"I promise."
ďżź
Your phone rings for the first time three weeks later.
You roll off the bed in an attempt to reach it, still fumbling with the lockscreen when you land on your ass. "Hello?"
"Hey, mama."
"Simon oh my god." Tears spring freely at the sound of his voice. "I'm so happy you called."
"'m sorry, wish I could've called sooner, but-"
"No, no that's okay. I... I understand. Are you... okay?"
"I'm okay, we've been busy, but we're safe." He's nearly whispering, vow low but still soothing, and you close your eyes.
"We miss you."
"I miss you too. Both of you. Little man looks like he's grown two sizes since I left." He sounds sad, and your stomach pitches.
"I know, but you'll be home soon right? You won't be missing too much." There's a long, regretful sigh on the other end, and the two of you lapse into silence until he clears his throat.
"You doin' okay?"
"Yeah, we're okay. I'm okay. Cami has been over a few times, and we've been going to the park and stuff. Gettin' out of the flat."
"Good, that's good." He takes a deep breath. "Listen, sweetheart. We're goin' be a bit longer than expected."
"How long?"
"'m not sure." You try to breathe, sucking in a deep breath, but the air feels sparse now.
âOkay, well. Okay.â
âIâm sorry mama.â Your lower lip quivers.
âItâs okay. I uh⌠I understand.â You try to endorse your voice with confident, but it only wavers.
âDonât cry.â He says softly. âPlease donât cry, Iâm sorry.â
âIâm fine. Itâs okay. Just⌠be safe okay? Come home in one piece.â He sighs.
âI love you.â
âI love you too.â
#peaches writes#through me#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader
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play pretend ! ââĄâ nsfw.
the premise of fake dating your best friend, for just a weekend, is hilarous.. and scary. but what happens after is even scarier.. it's just play pretend right?
warnings / includes â sex, heavy fwb themes, bit of angst
shame coated you when you woke up in one of the guest rooms, carefully placed onto the bed at about 3am by no other then jungkook while you were dead hungover. pure rotten shame rests in your cheeks, paints them red when you say bye to his family a few hours later as jungkook couldn't quite even look at you.
everything about him was different. the way he moved around you, the way he avoided looking directly at you. hell, even his voice sounded quieter, less confident, like he didnât know what to do either.
something had changed him, for the worse.
and it was all your damn fault.
you had thought the car ride would give you both time to defrost, pretend that whatever happened the night earlier did in fact not happen, crack some jokes but to no avail â long, defening silence.
silence and shame don't go well together, the color they create on the canvas of yours, it soaked through you. stayed with you for the next five days, it's the color of the message you send him at 11 pm on saturday, asking him how he was doing.
it's the ugly color of the 'delivered' button that stays there for the following two days.
the dress you wear to the next party is bright, anything to drown out the guilt that was eating you alive.
the music is loud, and so are you. laughing a little too hard, moving a little too close to anyone who shows you attention. you take another sip of whatever is in your cup, the liquid burning its way down your throat but dulling the ache in your chest.
and then thereâs him.
you donât see Jungkook immediately, but you feel him before your eyes catch his across the room. you feel the way the air shifts, the way your stomach churns when you notice the familiar set of his jaw, the way his eyes flicker toward you.
you almost drop your drink.
because it feels like a candid flashback of that nightâonly now itâs all so different. why did things have to be so complicated?
youâre pressed against some guy you barely know, his lips grazing your neck in a way that should distract you. youâve been letting it happen, letting him flirt, letting his hands wander because itâs easier than thinking about the mess you left unresolved.
but then thereâs jungkook. he stands on the other side, the neon light painting his face; his look wasn't judging. maybe light disappointment but more observing then anything, really. and it reminded you of how you used to stare at him whenever he was going after various girls at these exact sorts of parties.
it makes you sick, makes the unfamilar hands on your body feel foul and uninviting, it's not the fire burning through you like it had that night, it's cold ice, slowly creeping through your veins, making it's way to your brain.
said ice whispers things you don't want to hear, reminds you of things you don't want to think about.
"fuck, i think i like you."
you run of upstairs to the nearest balcony, the house was familar one of your mutual friends', this place was where you used to play spin the damn bottle in high school. now it feels haunted, just as univiting as the guy's hands felt a few minutes ago, why did everything feel so distant now? first jungkook, now everything else. why was it so consuming?
you light up a cigarette, you didn't usually smoke but you wanted to feel that fire again, the warmth, the pure need from a week ago. you regreted not having fucked the guy because you were sure he could've made you forget for longer then this cig could.
âthought I might find you here,â he says behind you, kneeling next to you yet keeping a safe distance, his voice low and cautious.
"you shouldn't have," you respond coldly, because anger is a better emotion to feel then regret and you had plenty things to be frustrated about, "you've been avoiding me for a whole week, don't pretend like you give a fuck." you don't meet his eyes, just take another drag.
but you see him flinch in the corner of your eye. great, the guilt sits in you once again.
he shifts slightly, and you can feel the tension radiating off him , âi know Iâve been a jerk, but itâs not that simpleââ
âthen make it simple.â your voice is sharper than you intended, but the hurt has festered for too long. you finally turn to face him, âi need to know what you want. because this? whatever this is? itâs fucking misery.â
the words hang heavily in the air, and for a moment, silence stretches between you. jungkook looks like heâs grappling with his thoughts, the tension in his body palpable. then, slowly, he closes the distance between you, his eyes softening as he cups your face in his hands.
âcan I kiss you?â he asks, his voice a whisper, as if the question itself is laced with vulnerability.
you nod, and the moment your lips touch, itâs like everything else fades away. the kiss starts soft, gentle, as if heâs savoring the moment, and you can feel your heart begin to race.
it's nothing like the previous fire you had wished to experience earlier, it's delicate warming sunlight, brushing over your skin, washing away the hideous color that had built over the last few days.
âfriends with benefits,â he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and sweet. âwe get to have this-â he kisses you again, slow and lingering, ââwithout the pressure of expectations.â
âexpectations?â you echo, your mind racing as you try to process his words.
âyeah,â he replies, his lips brushing against yours, each touch sending shivers down your spine. âwe can enjoy each other without worrying about where itâs going. just... pure fun.â his hands toy with the hem of your dress, before returning your gaze.
time slips quick, it all feels so raw, so different from that night yet all so much better.
his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, driving deep inside you with a primal urgency. you can feel the way he fills you, stretching you perfectly. you're so glad you aren't drunk, that you'll remember this in the morning and the day after.
you claw at his back, nails digging in, urging him on, needing more, wanting all of him. and he curses, runs his mouth like the talkative brat you knew he always was, degrades you one second, tentatively kisses your cheeks the next.
his hands rest on your tighs as he kisses along your clit once again, sweet, real. taunts you 'for the mess you made on your friend's coach' but he doesn't give you time to feel guilty, just starts nuzzling his face back into your pussy, licking along.
no, jungkook will never make you feel the same guilt again. you're sure of it, well â not that you could really properly think under these conditions anyway.
#bts fic#bts x reader#jungkook#bangtan fic#bangtan x reader#jungkook fic#jungkook imagine#jungkook smut#bangtan x you#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#bts fluff#bts smut#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts x y/n#bts x fem!reader#bangtan smut#bangtan fanfic#đââŹâ§Ë° play pretend! verse
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Love, Lando, Milo // LN4
Lando Norris x Female Reader
Where Milo turns out to be more supportive than his dad
W. C: 2k
A/N: Milo has become a constant in my Lando fics, but since I don't see anyone complaining, I will keep on including him
MASTERLIST
The night was still. The kind of stillness that should be soothing, but instead, it felt heavy and uncomfortable. You shifted again, trying to find a position that didnât make your back scream in protest. It was nearly impossible. Every time you thought you had it, your bladder demanded attention or a new wave of nausea rolled through you.
You tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb Lando more than you already had. His breathing was steady and deep beside you, the sound normally a source of comfort. But tonight, it only highlighted how restless you were. You turned again, hoping to find that elusive comfortable spot, but it was no use.
Around 3 AM, you got up for what felt like the fifth time. You shuffled to the bathroom, your swollen feet aching with every step. After relieving yourself, you wandered into the kitchen, craving something to eat. Anything to soothe your grumbling stomach and kicking baby. You grabbed a banana and slowly made your way back to bed, hoping this time you wouldnât disturb Lando.
But as you slipped back under the covers, Lando stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
âAgain?â he mumbled, his voice tinged with irritation.
âYes, again,â you snapped back, unable to contain your frustration anymore. For the past few days, Lando's been complaining about your midnight adventures around the house as his sleep schedule struggled as much as you did if not even more. At first, you didn't say anything, apologizing and closing your eyes in an attempt to fall asleep. However, as the days passed you felt like your were getting lonelier by the hour and evem more responsible for your fiancĂŠ's discontent with the situation in your own home, the sleepless night and constant tossing and turning.
âIâm pregnant, Lando. Itâs not like Iâm enjoying this.â
âWell, Iâm not getting any sleep either,â he retorted. âI need to be in top shape during the season. This lack of sleep isnât helping. No wonder I haven't been able to get anything done for the past week. It's useless.â
His words felt like a slap in the face. Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them. You felt overwhelmed, emotional, and incredibly vulnerable.
âYou think I donât know that?â You choked out. âYou think I want to be up all night? I canât help it! Im supposed to enjoy my pregnancy and relax as much as possible before our baby arrives! In reality, I'm feeling guilty and responsible for both mine and your inability to rest well! â
Milo, sensing the tension and seeing your tears, started barking at Lando, tugging on the leg of his sweatpants as if to say, âYou upset mom! Fix it!â
âGreat, now Iâve upset the dog too,â Lando muttered, but his anger was already dissipating, replaced by guilt. He looked at you, seeing the tears streaming down your face, and his heart broke a little.
You didnât wait for him to say anything else. You grabbed a blanket and headed to the spare bedroom, which was soon to be the baby's room. You moved as quickly as possible, your belly preventing you from moving with your usual pace. The room was quiet, and the rocking chair near one of the windows looked inviting. You opened the window next to you to let some fresh air inside the room. You settled into the fluffy cushions on the chair, pulling the blanket around you. Seconds later, Milo trotted into the room after you. He lifted himself onto his back legs, his front paws supporting his weight against the upholstery of the chair.
You lifted the little man onto your lap, smiling as he snuggled against your belly as if he knew you needed comfort.
''There hasn't been a day during which I've regretted your arrival into our lives, my tiny love." You said as you caressed the soft fur between his floppy ears. Milo's cold nose occasionally bumped against the palm of your hand as he sniffed around.
The tears flowed freely down the cold surface of your face, silent and hot in contrast. You stroked Milo's fur, the rhythmic motion helping to calm you down. The rocking chair creaked softly as you rocked back and forth. The movement seemed to help soothe your loud inner voice that kept producing negative thoughts one after another.
Some time passed, and you weren't sure how long. The door creaked open, and you saw Lando standing there, his expression mixed with regret and sadness.
âBaby, â he whispered, stepping into the room. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to snap at you. Iâm justâŚI'm stressed. But thatâs no excuse.â
You looked up at him, the tears still glistening in your eyes. âIâm trying, Lando. This isnât easy for me either.â
He knelt beside the chair, taking your hand in his. âI know, love. I know. Iâm an idiot. I should be more understanding. Please come back to bed. You need your sleep. We'll solve this in the morning, okay?â
You nodded, wiping your tears. âJust⌠donât forget weâre in this together, okay?â
He leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, his lips lingering on yours. âI promise. Come back to bed? We can figure this out together.â
You stood up slowly, Milo jumping down to the floor. Lando wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you back to your bedroom. The bed felt warm and inviting, and as you settled back in, Lando pulled you close as much as your protruding belly allowed him.
Milo jumped onto the bed, curling up at your feet where he usually spent his nights. Lando kissed your forehead, his hand resting on your growing belly.
âGoodnight, baby. I love youâ he whispered.
âGoodnight,love you too.â You replied, feeling his warmth and love surrounding you as sleepiness began to take over your tired body.
The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You woke up feeling a bit more rested, your body still aching, but your heart felt a little lighter.
Lando was already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching you with a soft smile. âGood morning,â he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
âMorning,â you replied, smiling back. Milo stretched out beside you, having moved up on the bed during the night , now wagging his tail lazily.
âHow are you feeling?â Lando asked, concern etched in his eyes.
âTired, but better,â you admitted. âThank you for coming to get me last night.â
âIâll always come for you.â He said, his voice full of sincerity. âWeâll get through this together.â
You spent the morning in bed, talking and laughing, enjoying the calm before the chaos of the day. Milo provided endless entertainment, his antics making you both laugh.
That evening, after a long day of preparing the nursery and spending quality time together, you were exhausted. You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the soft surface of the pillow. Lando stayed up a little longer as his mind kept wandering.
He looked over at you, your face serene in sleep, and his heart swelled with love. He gently placed his hand on your belly, feeling the slight movements of your growing baby.
âHey, little one,â he whispered softly, not wanting to wake you. âI know I need to be better for your mom. Sheâs doing so much already, and I need to support her more. She needs her sleep, and I shouldnât have been so harsh.â
Milo tilted his head, watching Lando with curious eyes before settling back down. Lando chuckled softly, patting Miloâs head.
âWeâre a team,â he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. âYour mom, Milo, and me. Weâre going to be a great team, and weâll always be here for you. I promise to be better.â
He leaned in and kissed your belly, then your forehead, before settling down beside you. Milo snuggled up at your feet, the three of you finally finding a moment of peace.
As you slept, you felt Landoâs hand still resting on your belly, his presence a comforting anchor. The journey ahead might be filled with challenges, but with Landoâs love and support, you felt ready to take on the journey of being a parent.
MASTERLIST
Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
#formula 1 fandom#formula 1 fic#formula one fic#formula one fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1#formula one#lando norris f1#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris angst#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 angst#angst#fluff#lando norris masterlist#formula 1 masterlist
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18+ Miguel OâHara x Fem! Reader
Summary: After arguing with Miguel over a touchy subject, you both come to a consensus.
Content Warning â ď¸: Soft! Dom! Miguel, Dacryphilia?, Praise (from Miguel), little nicknames (Mainly cariĂąo and neĂąa), and a little bit of Miguel being a complete munch. (if you don't know what that means, you're too young to read my content.) The reader is a bottom, overstimulation (nothing new), and unprotective P in V. (wrap it before you tap it). Miguel talks the reader through it, and Miguel cries. (I wish I were playing) (NOT PROOFREAD) (OOC MIGUEL)
Word Count: 3.1k+ words (holy shitâŚ)
Author's Notes: Well, this occurred to me while soaking my hair in rice water đ But in all seriousness, hereâs something sweet but smutty đđ Hope you all enjoy it. If there are some plot holds, I'm sorry. I've been busy recently.
To my girlies who have a praise kink, your secret is safe with Miguel. đ
It had been two weeks since you spoke to Miguel, let alone share a bed.
Miguel regretted that he yelled at you or how he compared you to Dana, his former lover. The truth was, you were far better than Dana. You were kind, patient, and understanding of his responsibilities as Spider-Man. He didn't know what came to him when he compared you, a literal angel, to one of the worst partners he'd dated beforehand.
You remained a pillar of support and unwavering patience throughout his double life. Despite the countless tasks, you never once complained. You were there to tend to his wounds at the odd night hours, offering comfort and care. During the frigid winter months in Nueva York, you never failed to have a warm and nourishing soup ready to soothe his ailing body. But now, asking him to come home soon was too much?
"Dana would never complain about me coming home late!"
"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not her!"
The same argument returned for the last few days until one instance ended it. It was the same argument managed, but he managed to end itânot as you expected.
"I should have never dated you! You are so demanding. Dana would never be like this." The second he finished, he covered his mouth with his hands quickly and backed away from you. He wanted to take back his words, but you didn't give him that advantage. Your silence felt suffocating to hear and to be around. But the sight of your lips quivering and your eyes at the brink of spilling tears. The urge to run to you and to beg for forgiveness rushed through his veins.
Before even having the opportunity, you are running away from him into your shared bedroom, like a small rabbit running away from its predator to seek shelter in a small hole in the ground.
As soon as Miguel laid eyes on the scene before him, his stomach turned, and he felt like he would be sick. It wasn't just that he had acted upâthe complete lack of remorse he felt at that moment truly frightened him. Meanwhile, seeing you trying to hold back tears made the situation unbearable. But when he heard you weeping in your bedroom, the guilt he felt just got magnified.
/
The sound of thunder boomed throughout the apartment complex. Usually, this made you want to grab a soft blanket and snuggle in Miguel's arms. However, the events that led to this said otherwise. He was out in Nueva York while you were bedridden. The sensation of your pillow against your cheek buried away the melancholy and the tears that your poor pillow always caught whenever you got upset.
The now old Victorian complex now creaks and settles down every other occasion. The sound of a muffled evangelical leader seeped through the thin walls, despite the number of complaints Miguel had told the older man to turn it down. But now? The preaching from the frustrated man drowns out your sorrows as thunder continues to rumble throughout the complex.
The window sliding open greets you, snapping you out of the evangelical preacher's words. Veering over your shoulder, you see your boyfriend, Miguel, crawling back into the apartment, closing the old window, preventing the downpour from creeping in and soaking the red oak floors. The sight of him changing into his sweats and undershirt was enough to make you blush, but you ignored your instincts. The simple 'hey' he greets you made you toss and turn on the bed, ignoring him.
Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the words "CariĂąo, por favor" uttered from behind you. Your mind was racing, and you wondered whether to turn around and face him. The temptation to forgive and forget lingered in your heart for a week, but what he had said had left an unforgettable mark. The hurt and pain were too much to ignore, and you knew deep down that it was time to move onâeven though you were too adamant for your good.
A small sigh of defeat fills the mere pregnant pause in the air as the bed creaks under the added weight on the bed before settling down. The blankets bunched around your chest and near your chin comforted you despite the smell of it being your favorite fabric softener combined with his scent. "C'mereâŚ" He groans, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into a spooning position. A loud whine from you wasn't the response he was expecting. He expected a giggle when he did so, but an adverse reaction said otherwise.
"Please don't be upset, cariĂąo. I didn't mean what I said about, wellâ" Miguel suddenly stops. There is no other way around it. He messed up big time, and can see the hurt in your eyes.
You weren't Dana, something that Miguel always took for grantedâthe memory of having to deal with someone so parasitic, like a brain-eating amoeba, was emotionally draining. Even thinking about it is enough to make anyone tired. The emotional unavailability was the thing that got to him when it came to her, knowing that she wasn't waiting for him and cared about herself instead. The artificial bullshit was the only thing she desired, such as the dates and the gifts, not the emotional side of things, such as aftercare.
"What I said, it was true. You're not like Dana," A pause filled the space as you waited for him to continue. "You're not her, and it's something I adore." The simple kiss to your temple made you liquefy in his arms, but you remained silent, giving the silent treatment. "And I'm sorry about what I said; it was something I said in the heat of the moment." A nuzzle to the pillow was the only response he received, along with the low rumble of thunder.
As his lips touched your temple, a wave of gentle affection washed over you. The kisses continued to rain down softly, dotting your forehead, cheeks, and finally, your lips, like a fluttering of delicate butterfly wings. A tiny grumble left from you, not wanting to cave into his little kisses and advances that you ever so adored dearly.
The harassment of sweet kisses ended after ten minutes, and you turned your body to face Miguel. "âŚhey."
"Hey, cariĂąoâŚ" He hums, sneaking a kiss to your lips, which you allow. "âŚhey." You repeated, not knowing what else to say. "Hi." Miguel chuckled from the back of his throat and planted another kiss on the forehead. You stayed silent for the longest time until you looked up at him from where you rested your head on his chest. "I'm sorry tooâ" Miguel covered your mouth with his hand, nearly covering your entire face. "No, don't apologize. This argument was all my fault." He pulled his hand away from your lips, and a subtle sigh left.
"I shouldn't have exploded over one little thing. You rarely ask for me to come home a little sooner." His fingers combed through your hair, occasionally fixing some knots. "It shows that you care; you want me to be at home, safe and warmâŚ" The pitter-patter of rain continued to play a steady tempo like a metronome at an adagio, not too fast, yet a bit slow. "I'm sorry for giving a poor excuse for blowing my anger at you. It was⌠stupid." He breathes out. "I had no reason."
You hummed and nuzzled closer to him. "I forgive youâŚ" You mumbled, soon curling up to him for his warmth. "I should have known that asking for you to come home sooner is a bit too muchâ" You were cut off once again with a kiss on your lips, muffling your words. After you stopped and returned the kiss, Miguel pulled away after a moment and ruffled your hair.
"No, cariĂąo. None of this is your fault. The blame is all on me." He rubbed the back of your head with his hand, lightly massaging the nape of your neck with his thumb. A small chuckle escaped from him. Seeing your messy hair makes him smile at the sight you gave him. Usually, you would throw a fit about how you looked, especially when the two of you went out. But now, you seemed loosened up and mellow.
He embraced you tightly, nuzzling into your neck as soon as you returned it. "I missed you so much⌠I don't like being mad at you," you muttered, slowly rubbing your fingertips against the nape of his neck. Then you started playing with his hair. A small smile formed on your lips as you felt his soft waves against the pads of your fingers. "Even with your suit, your hair is always soft. It never fails to surprise me."
Miguel only gave you a chuckle before pulling you to rest on his body and planting a long kiss on your lips, which you happily reciprocated. The soft, supple kisses soon evolved into something hungry and messy. The soft caress around your waist soon became handsy and coping with a feeling of being on one another. "I missed you, nenaâŚ" He mumbles in between kisses.
His kisses moved from your lips, leaving a small trail from your neck to your collarbone and, finally, on your plush lower stomach. âNena⌠let me, pleaseâŚâ With a rush, you nodded, rubbing your thighs together slowly. "Here, let's help you outâŚ" Usually, the man would rip your underwear off, but this time, he held back. He patted your hips lovingly, gesturing for you to raise your hips. "Raise your hips for me." You obeyed immediately, soon squirming out of your underwear and helping Miguel.
His arms hooked around your thighs, dragging your upper half down onto the mattress and having your pussy close to Miguel's lips. "Look at that, that kiss got you all wetâŚ" Before complaining that you could feel his breath against your sensitive clit, Miguel indulged himself, devouring you slowly and slurping any remnants of your arousal. "My god, you taste so goodâŚ" He shuddered in between your folds and soon probed his tongue at your entrance. The light flicks from the wet, active muscles tease you enough for you to grasp onto the duvet underneath you and moan deep from your throat. "Oh fuck, fuck me with itâŚ"
Hum is the only response you accumulate as you feel the wet tongue slowly tease your fluttering hole and soon feel Miguel lightly push his tongue at your fluttering hole. A small, needy moan filled the space while the wet muscle made you arch your back against the mattress. "Fuck, I want it insideâŚ" You urgently whine.
"What do you want, cariĂąo? Use your words, m'kay?" He muttered, slowly pulling away from your pussy and taking the time to savor you.
"I want itâŚ"
"You want what? Please tell me what you want." He cooed to you and rubbed his thumbs against your thighs. The light breathing against your clit and entrance didn't help your case. Your high was making it nearly impossible to get on top of him and to take regime.
"I want your cock⌠please."
After a few moments of your demands and feeling his soft breathing against your pussy, he slowly slid you back down onto the bed, laying you down on the bed gently. "C'mereâŚ" Miguel whispers sweetly before he gently holds you close and slowly rubs his aching length against your folds. The sensation of the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your bare skin was enough for you to moan at the feeling. "Wait, this feelsâŚ" He paused and looked down at you. "Are we okay? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You could hear the sheer panic in his voice, but you only nodded, giving him the green light.
Reaching down, your hands worked quickly, and you pulled on his sweats and boxers. A low groan emits from Miguel, feeling his dick get freed from the restrictive clothing. "You wanna hump on my cock like a good girl?" He mumbles out heavily, slowly lowering himself and allowing his length to rub in between your folds slowly. "Oh god, slowly. Slowly, cariĂąoâŚ" He urgently breathes out, slowly letting his bulbous tip rub against your clit. The burning yet slippery sensation slowly builds up. The slow, sensual rubs are enough for more arousal to build up, making it feel like a slippery slide thanks to your arousal and Miguel's precum. "MierdaâŚ"
"Do you want me to fuck you, and do you want my babies?"
You nodded immediately, squirming in underneath him on the mattress.
"C'mon, grab it and slide it in. You know how to do it."
It had been weeks since you'd had sex with Miguel, especially since the argument about Dana; it almost had been a month without any intimate contact. You slowly reached for his cock and lightly tapped his tip against your entrance, a little nervous about how it would be a tight fit. "Miguel?" You slowly whined, still holding onto his aching cock. "Do you need any help?" He hums, slowly getting himself comfortable. "It's been a whileâŚ"
He nods before he grabs his cock and helps you slowly push himself in. "Shit!" He suddenly hisses out, barely letting his tip inside of you while you claw at his arms and groan. "You are tightâŚ" You looked down and saw that your poor partner barely kept it together. "Give me a moment, nenaâŚ" He murmurs out quietly, slowly thrusting his tip at your entrance.
"Just the tip?" You sweetly suggested, looking down again, seeing how desperately he wanted his length to disappear by simply slowly pumping into you. "Maybe⌠Just the tipâŚ" Miguel nods, slowly letting his tip probe at your entrance.
/
The sounds of labored breathing and moans filled the apartment, drowning out the evangelical preacher from next door, along with the angry bangs from the other neighbors. "I want youâŚ" You breathed out, slowly feeling him sink in his length until his happy trail brushed against your clit. "Then you can have me. I'm yours to do as you please." His voice was like warm molasses, a sweet honey running down with sweet venom.
Another shout from the older man next door causes Miguel to roll his eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing his mushroom tip to brush against your cervix. "Shut up!" Miguel yelled out to the angry neighbor and returned his focus to you. "Can we go a little faster?" You meekly suggested while slowly moving on his length. "Ay, cariĂąoâŚ"
The sensation of his length twitching inside of you is enough to have the man nearly cave in and thrust into your fluttering walls to end the slow overstimulation on his tip. "Easy, easyâŚ" He breathed out weakly, slowly grasping onto your hips. His talons digging into your flesh felt like tiny needles lightly prickling at your thumb while sewing. "You're a little tight, and it's been a hot minute." His breathy groan filled the space immediately, slowly moving in and out of your fluttering hole. Not listening to his demands, you began to move your hips down and slid with ease, allowing your arousal to cream on his length. "Let's piss the neighbor off."
It was a sick, twisted fantasy to anger your neighbors, especially with the fact that y'all had thin walls in the time-old apartment that could drive anyone crazy. Mainly because the older neighbors around y'all are rowdy and complain about every little noise you or Miguel produced, most the sound of a blender or even if some music played a little too loud to their liking. But to you and him, it was time to get back at them and be as noisy as possible.
His pace was languid yet deep, taking his time while letting out low, rough grunts. âYou're doing well, cariĂąo.â You respond weakly by letting out a mewl and only let your fluttering wall convey the message more. âI'm tryingâŚâ You whined, bringing him to your embrace. âCan you go a little faster?â You plead, feeling the slow, delicious burn from his girth. âYou sure? I don't want to hurt you.â He nuzzled close to your neck, leaving tiny kisses.
âI can handle it.â You pant, slowly sink yourself into him, pushing yourself down on him. The veins running down his length brushed against your clit deliciously, with a loud mewl filling in the apartment. âPlease, please, please.â You plead out loud. âI'm on birth control, please.â
âI want you toââ One quick thrust ended your words. A sudden scream of pleasure filled the space, feeling Miguelâs merciless tempo. âOh fuck! Yes! Keep it at that!â You demanded while being underneath him. âBaby, I'm a littleââ
The wanton moans filled the space while the banging of the neighbor on your apartment walls made this nothing but filthy. âShut up!â Your hoarse demands filled the space while you banged your fist against the wall. His unrelenting tempo continued, feeling that burn you ever so missed desperately.
The wet, squelching noise made the scene more lewd for Miguel, along with your shared bed creaking underneath the two of you, barely holding on with whatever strength it could conjure up. You are underneath him while he can feel your arousal coat his length along with his precum. The pace felt nothing but filthy and desperate. The feeling of tiny water droplets landed on your cheeks, causing you to wipe them off before you look up and see your partner, your usual aloof, stoic partner, shedding tears before you. The rough pace continued as you clawed at his back, leaving faint, red marks before you felt your rippling finish come to you and embraced Miguel tightly. âPlease, I'm closeâŚâ
With one single thrust, you felt him twitch inside you before putting his heavy load in you.
âYou okay?â You peeped out to him while feeling him slowly slide out and wiping away his tears. âYes, I'm fine. Just overstimulated myself a little.â Slowly, he pulls out, earning a tiny groan from you and immediately pulls you into a warm embrace. âI didn't hurt you, did I?â You shook your head no, taking in shallow breaths. âNo, I'm okay. Just a little sore.â You mumble quietly. Little sore was an understatementâŚ
âCâmereâŚâ He pants out, pulls you into a warm embrace, and plants soft, lazy kisses on your temple and cheeks. âYou did so goodâŚâ The lazy, slow presses of his body against you felt like a weighted blanket, along with his chest heaving against yours. His hands roamed your body, allowing his fingers to trace light patterns and memorize you. âWhat do you want for dinner, cariĂąo? Do you want me to prepare you something or do you want that one pizza you like on Main Street?â He murmurs from your shoulder, not wanting to get off of you. An incomprehensive mumble is the only thing that responds to him.
âPizza it is, then.â
#miguel ohara x reader smut#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel x you#miguel fanfic#miguel ohara fanfiction
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COMPASS / CHAPTER 2
bad boy!Sanemi ⢠modern gang AU
A/N: oh boy oh boy! It only took me four months to write this, and I still had to split it in half.
This is a very Sanemi-focused chapter. Enjoy seeing some other characters and everyone's favorite little brother. Smut enjoyers have no fear, there are plenty of references to sex this chapter, and the next installment will be fucking filthy. For now, enjoy pining bitch boy Sanemi, some humor, and a whole lot of self-hatred.
CW: 17k. MDNI. Morning-after awkwardness. Humor. Gang-related violence. Brief description of bones being broken. Gun violence. Masturbation. Somewhat explicit references to sex that occurred in the previous chapter. Mentions of blood. Angst.
chapter one // masterlist
Sanemi doesnât remember ever having woken up as peacefully as he does that next morning, with you in his arms. His hands are resting against the curve of your spine, his fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin even well before heâs fully aware of what heâs doing.
Youâve remained tangled up with him throughout the night, your legs intertwined and you, laid out against his torso. A small smear of your drool has dried on his skin, right beneath where your cheek is mashed between his pectorals where you snore softly.
If he could, heâd stay like this forever; warm and wrapped up in blankets that smell distinctly of you while you remain asleep on his chest. No outside world to speak of, no debts to collect or bones to smash. Nothing beyond the parameters of your bed, and the way your body fits so perfectly against his.
Sanemi is acutely aware of your mutual nudity. The luxurious feel of your bare skin pressed to his ushers in a flurry of images from the night before, each snap shot flashing through his mind, a montage of naked limbs and breathless moans.
Heâd fucked you â though some small voice in his head quips that heâd done something more than just fucking, but he resolves to ignore that for now. Worse (was it?), heâd done it without using protection â and he came in you.
Whatever rule book heâd played by before, it no longer mattered. Itâs been thoroughly shredded, cast aside along with every last fragment of common sense heâd had, its remnants strewn somewhere among his clothes where they lay discarded on your floor. He should feel horror; should feel guilt and shame for being so fucking reckless with you despite having committed to doing everything in his power to be more careful with you than he is with himself, and yet, Sanemi cannot seem to find a morsel of regret.
Instead, all he can feel is bliss. He can focus on nothing more than how warm you are, how your soft breasts are squished against his abdomen. How sweet your hair smells, how silky your skin is beneath his greedy fingertips. How badly he wants you again; selfishly. Completely.
And despite knowing heâs in the wrong, Sanemi canât help but be struck at how right this feels. So right, in fact, that his body is quickly coming to life the longer he spends beneath you, his blood hot and full of need.
He shifts under you, gnashing his teeth together as your lower belly rubs right against his groin. His morning wood is almost painful, and he half contemplates waking you up to see if youâre willing to go for a second round, but he refrains. While it wouldnât be out of the realm of reasonability for him to ask for more, given the events of the last twelve hours, he knows it wouldnât be smart.Â
More importantly, Sanemi doesnât want you thinking he feels entitled to your body â or your affection â now that heâs had a taste of both, no matter how addicted to you he is.
Gently, he untangles himself from you and lays you back against your pillows. Once he ensures the blankets are pulled up over you, he peels off the bed to search for his pants. He finds them a few feet away and tugs them on, though he leaves his belt unfastened. He forsakes his shirt, too, at least until you wake up, not wanting you to feel overexposed in your nudity while heâs fully dressed.
Sanemi quietly pads into your kitchen and begins fumbling around for your coffee machine. He pulls two mugs from your cabinet and finds your stash of coffee beans shoved on a random shelf, and he sets to work, doing his best to keep as quiet as he can.
He hears you stirring from the kitchen right as your mug of coffee finishes brewing.
He lingers in the doorway to the kitchen. âHey.â
You sit up in your bed, clutching the blankets to your chest. His heart throbs. Youâre beautiful like this, unfairly so, despite having just woken up. Your hair is a little messy, but your eyes are bright, and your bare skin glows softly in the morning light streaming through your windows.
âHi,â you say shyly, eyes tracking him as he crosses the room, mug in hand. You gratefully accept the coffee he hands you, but you keep one hand fisted around your blanket, holding it tightly to your chest.
He grimaces. Even though Sanemi has now seen every inch of your body, you seem committed to shielding as much of it as possible from him.Â
Whether itâs out of insecurity or morning-after regret, he canât say.
âI wanted to wait âtil you got up before I left. Didnât want you to think I just dipped.â Sanemi runs an awkward hand through his hair. âBut now that youâre up, I can run down the street. Grab ya the morning after pill.â
At your questioning look, his cheeks redden. âSince â yâknow ââ
He gestures lamely at you, as though that somehow is enough of an explanation. But itâs apparently successful, because your eyes blow wide with understanding, a twin blush creeping up your neck.
âI donât need it.â You squeak, ducking your head, your fingers tightening around your blanket.
Sanemi blinks. Great, he groans internally. He knew you were a virgin, but heâd assumed you knew the risks associated with fucking raw.
âYeah, you do,â he corrects, and his stomach flips as the memory of last night â of how tightly youâd gripped him as he came, of your soft moan as youâd felt the first spurt of his cum fill you â flashes through his mind. âWe didnât use protection, and I assume you know how babies are made ââ
âI donât need it.â
Your insistence sets off alarm bells in his head. Maybe he shouldâve explained to you his stance on children before he came in you, but heâll be damned if he lets you baby trap him now.
No matter how in love with you he is.
âYes, you do. Iâm not lettinâ you get pregnant ââ he starts hotly, his temperament shifting into something dangerous.
With a huff, you reach over to your nightstand and yank on a drawer. You root around inside it for a moment before pulling free a small card lined with neat rows of pills.
You wave it at him, sarcastic. âNo, I donât, dumbass.â And you busy yourself with popping one of the pills free to swallow. âIâve been on birth control since high school.â
Sanemi blinks. âBut youâd never ââ
You toss your pills back into your drawer with a groan. âYou donât need to be sexually active to be on birth control, Sanemi. It has other uses.â You chew on your lip as you stare down at the mug balanced between your legs. âMy periods are horrible. It helps me manage them.â
He stares at your bedside table for a long moment, feeling decidedly stupid.
âI can still take it if itâll make you feel better,â you offer. âBut Iâve been consistent with taking my birth control for years.â
âNah,â he clears his throat. âIf you think the pill is enough, then thatâs fine by me.â
Silence, tense and stiflingly awkward settles between you once more, and Sanemi feels damn near ready to jump out of his skin.
âFeel okay?â He asks after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.
You blush again. âI think so,â you pause and stretch, testing your limbs, though you manage to keep that blanket locked tight against your chest. âMaybe a little sore, but I guess thatâs normal, right?â
âYeah,â and to his embarrassment, Sanemi finds himself needing to clear his throat again to cover up the way his voice cracks. âYeah, thatâs not surprising.â
âWhat about you? Are you okay?â
Sanemi blinks. âWell â yeah.â Itâs not a lie. Physically, he feels phenomenal. How he feels internally, however, is a whole separate matter, and itâs not one heâs particularly keen on exploring at the moment.
Absently, you tap your thumbs against the ceramic lip of your coffee mug. âSo â,â
ââSo,â he starts, but he falters just as you do, the two of you looking quickly away from one another in mutual embarrassment.
This would be far easier if you were just another hookup. He wouldâve already left, would already be on another job, riding his post-sex high for the remainder of the day. He wouldnât feel as he is now, full of doubt and oily shame for having to leave you now, naked and vulnerable as you are.
âI should go,â he finally offers after another unbearably awkward moment. The phone in his pocket is a burning weight he cannot ignore, one thatâs started buzzing with an incessant demand that he answer; that he collect.
You nod, your gaze almost reproachful as you watch him retrieve the gun heâd laid on your kitchen table the night before and tuck it into his waistband.
âWill I hear from you?â Your voice is soft, almost imperceptibly so.
The guilt in Sanemiâs knotted stomach turns sour. He shouldnât be surprised â he canât be, really. Not when he knows youâve heard the rumors of how he acts with other bed partners.
Still, your quiet, resigned assumption that he might treat you the same way â that he was satisfied with using your body and would now would fuck off and do whatever â stings.
ââCourse you will.â And he means it â and not just because he knows he said a lot of things last night while between your legs and damn near delirious with pleasure. He told you things heâd meant; things he doesnât want you chalking up to passionate outbursts brought on by the heat of the moment.
But he also said things that probably mean heâs fucked himself over, and now, he needs to figure out what heâs going to do about it.
Sanemi fishes his shirt from its discarded place on your floor and tugs it over his head. He can feel your eyes tracking his every movement, and he feels near ready to burst into flames as he crosses the studio to your bed.
He stoops down to press one, soft kiss to your forehead. ââTil next time.â
You donât respond; you only remain there, sitting still in your bed, your sheets clutched to your chest. The scent of your hair ushers a flood of memories from only a few hours earlier, and the way they blur together make his head hurt and his heart ache.
Mine. Heâd said to you, just before you shattered so prettily against your sheets as he fucked you. Youâre fuckinâ mine.
Yeah, he thinks as he closes the door of your apartment behind him. Yeah, heâs fucked.
â
When he was a boy, Sanemi always imagined what it would be like to fly.
Life in the Silo was suffocating and heâd often found himself turning his face up toward the sky, savoring the wind as it rustled his hair and carried leaves off into horizons he would never see. He envied the pigeons that always clustered near the overfilled trash cans spilling out onto the streets, pecking at molded scraps of food because they could take off at any moment. One loud noise, one obnoxious asshole barreling through them, and they could launch right into the sky, their wings beating as they rode the breeze to seek out safer sidewalks.Â
Heâd never join them; he knew that. But on his bike, Sanemi feels like the wind itself, and he supposes itâs the closest heâll ever be to flying free.Â
He finds his bike where he always parks it â in a back alley behind your apartment, tucked behind a dumpster far out of sight. Straddled upon it, his helmet secure, he keys the ignition and it roars to life beneath him, its engine a steady rumble that echoes off the pavement. The moment he releases the clutch, he is soaring. He drives, the wind whipping at his clothes, his knuckles, until it sings in his blood and he feels weightless.Â
He tears down streets, darts between honking cars slowed on the freeway as he makes his calls, collects the Corpsâ dues. And in those moments when he zips and speeds through throngs of traffic, sometimes narrowly avoiding clipping a side mirror or two, he can almost forget the magnitude of his royal fuck up with you. Â
Almost.
â
Itâs nearly midnight when his bike gutters to a stop in front of the dingy shoebox he calls home. Not that this mildewed apartment complex has ever been anything close to such a thing, but itâs one of the few things in his life Sanemi can call his own.Â
No matter how shitty it is.
Deep down, he knows the closest thing to home is back at your apartment, likely wondering when the fuck heâll shoot you a text. Not even he knows the answer to that; all he knows is that he hasnât spoken to you since shutting your door behind him this morning, and he has no idea how to start if he did.Â
So, he doesnât.
He doesnât text you even as he strips himself of his clothes, readying for his shower. Nor does he so much as glance at his phone when he catches the whiff of you on his body as he kicks off his pants and underwear, the faint, lingering scent of your pleasure redirecting his blood flow straight to his cock.
Itâs not that he doesnât want to reach out â he does, very much so. Heâs wanted to talk to you the moment your apartment building faded from view, his fingers itching to reach for the phone buried in his pocket and send you something, anything, so you might know that he has no intention of treating you like any of the others. Even if he ultimately decides that he can go no further with you, that last night can only be a one-time indulgence, he will give you the courtesy of telling you as much. It was the least you deserved.
Sanemi tries his best to keep thoughts of you and this wonderfully fucked situation at bay, focusing entirely on the way the water burns his skin, a thousand needles of flame licking at his face, his scalp, his back. He scrubs hard at his hair first, then his face. He leaves washing his body for last, unwilling to soap over whatever invisible marks still linger upon his skin, left behind by your hands and lips. Only when he cannot possibly procrastinate the task any longer does he pump a generous amount of soap into his palm, rubbing his hands together until it turns frothy and thick.
As he washes himself, Sanemi manages to avoid thinking of the way you touched him the night before, soft and tentative and yet passionate. He thinks he might just make it through without his mind wandering too far away, but then his fingers brush over the odd, raised lines of the mark branded between his shoulder blades. A sudden thread of images from the night before unspools in his mind: your hands, dropping from his hair down his back, resting over the ugly scar seared into his skin. Your nails, raking along his spine as you gasped his name. The flutter of your hands against his abdomen, exploring him; how they gripped his backside and pulled him hard into you.
An arm braces against the cold, sud-scummed tile of his shower and Sanemiâs forehead follows. Even the hot beat of the water canât un-work the tension in his muscles, the way his body now demands to be reunited with you. He is powerless against this onslaught of memory; the flashes of you tangled up so perfectly with him; the scent of your hair. Your voice, God, your voice, sighing and moaning in his ear until he could focus on nothing but how to make you cry out louder, call his name â
With a frustrated grunt, Sanemi takes his stiffened cock in his hand and he works his frustration â and longing â out under the roaring spray of the shower until his spend washes with the soap bubbles down the drain.
â
Showered and dressed in nothing but his underwear, Sanemi paces his apartment.Â
Itâs not that he regrets doing what he did with you â he doesnât, not by any means. And thatâs exactly what makes him so selfish.Â
Deep down, heâd wanted to be the one to do it â taking your virginity. For whatever reason, the universe decided to give him you, had brought you back into his life after years of him not sparing you so much as a passing thought. And heâd been weak, unable to stick to the code heâd sworn his blood, his body, to upholding. Heâd broken it at the first opportunity, all but jumped at the chance of human connection after years of being starved for it, only to find that the first person he latched onto was also the one person who ever actually saw him; saw past the mask forged out of cruel rumors and his own blood-stained hands.
He shouldâve known the moment you expressed anything more than mild interest in him that he was in danger. His impulses scream that he should run before the fallout of last night can catch up to him. To you.
Running is a temptation more dangerous than any of the heists or debt collections heâd ever carried out, even the one that left his face half-ripped open and bleeding. Dangerous not just by the amount of consideration he gives the idea of leaving the Corps and this rotting city behind, but dangerous because if he runs, heâs taking you with him. And that means exposing you not just to his enemies, but to all the consequences dealt to those who dare try and leave the Corps.
Sanemi paces and paces until he finally wears a tread into his shabby bedroom and collapses on his bed. He recites to himself the tenets of the Corps that heâd abandoned â namely, the rule for not getting attached â before a crude voice in his head sternly reminds him of the most important rule of all. The one even he doesnât know if he can bend, let alone break.Â
Number one: once youâre in, youâre in.Â
No one leaves the Corps unless itâs in a body bag or because a higher-up forces your retirement, and the latter is usually reserved for those who survive bullets meant to kill. Those who will never be the same, if they even made it out of the hospital at all.Â
There is no room for deserters, and none are tolerated. Whispers of plots to abandon the Corps were sniffed out and reported, the conspirators dealt with severely. They usually fell back in line once the reminder of the fate that awaited them should they try was thoroughly beaten into them â usually by one of the Hashira (including him). And Sanemi has shattered his fair share of the bones of those starry-eyed juniors stupid enough to think they were the exception.
In any event, leaving itself was only half the battle. Evading capture was a whole separate beast. The Corps didnât take well to losing its investments, so their recovery was entrusted only to one person: the most senior of the Hashira.
A man Sanemi only knew by surname and his massive, hulking size, reserved primarily for guarding the Boss and his family.
Himejimaâs success rate in tracking down and dealing with deserters is perfect. The few whoâd tried since Sanemiâs own initiation had managed on their own a few days at most before they were caught.Â
Bitterly, Sanemi supposes their wishes were granted, in a way. They did get out â but in a body bag, a bullet-shaped hole between their eyes.Â
Without fail, photos of their lifeless faces â blood soaked, portions of their skulls missing â were circulated through the Corpsâ networks, popping up on phones from unknown numbers.
A warning. A reminder.Â
It is not just a risk â it is a guarantee, a nuclear bomb designed to snuff out any hope that other Corps members might follow in place. And even if he could try, Sanemi does not know how to ensure you wonât be caught in the blast zone. No Hashira has ever tried to escape, but he can imagine if any of them dared, theyâd be made a bigger example out of than some rank-and-file Corps member. There is a mythos surrounding the Hashira even among the junior ranks, a sort of air that they carry. In his own days as a junior, heâd heard whispers comparing his now-equals to gods, because really, what else could not just survive, but prosper in a place that claims far more lives than it produces?Â
That very mystique is why he can almost guarantee his defection would be met with a retaliation proportionate to the level of his betrayal. There would be no quick end for him; it would be brutal and drawn-out, his death a kindness they would make him beg for.Â
No one leaves hell in one piece and Sanemi is no exception. He knows better than to think â than to wish â for different. The Corps will swallow him whole, suck the marrow from his bones and turn him to dust before that happens.Â
But as the memory of your skin beneath his fingertips and your lips moving with his beckons him to sleep, heâd be damned if he said the idea of trying wasnât tempting as hell.
â
The days mount alongside Sanemiâs self-loathing until almost a week has passed without so much as a word from you â or him, for that matter.Â
Itâs likely youâre only parroting his own radio silence, giving him space heâs made you think he needs. But the lack of your name above any notifications on his phone grates at him.Â
Itâs hypocritical of him to be bothered at all, given that he could just as easily pick up his phone and shoot you a text or give you a call. He knows that. But he sulks all the same.Â
He sulks and sulks, his mood souring with every passing minute until not even his fellow Hashira risk triggering his bitchy attitude. Just when he thinks he might cave, might actually pick up his damn phone and put an end to the nonsense heâs created, Uzui dings him with a job, and all thoughts of you come to a grinding halt.
The job itself seemed straightforward enough: go to a pawn shop and collect on a payment owed by its broker. When the orders initially came through on his phone (always an unknown number, never the same one), Sanemi at first, was confused. Heâs used to being called upon to help other Hashira on their jobs; used to being the extra muscle, the extra layer of intimidation needed to ensure promises were made good on. He looks terrifying; Sanemi knows this. His scars are just another weapon for the Corps to use, and it is not wasteful. Deals tended to go smoother, debts were paid, when they shook hands under the eye of the Corpsâ boogeyman; the monster whoâd come knocking should they forget their obligations.
Customers donât know how to see past his scars. Not like you do, anyway.
But the job Uzui has sent him on isnât like the others; for one, the obnoxious peacock isnât accompanying him. Nor is the pawnshop broker in default yet on his payments, and the amount Sanemiâs been tasked with collecting isnât particularly large. More perplexing, the instructions sent from the anonymous number were specific to direct him to pick up a burner car from Rengokuâs garage, an unusual command that made him click his tongue in annoyance. Sanemi doesnât do cars.Â
Itâs not his place to question orders, however, so he doesnât. He merely picks up the piece of shit car from its designated spot and tries not to put his fist through the dash when he struggles to figure out how to drive the stupid thing. As it stands, Rengoku currently owes him a favor, and heâd rather not waste it by having him forgive damage Sanemi does to his inventory.
The ramshackle store heâs been forced to pay a visit to teeters right on the edge of the Western Wing â Kizuki territory.Â
Confusion gives way to suspicion the moment he steps inside the pawn shop. Throughout his gruff conversation with Uzuiâs client, Sanemi is unable to shake the prickle at the back of his neck that only ever came from being watched.
Survival, as heâd learned, was in the details. It was about noticing the gaps between the counters, the foggy reflections in the display cases. Heâs survived this long because he knew when a silent door had opened, could feel the slight shift in the air as it warmed a couple of degrees even when his back was turned.
It is these very observations, this very compulsion to be hyper vigilant every hour, every second of his life, that has Sanemiâs hand flying to the gun tucked into his hip the moment he sees the shadows in the glass ripple.Â
Itâs drawn and cocked, his finger ready to jump the trigger without a moment of hesitation, but no one ever comes inside. If the pawnbroker is taken aback, he doesnât show it, and tensely, Sanemi reholsters his gun, though he keeps an eye trained on the front door.Â
The moment he exits the pawn shop, Sanemi knows heâs being followed.Â
It starts with a pair of headlights that flash in his mirror. Though evening is rapidly approaching, it is still far too light outside for the lights to be necessary, and Sanemi isnât stupid enough to think theyâre trying to signal that something is wrong with the burner car, piece of shit though it is. Helpful drivers donât lay on their horns and whoop taunts out their windows.
His suspicion is confirmed when a second car jerks over into the opposite lane and rides even next to the one tailing Sanemi. It lingers for a moment, keeping pace with the other car before it falls back behind it.
Well, he knows that move; they were talking. Plotting.
Thatâs when all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the job clicks into place. Small job though it was, Sanemi knows anyone ranked lower than him wouldâve already been sporting a bullet hole in their head.Â
Really, he shouldnât be surprised by the tail, and itâs even less of an oddity that heâd been instructed to take a car to pick up rather than his bike. Uzui had known heâd need the cover.Â
They keep their distance while Sanemi weighs his options. He could try and lose them, but Sanemi is far better at ditching tails when heâs on his bike. This body hunk of metal on the other hand is foreign, its dimensions unfamiliar. Survival meant taking risks only when there were no other options, and heâs not there. Not yet.Â
Thereâs a sharp pop and the glass on his side mirror shatters.
âFuck.â His low growl slides out through clenched teeth. Sanemi throws his body down, willing the high back of his seat to give him the cover he needs.Â
It was a warning shot; the chase is up and now, the cats are ready to catch their prey.
The tires squeal over the pavement as he wrenches the steering wheel sharply to the left, gunning down a side alley nestled between the high rises of the business district. Heâs too landlocked in civilian territory to risk anything more; heâll have to try and lose them.Â
Good thing Sanemi knows these streets like the back of his hand. He can only pray his tails arenât as wise.
They know heâs affiliated with the Corps but not who he is; if they had, there would be no play, no production. These are lower-ranked Kizuki members â pathetically named Demons â who think theyâve caught themselves a fun little Corps member to toy with.
Sanemi lays his foot out on the gas. Heâs no fucking mouse, and heâll be damned if he end up in their trap.
His eyes flick to the rear view mirror. All he can see are the two sets of blinding headlines rapidly gaining behind him.Â
He slams down on the accelerator as far as it will go, yanking the steering far to the right. The car Uzui had given him may look like a piece of shit, but right now, itâs his best shot at getting out of this in one piece. So far, Sanemiâs lifeline is holding fast, the tires squealing only slightly as he veers sharply off the freeway and flies down First Street.Â
Somewhere over the cantankerous hum of the engine, his phone rings.
âWhat.â
âLooks like youâve got a demon on your tail, Shinazugawa.â A familiar voice intones through his speaker.
Sanemi smirks into the phone. âTwo. You offerinâ to help, Uzui?âÂ
Thereâs a crackly laugh on the other end. âGo south three blocks and take the first right. Gun through the light and then get down. Itâs a straight road.â
Sanemiâs mouth thins. Three blocks south is Market Street, dangerously close to Center City â a hotbed of civilian activity, especially on a summer night like this.Â
âNo innocents,â he warns. âWe ainât them.â The implication is clear: we only kill the bad guys.Â
A banal moral line, but theyâve got to draw one in the sand somewhere.Â
âJust focus on getting back to base without a bullet in your skull,â Uzui dismisses, but his tone loses that playful edge as it always does when he means business. âWeâre stretched thin enough as it is.â
âIâm in this shit because of you.â
âAnd Iâm the one getting you out of it.â Uzui finishes smoothly. âBe grateful I was tracking your ass.â
Sanemi doesnât know if he likes the idea of having his movements scrutinized but he canât worry about that right now. He clicks his phone off and tosses it to the side, not caring whether it lands on the passenger seat.
Right now, he needs to get the fuck out of here.
A deft twist of the steering wheel enables him to narrowly avoid smashing into a minivan that tries to ease into the intersection Sanemi guns through.
If heâd been hoping the pedestrian van might slow down his pursuers, he is bitterly disappointed. They pull the same stunt, the poor driver of the van laying on his horn that no one pays any heed toward.
He shakes it off; doesnât matter. He just needs to drive.
An unfamiliar beep sounds, further fraying his nerves. His eyes find the gas on the dashboard, and Sanemi unleashes a new string of vicious swears as he realizes the low light is dinging its warning. Leave it to fucking Uzui to stick him not just with a piece of shit, but a piece of shit with a low gas tank.Â
Fuck, he hates driving cars. His bike allowed him to be far nimbler, to soar away from enemies as fast as the wind could take him. But his bike is back at the garage, so for now, heâs stuck with this lumbering hunk of rusted metal.
If by some miracle, it does its damn job and keeps him from having to make another unexplained trip to Tamayo to get a bullet fished out of his flesh, Sanemi swears heâll never shit talk a car again.Â
Another sharp crack of gunfire rips through the evening air, and Sanemi grinds his teeth at the sound of his tail light shattering. Theyâre getting bold; Uzuiâs assistance will mean jack shit if he doesnât get to Market soon.Â
He whizzes by the signposts marking Central Avenue and Main; one more block to go.Â
Behind him, an engine revs and Sanemi doesnât have to look in his rearview mirror to know the tail is nearly at his bumper. He shifts forward in his seat, ruching his shoulders up as he guns harder for Market, the demarcating stoplight growing closer, closer âÂ
The light turns red but he does not slow; he sails through the intersection, jerking the car sharply to the right. The tires squeal and groan beneath him but the vehicle does not give. Turn cleared and hands glued firmly to the steering wheel, Sanemi throws himself to the side, ducking down below the dash.Â
A half second later and the telltale spray of bullets nearly shatters his eardrums.
Adrenaline vibrates in his veins, forces his foot down harder on the accelerator. He doesnât dare breathe, and doesnât think he could try even if he wanted to; the air is lodged in his throat, a bubble threatening to choke him. Though his ears ring, it is not enough to drown out the screeching of tires against pavement, nor does it muffle the sudden, sickening crunch of metal as the car tailing him veers off the road and slams into something hard. Half a heartbeat later, the other car meets the same fate.Â
The gunfire ceases for a moment and only the eerie echo of a horn lingers in the air, growing more distant with each inch he gains.
Sanemi counts the seconds. One, two âÂ
Three gunshots fire in rapid succession, now much more muted than that first initial barrage. Only when they fade does Sanemi chance pushing himself up, allowing himself to return to his normal position the driverâs seat, the carâs speedometer hovering somewhere near eighty. Somewhere in the distance, Sanemi hears the familiar wail of police sirens, no doubt already speeding for the chaotic scene that just unfurled behind him. Swearing, he eases his frantic hurtle down Market Street, falling in line behind a string of traffic flooding out of a nearby baseball stadium, its attendees blissfully unaware of the violence that nearly followed him into their midst.Â
Three shots; three bodies between the cars behind him, now splattered across the interiors. Those final bullets were more a formality than anything; Sanemi suspects most if not all the carâs inhabitants had been killed in the initial blitz, but being in the Corps means being thorough. There are no survivors among enemies.Â
His phone bleats its shrill ring and Sanemiâs hand shakes as he lifts it to his ear.Â
âClear.âÂ
Uzui hangs up and Sanemi finally exhales.Â
â
He coasts back to base on fumes, but manages to sneak into a garage fashioned out of a converted warehouse, one made to store stolen vehicles like the one now guttering under the steering of his sweaty palms.Â
The car screeches to a stop the moment he guides it into the safe shadows of the garage, the door quickly lowered behind him by a greasy-haired Corps member whose name Sanemi canât be fucked to remember. Fighting to quell the faint tremor lingering in his hands, Sanemi pitches himself out of the driverâs side of the car and throws the keys at the kid, kicking the door shut behind him.Â
Fuck, he hates when heâs rattled.
He swallows his anxiety, forces it back into whatever bottle it slipped free from as he crosses the alley toward the faintly glowing purple neon sign that marks his target location.Â
The Wisteria Tree is a deceptively whimsical name for the grungy den of iniquity that serves as Uzuiâs homebase. The club is one of three located in the Silo and one of many that are operated throughout the city, each location ranging from cheap strip joints to upscale nightclubs, making Uzui the biggest money-maker among the Hashira. Sanemi supposes that makes sense; as long as humans have lived, thereâs been a market for selling bodies.Â
At least Uzui takes care of his workers â pays them well, makes sure theyâve got the healthcare they need. He kept their bellies fed, and made sure Sanemi was on speed dial to take care of any customers who forgot that their dollars didnât entitle them to rough up the merchandise.Â
Whores, some might call those who danced atop the sticky, sleek bars inside Uzuiâs joints. Not Sanemi. Long ago, his mother had worked the streets of the Silo, trading her feeble body for spare change that she devoted to the baby boy her bastard husband had saddled her with. Sanemiâs birth had weakened her already fragile health; Genyaâs arrival a few years later was the nail in her coffin, their mother being found dead on a sidestreet not three months after heâd been born, half-dressed and a crumpled twenty-dollar note in her hand.
Perhaps if sheâd been employed by someone like Uzui, she wouldâve lived. But she wasnât, and she didnât, and Sanemi had long-since learned that if he let himself mourn every life stamped out by the Silo, heâd never stop. Surviving meant letting bygones be bygones, so Sanemi locked away his sadness for his mother in the space between his ribs, right alongside his love for Genya and you.Â
And no matter; Uzuiâs whores are all fiercely loyal to him and serve as the Corpsâ best source of information in the City. People have a tendency to forget to watch their tongues when they believe themselves to be surrounded by nothing more than stupid whores.Â
Time and time again, that was their mistake.Â
It is dark inside The Wisteria House. The only light comes from clusters of strobing lights with colors that pulse and change in time with the beat thundering over the speakers, so loud that Sanemi can scarcely hear himself think. Though the night is young, the way the darkness inside the club swallows up any and all trace of the world outside its doors is enough to convince him heâs fallen down a rabbit hole into a land of perpetual midnight. Then again, the club thrives on sensory deprivation, relying on its ability to trick customers into thinking itâs still the wee hours of the morning, when alcohol flows freely and dollars rain from the ceilings to be tucked into the waistbands of non-existent thongs and the linings of jewel-crusted bras.
When people lose track of time, they lose track of their own inhibitions; itâs a smart business tactic on Uzuiâs part. Already there are patrons lining the massive bar that sits in the center of the clubâs main floor.
Stuffed far in the back behind the bar is a small hallway, nearly hidden from sight. Sanemi shoves his way back, stopping only before the unassuming door leading to the club proprietorâs office to allow the guards standing by to pat him down.Â
Uzui prefers the company of women to men, and itâs that preference that has Sanemi on edge. While heâs certainly never been shy around handsy women, Sanemi feels wrong allowing them to touch him, though protocol demands it.Â
Their hands arenât yours.
The guards in question are two of Uzuiâs favorite girls â Suma and Makio, if memory serves him correct. But neither are gentle as they search for wires Sanemi wouldnât dream of being stupid enough to wear.Â
Rough hands dip into the pockets of his jacket, his pants, before sliding down his legs. âYou wanna check between my ass cheeks, too?â Sanemi snaps irritably. âOr under my balls?â
âIf youâre looking for someone to make you bend over, Shinazugawa, then youâve come to the wrong place. Uzui doesnât mix business and pleasure.â A gruff voice â Makioâs, he thinks â chuffs back.Â
He rolls his eyes. âPleasure is his business.â
Neither woman bothers with an answer.Â
âClean.â One confirms to the other. Sanemi does not allow himself to breathe until those hands withdraw from him.Â
Makio shoves open a door leading into Uzuiâs office and waves him through. âHinaâs inside. Donât linger.â
âNever do,â Sanemi grumbles, and he breezes past the two bodyguards without another word. The door swings shut behind him, muffling the thumping bass and grating dub music crackling through the clubâs surrounding speakers.
For all the flashy glitz and seedy glamor of The Wisteria House, Uzuiâs office is surprisingly subdued. Like the rest of the club, the small room is dark, but absent are the neon lights pulsating in time with overloud music. Instead, the office is lit by a handful of dimmed lamps and the few computer screens idly displaying the clubâs logo.
A large desk stands at the back wall, flanked by one considerably smaller â more a repurposed table than anything. And behind the empty, high-backed leather computer chair neatly pushed in stands a large safe. Its door is an austere slate gray steel, one that gleams even in the muted overhead lights and takes up almost the entire back wall. The stout, wheel-turn lock looks untouched, and itâs just as much a silent brag that no one is stupid enough to fuck with it when they shouldnât as it is a subtle dare that they try.
But Sanemi knows better.
Itâs a decoy; no matter how much Uzui liked to make a spectacle of himself, he isnât stupid enough to keep cash in such an obvious place. At least, not the type of cash that matters; not the kind Sanemi risked his neck to bring here.Â
Another notable thing about this hole notched in the back of the clubâs sticky walls? How neat everything is. Unlike the rest of The Wisteria House, the floor here isnât tacky from spilled alcohol and god knows what else. The surfaces of every desk, of every cabinet is free from dust and smudged fingerprints, everything properly in its place and out of sight.Â
Itâs a rather stark contrast to the debauched chaos that plagues the rest of the club. If Sanemi were a betting man, heâd wager a fair amount of cash that the officeâs tidiness had less to do with the clubâs loudmouth owner, and more to do with the the pair of luminous violet eyes tracking his footsteps across the neatly swept floor.Â
âIâm glad to see you made it back in one piece, Shinazugawa.âÂ
Sanemi snorts, but gives the woman seated behind the smaller side desk a tight nod. While Uzui may have expressed that sentiment with a hint of the dry sarcasm that he never dropped, Hinatsuru â the third of the silver-haired Hashiraâs favored girls â was never anything short of genuine.Â
If he were honest, the pretty, dark-haired woman reminded him a great deal of his mother. Her face was kind in the same way Shizuâs had been, unhardened by the hollowness of her cheeks or the shadows beneath her eyes. And, just like his mother, she always found the time to spare him a soft smile, one that seemed far too out of place in the dump theyâd had the misfortune of being born into.
But where Sanemi would have normally been a bit more subdued around her, the afternoonâs events had left him far too unsettled, and he cannot remember how to blunt his bite.
He only hopes she understands.Â
Crossing the space between the entryway and Uzuiâs great, paper-covered desk, Sanemi pulls the envelope free from the inside of his jacket and dumps its contents over the deskâs surface. âHereâs his fuckinâ money.âÂ
The stacks thump pathetically against the stained wood, and Sanemi feels no compunctions about selecting the one nearest the top and shoving it into his pocket. He doesnât bother counting out the amount; he knows how Uzui demands to have his cash delivered. Bundles of twenties, a hundred bills per strap.Â
Sanemiâs brush with the enemy will cost his fellow Hashira two grand.Â
âTell him I took my cut. If heâs got an issue with it, then he can go get shot at next time. Iâm outta here.â
If Hinatsuru disapproves, she says nothing. âYouâre not going to lie low?â
âFuck that.â Sanemi is already halfway out the door, his beaten leather jacket slung over his shoulder. âIâm goinâ to Kasugai. If you need anything, make it someone elseâs problem.âÂ
Heâs out the door before she can say goodbye.Â
â
Kasugai is the nearest dive bar firmly nestled within the Corpsâ territory.Â
While he certainly has his vices (an entire contact list of them, at that), alcohol has never been one of them. But right now, the promise of a stiff drink is calling his name, and since he hasnât been able to indulge in any of his past dalliances in the months since you became the only thing on his mind and heart, Sanemi is desperate for a distraction.Â
By no means is it a respectable joint, but Kasugai is full of Silo rats like him, which means itâs the closest thing to a safe house that he has, apart from base. Not that anywhere in this City is safe for someone like him, but Sanemi takes his silver linings when and where he can.
He coasts his bike to the alley behind the dive and kills the engine. The faint scent of oil and grease lingers in the air, signaling it needs to be serviced soon.Â
Great. Heâll be sure to pencil that in between smashing femurs and pathetically pining after you.Â
The back door opens filling the air with a sudden rush of stale beer and the loud, slurred voices of the barâs patrons. His irritation flares at the thought of having to shoulder through a throng of sweat-stained bodies sardined inside, and Sanemi decides he needs to take some of his edge off before he reaches the sticky bar top inside. Heâs in no particular mood to smash in anyoneâs teeth.Â
Good thing heâd stopped to pick up a new pack of cigarettes on his way over; a few, quick puffs is sure to calm his agitation enough to allow him to avoid picking any unnecessary fights. Though he'd brazenly insisted to Hinatsuru that he didnât care to lie low following the brush heâd had with the Kizuki, he knows better than to make a public spectacle of himself. If word got around that Sanemi Shinazugawa, the most brutal of the Corpsâ Hashira, was getting drunk at shitty bars and starting brawls with the first scrappy asshole that made the mistake of looking at him the wrong way, more of those Demons would come sniffing, eager to make a name for themselves by taking him out.Â
And Sanemi has no intentions of turning his recklessness with you into a greater pattern. He still has some interest in living, after all.Â
He thumps the sealed carton of cigarettes against his palm, loosening the tobacco before flicking the lid open and thumbing one free. Stuffing the pack back into his jacket, Sanemi rummages through his pockets for his lighter. Once lit, he brings his cigarette to his lips and takes a long, indulgent drag. He holds in his breath for a moment, loosing it only when his lungs burn, the smoke curling delicately around his head.
The rush of nicotine eases some of the jitter in his limbs, quiets his racing thoughts. He needed this; if he canât get his fix of you, then the cancerous little stick wedged between his lips is the next best thing. Puffing lightly on his cigarette, Sanemi pulls his phone free and flicks through his notifications. An update on a new shipment of fine jewelry from Iguro. A report from Genyaâs school â his midterm grades. Gambling tickets that need collecting for Rengoku.
Not a single notification is from you. Just like the yesterday; just like the day before that.
Annoyed, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Sanemi takes another harsh drag before flicking some of his ash to the ground. His irritable mood isnât your fault, he knows; it has everything to do with his inability to make a fucking decision about if or how he moves forward with you.Â
I love you, Sanemi.
Youâve laid all your cards out on the table already; itâs his own damn fault he hasnât figured out how to show his hand. So no, he canât be surprised you havenât reached out, considering he hasnât been able to say a damn thing at all.Â
Since youâre already on his mind, he figures he might as well indulge himself and think about you some more; what you might be doing right then, on the other side of town. Itâs Thursday, so youâve already dealt with your weekly shipping orders, no doubt each box already inventoried, its contents swiftly organized and shelved. He wonders whether that new release heâs been waiting on has come in; the next installment in a series youâd turned him on to, one heâd stayed up for nearly a week straight devouring in the few precious moments of free time heâd squirreled away.
Do you feel his absence as keenly as he feels yours? Since that night, there have been no movie nights, no cheap, greasy takeout dinners that he usually insisted on paying for in light of your pitiful earnings and inability to cook for yourself. He wonders whether youâve settled back into your pre-him routine of relying on cereal for sustenance, and his mood sours even further when he realizes you probably have. After all, youâve never shown a particular interest in your own well-being, as evidenced by your inexplicable attraction to him.Â
Fuck, he shouldnât be here. Heâs not in any mood for watered down liquor, and he knows better than to try and drown his feelings into a glass. If he drinks, heâs liable to act like an idiot, calling you or showing up at your place without first taking all the precautions he normally does before opening you up to the risk of his presence.Â
No, drinking is the last thing he needs to be doing right now, no matter how it might dull some of his edge. And unfortunately for him, the only thing he truly wants is exactly what he canât have.
He takes one last, heavy drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. No sex and no booze; he really needs to come up with better vices.Â
A quick glance at his phone confirms itâs late and he should probably fuck off home before he lets temptation entice him any further. He eyes the date on his home screen and thinks about the inquiry he put in with that firm in that obsolete, faraway city.Â
Heâll need to pay it a visit soon; heâs got more shit to give them and, with any luck, a new account to open. But itâs been a few days since heâd received the confirmation that his query was under review, and the lack of response has him even more on edge.Â
If his ruse is discovered, after all, itâs not just him whoâs fucked.
Sanemi leans against the solid body of his bike and retrieves his helmet. Heâll give them another couple of days to respond. In the meanwhile, he needs to come up with Plan B, C, Plan whatever-the-fuck to ensure that all his soul-shredding work doesnât go to waste once a bullet gets shoved through his brain. And perhaps sometime in between all his violence and plotting, heâll grow a pair and figure out what the hell heâs going to do about you.
â
Crunch.
âP-please! Iâll p-pay, I s-swear ââÂ
âYeah, yeah,â Sanemi dismisses. The skin on his knuckles split a while ago, but heâs long since stopped being able to feel the sting. âHeard it all before.â
Crimson spills down the manâs face, drips down his front from his nose, flattened on its side. His plea is garbled by the blood filling his mouth, quieting into a single, wet rasp as Sanemi socks his fist hard into his soft gut.Â
When it came time to collect on the Corpsâ debts, Sanemi finds he no longer needs to think about the how. How he breaks bones; how exacts the vengeance of his fellow Hashira when their ventures were taken for granted. Even the crow bar or steel pipe that inevitably ended up in his hand felt like a mere extension of his body, every swing, every crush of metal into flesh, pure instinct. Slipping back into this cool detachment is easy; it is a transition ingrained into his bones, the product of having spent years contorting himself into the perfect toy soldier.Â
The man is still doubled over, choking and sputtering to catch his breath, when Sanemi throws him back against the wall.
Blood bubbles in the corner of his busted mouth. âP-please â tell Mr. Tomioka it was a b-bad bet, b-but the next one ââÂ
âMr. Tomioka said you could take that bad bet and shove it up your ass.â Not exactly how the dull waste of brain matter had put it, but close enough. âWhereâs his money?â
The customer babbles some pitiful excuse Sanemi canât be bothered to piece together. He takes note only of the number of stuttered syllables, none of which point to any drawer or lockbox, and all of which stack up to reveal the admission heâs so desperate not to make.
He doesnât have the cash to fork over.Â
His hands are tied, then. Sanemi has to do what only he can.Â
Fingers tight around the manâs collar, Sanemi spins them away from the wall. The entire room shudders when he slams Tomiokaâs bloodied patron down on his own desk, the wood creaking and groaning beneath the manâs mashed cheek.Â
Before he can finish moaning his pained grunt, Sanemi takes his right arm and twists it sharply behind his sweaty back.Â
âFifty grand to The Striking Tide. One week.â He gets the manâs arm into position. âLast warning.âHis target tenses beneath him, whimpering under the mounting pressure in his arm. âOr else the next time you see me, itâll be at the Wisteria overpass.âÂ
The answering gulp of fear is confirmation that he understands Sanemiâs threat. All those dumb enough to dip their toes in the Corpsâ Acheron learn rather quickly that the Wisteria overpass is where bodies go to disappear. Perhaps the taunt is overkill; after all, fifty grand isnât worth the bullet. But itâs effective, judging by the trickle of urine that puddles on floor by the manâs feet.Â
If he thinks thatâs the extent of his warning, however, heâs sorely mistaken. Sanemi doesnât deal in empty threats.Â
Sanemiâs grip tightens. The arm joint pops and the man begins to beg. He knows what comes next; what Sanemi means to do, as he wraps his hand around the manâs wrist.
Blood spatters across the desk as he coughs his last plea. âN-no â!â
But thereâs nowhere to run; nothing the man can do but scream as Sanemi gives a single, harsh jerk, snapping the bone.Â
Message received; job done.Â
So, Sanemi takes and he takes, and with every job completed, he reminds himself that this is what he truly is. A monster. A fiend. Not someone who might build a better life elsewhere, who could live normally â peacefully.
Not someone who deserves to have you.Â
As usual, the numbness doesnât set in until after heâs finished, while Sanemi scrubs blood from hands he knows will never fully be clean. It starts as a pit deep within his stomach, but it quickly blooms into a terrifying knot of twisted brambles that takes root in his veins. Before long, Sanemi is immune to the sting of cold water on his skin as he washes and washes, unable to hear the curses being spat in his direction by his bleeding, broken target with a hatred he canât feel.Â
âFifty grand.â Sanemi repeats as he departs. His final warning sounds faraway, a disembodied voice that does not feel entirely his own. âOne week.â
That unfeeling continues seeping into his bones until heâs heavy with it. By the time his bike roars through the rusted shipyard buttressing the Silo, Sanemi canât even feel the wind whipping at his face.
The numbness follows him inside the shitty box he hardly calls home and Sanemi knows he needs a fix, and fast. A monster with a conscience is one thing; one without is a nightmare heâd prefer to avoid.
Your face flashes through his mind and some of his paralysis eases, but Sanemi pushes you away. Not now; not while heâs like this.
Though the practice of slumping on his couch and reaching for his phone feels familiar, Sanemi does not dabble in old habits. That particular cure for the gaping, gnawing paralysis thatâs taken him over is one Sanemi hasnât had the stomach for even before youâd so sweetly offered yourself to him. Now that heâs had you, he is doomed never to go back, and right now, youâre not an option.
And so, Sanemi scrolls through the contacts on his phone, his eyes glazing over at the series of entries marked by random emojis denoting his past distractions. He almost gives up, but then his half-hearted perusal turns up one name that sticks out over all the others.Â
Sanemiâs thumb is tapping the phone icon before he can question whether he should. Itâs been too long, anyway. More than three weeks, for that matter, so heâs due to make a call.Â
Besides, it would do him some good to hear the little bastardâs voice. Especially right now, when his head and heart are so delightfully fucked.
He waits only two rings when the other line answers.Â
âAniki?â
âWhat are you doing?â Sanemi glances at the tiny clock on his microwave. âYou just get outta class?âÂ
Itâs a question Sanemi already knows the answer to given that he has every detail of his little brotherâs schedule committed firmly to memory, but itâs an easier opener than hey, I miss you, you little shit.Â
âYeah,â Genya confirms and thereâs a rustling on his end, like a bag being shifted between shoulders. âIâm on my way back to the dorms now, and then â uh, practice.âÂ
Sanemi snorts into the speaker. âYou donât have practice on Wednesdays. Try again.âÂ
While Sanemi knows he wields far more responsibility for Genya than most siblings would claim, he tries to toe the line between responsible older brother and overbearing parent as much as his paranoia will allow. So while he may know the first and last name of every person his brother associates with, their backgrounds, his teacherâs backgrounds, and every detail of his brotherâs time at school, outwardly, Sanemi makes an effort to appear like heâs not butting too much into Genyaâs life.Â
But he wonât tolerate lying; especially not when it comes to Genyaâs activities. His safety.Â
His brother makes a disgruntled sound. âWell â Iâm â weâre going to Tanjiroâs. For dinner. A few of us.âÂ
Sanemi rolls his eyes. âJust because I donât like him doesnât mean I give a shit if you hang out with âim. As long as he ainât gettinâ your ass in trouble.âÂ
Not that Sanemi would be too concerned about Genyaâs ability to handle himself â after all, his brother was raised in the Silo, just like him.Â
In his youth, Genya had been as hot-tempered as his older brother; prone to thinking his grievances had to be aired out through his fists. As Sanemi grew older, he realized how much Genya resembled his father when he had his fist cocked back, towering over some kid whoâd run their mouth for too long. And while Genya hated the old man as much as he did, Sanemi couldnât help but wonder if his brotherâs resemblance to Kyogo had come from Sanemi himself.
At the rate his anger had been progressing, Genya was on the path to a one-way collision with the Corps, just as Sanemi had been. The difference, however, was that as much as Genya resembled their father when enraged, heâd always known his little brother had their motherâs heart; her gentleness. He never would have made it far in the Corps, and Sanemi would be damned if heâd had to bury his brother, too.Â
No matter how Genya idolized his elder brother, Sanemi would not allow him to follow in his footsteps.Â
It wasnât long after that he started swiping brochures for different boarding schools from the city library. The moment their old man turned cold, Sanemi shipped his younger brother away.Â
Genyaâs reproachfulness pulls Sanemi back out of his head. âHe really is a good guy ââÂ
âI told you, I donât give a shit if you hang out with him as long as your grades stay up and youâre keepinâ your nose clean.â Sanemi crosses his kitchen and yanks open his fridge, eyes narrowed as he scans the half-bare shelf for something to distract him. âI just think heâs annoying.âÂ
He settles on a beer and closes the door. Phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder, he twists the cap off and takes a hearty swig. âI wanna come up this weekend. See ya for a bit.â And to sweeten the pot, Sanemi adds, âDinner on me. Anywhere you want.âÂ
Thereâs a pause on the other end of the line. âI â sure!âÂ
Though his brother cannot see him, Sanemi frowns. âWhat, I canât come see you all of a sudden? Too cool for me?âÂ
âNo!â Genyaâs voice cracks slightly and for a moment, he sounds every bit the dumpling-faced, starry-eyed boy of Sanemiâs memory rather than the nearly grown sixteen-year-old he knows him to be. âI always wanna see you â but â I mean, is everythingâŚgood? With you?âÂ
Sanemi canât help his rueful smile as he sets his beer on the counter. His brother knows him too well. âYeah. I got some things I gotta talk to you about.âÂ
âOkay,â Genya sounds skeptical. âYou sure youâre good?â
Your face flashes through his mind. âYeah. Itâs just nothinâ I wanna discuss over the phone.âÂ
Itâs not a lie; Sanemi has wanted to see his brother for a while, but thereâs an ulterior motive to his spur-of-the-moment decision to make the three and a half hour journey to Genyaâs school. One that has little to do with his brother and everything to do with you.Â
âOkay,â Genya repeats again, though he still sounds uncertain. âSanemi ââÂ
âIâll meet you at the campus entrance at five. Donât be late, alright? Iâm gonna be hungry.â Sanemi cuts his brother off. Heâs not chancing bringing you up over the phone; not when enemies might be lurking in corners he hasnât yet checked. Not after heâs spent most of his life living with one eye always open.Â
Itâs his brotherâs turn to sigh through the phone, Genya knowing better than to try and argue. âOkay. Iâll see you then. I gotta get back ââ
âYeah, yeah, to the Kamado shithead. I know.â Sanemi snatches his beer up and takes another swig. âIâll see ya Friday. Keep your nose clean.â
His brother grumbles his goodbye and Sanemi hangs up, more at ease now. Talking to Genya was the right call; his younger brother had a special talent for brightening his day, whether or not the little dumbass knew it.Â
Now that heâs confirmed to be visiting Genya in a few daysâ time, Sanemi knows he needs to plan for a stop along the way. It would be real fucking nice if the notice heâs been waiting on would come through. In fairness, itâs been a few days since heâd last checked for it, so Sanemi leans against his counter and unlocks his phone. He scrolls through the rest of his notifications and once heâs sufficiently depressed over the lack of any from you, he tabs over to a hidden folder.
To the untrained eye, the private folder is unassuming; a collection of apps marked âMisc.,â hidden behind a single passcode. And even those who might be nosy, who might be too curious as to the type of shit Sanemi Shinazugawa stored on his phone would be sorely disappointed. In fact, they might write him off as no better than any other young, single man upon discovering a folder full of apps labeled as popular porn sites, their icons tiny thumbnails of their logos.Â
Anyone who sought access to his phone would look for contacts, financials, some details about his involvement with the Corps or its overall operations. They would search his texts, his contacts, his photos, even. That was expected; anticipated.Â
But Sanemi canât imagine anyone â cop or Kizuki alike â who would give two shits about his porn habits.Â
He taps the icon marked âBustyBeautiesâ and waits for the app to direct him to the first password screen, and then to a second. Only after heâs entered both passwords (separate, of course) does his secret email account finally open, its inbox barren save five entries.Â
Right there, at the top, is the message heâs been waiting for. Eagerly, Sanemi opens and reads the letter, mentally tallying every instruction, committing each detail to memory.Â
His impending visit to Genya really couldnât be at a better time. Heâd strategically chosen this firm because it is exactly halfway between here and the school.Â
A quick confirmation back to his agent later, and Sanemi has his scheduled appointment time slotted just over two hours before heâs due to meet Genya for dinner. He then opens his contacts and finds the number saved under a single flame emoji, and brings his phone to his ear, waiting.Â
The line picks up on the third ring.
âRengoku?â Sanemi tips his head back and swallows the last contents of his beer in a smooth gulp. âRemember that job I did for ya a few weeks back? Got a favor. I need a car.â He pauses before adding, âAnd a suit.â
â-â
Life as a Hashira with the Corps entails few luxuries, but the one Sanemi appreciates most is the discretion.Â
When he was a lower-ranked initiate, Sanemi couldnât so much as shit without someone knowing about it. Time was money, and every moment not spent chasing paper for the Corps was money wasted. At best, that meant a dock in pay; at worst, youâd be treated no better than any other run-of-the-mill debtor.Â
As a Hashira, however, heâs allowed a fair degree of wiggle room on his leash to do as he pleases, so long as a job doesnât crop up. And even then, all it takes is a smooth lie or two to buy him some extra time, and thatâs exactly what he gives Rengoku when he stops by his main hub that Friday morning to pick up his goods.Â
âRecon,â Sanemi says simply, catching the keys to one of Rengokuâs many vehicles that he tosses his way. âGotta blend in, yâknow?âÂ
âApologies for not being able to reserve something nicer,â his flame-haired comrade nods at the keys Sanemi twirls around a finger. âIâm afraid my luxury fleet is occupied at the moment.â Rengoku offers him a megawatt smile that reminds Sanemi of the flashy, bright billboards that dotted Center City â a product of top tier orthodontia, no doubt bankrolled by his familyâs long-standing ties with the Corps. âThough I doubt anyone will notice while youâre wearing that suit.â
Sanemi waves him off. âDonât sweat it. As long as I keep stickinâ my nose up, Iâm sure Iâll fit right in with those rich fucks.â
Rengoku laughs heartily in response and Sanemi smirks. Though their backgrounds couldnât be more different, Rengoku has always had a good sense of humor about the nature of the elite heâd been born into. Itâs a good thing, too; after all, Rengokuâs silver spoon hadnât prevented him from being sold off to the Corps, the same way Sanemi was.Â
He follows Rengoku down to a secured garage, one insulated by three, pass-code locked doors, and guarded by a handful of junior Corps members.Â
Despite his fellow Hashiraâs apologies, the car reserved for him is a luxury model, even if Rengoku didnât seem to think so. Then again, Sanemi supposes he and the burly blonde have very different definitions as to what constitutes high value transportation.
Whatever. It certainly isnât the tin wad of junk heâd been forced to drive while getting shot at for Uzui, and that alone means luxury, at least to him.Â
Sanemi hangs the suit bag from Rengoku in the back seat. He leaves his fellow Hashira behind with a firm handshake before lowering himself into the driverâs side and closing the door. Â
Owlish, ochre eyes track him as Sanemi pushes the start button (of course itâs a push-start), the engine purring quietly to life. Mirrors adjusted and the A/C cranked low, Sanemi glides out of Rengokuâs garage as silent as a shadow, setting off down the road leading out of Center City and to the freeway.Â
The carâs interior is all rich leather and gleaming accents, the dash controlled by a sleek touchscreen that Sanemi doesnât dare sully with his fingerprints. The car is undoubtedly a brand new model; one any average Joe would jump at the chance to drive, and yet, Sanemi remains unimpressed.Â
He still prefers his bike.
He stops at a gas station once heâs about sixty miles out from the city, eyes carefully scanning the parking lot as he totes the garment back inside. This particular rest stop has only single bathrooms, a preference of his when he travels. Better to have a door that locks out the rest of the world than to have to risk sidling up to some unknown enemy at the urinal.
The suit borrowed from Rengoku fits him like a glove, a serious but trendy shade of dark blue. The crisp white button down he wears beneath has been starched to perfection, and the glossy brown leather shoes he wears likely cost more than his monthly rent.Â
Sanemi Shinazugawaâs childhood had been anything but typical. But if heâd been normal, he imagined this is what it wouldâve felt like to play dress-up. Though everything has been perfectly tailored to him, he feels like a clown.
No matter; he has a part to play and the success of his performance heavily depends on his appearance. So, Sanemi swallows his pride in that gas station bathroom, dressing quickly in his costume. He leaves the top two buttons of his shirt undone, but makes sure the collar is precise and properly frames the lapel of his jacket.Â
His choice of forsaking the gold tie clipped inside the garment bag is intentional; while his normal appearance would certainly raise red flags among the upper echelon of the society heâs about to pretend heâs a part of, so too would him being overly polished. Thus, this small act of intentional dishevelment only serves to further his own ruse, helps him assimilate into a world he has never once been a part of.
Besides, Sanemi doesnât do ties. He canât stand the tightness at his throat, choking off his air; the way it feels like heâs being strangled by blended silk.Â
Dressed, Sanemi considers his reflection in the bathroomâs age and mildew-spotted mirror. Itâs a miracle, the difference a tailored suit can make; he scarcely recognizes the face grimacing back at him.Â
The sink tap squeaks as Sanemi runs the water, dampening his hand and smoothing it back through his hair. There. Now he looks passably proper, no hint of the brutish thug he knows he is in sight, save for the silvery scars that cover half his face. Jack shit he can do about those though, so Sanemi stuffs his discarded clothes back into the garment bag and shoves out of the bathroom, the tap on the sink still running behind him.
â
Another half hour passes before Sanemi takes the exit leading to a small town, about ten miles off the freeway.Â
Itâs almost jarring how quickly the world around him shifts from an endless stretch of asphalt to finely crafted brick and limestone. This town is a far cry from the gilded glamor of the City. Itâs respectable; clean, without so much as a hint of an overfilled trash can in sight. Once he steps outside, he knows he will be greeted by the faint, lingering scent of summer magnolia blossoms, rather than the familiar, urine-soaked sulfur which encases the Silo.Â
The median household income of this town is triple than that of even the Cityâs dwindling middle class. But the wealth of its residents is precisely what makes this town so unassuming. No one would suspect a gang rat like him would ever set foot in a place like this, let alone know how to blend in, and that is exactly why he chose this place to begin with.Â
Sanemi cruises down a familiar cobbled street, passing stately brick townhomes that look more like mini mansions than the law offices and specialty practices he knows them to be. Then again, the people who live here wouldnât deign to live in something as small as a townhouse, what with their sprawling estates on the other side of town, locked behind the safety of tall iron gates. Â
It isnât long before Sanemi slows to a stop right outside yet another colonial mansion. Car parked and engine turned off, Sanemi steps out and fastens his suit jacket with an off-handed ease, as though the motion is second-nature. As though he is used to traversing through wealthy streets in a custom suit.Â
Gloved security men open the buildingâs double doors to him the moment his foot hits the first stair.
The inside of the bank is all rich wood and high ceilings. The wide floor is flanked by rows of tidy desks, each topped with antique bankerâs lamps. Glass-walled offices line the perimeter, reserved for only the highest-value clients who wish to deal privately with their assets and away from any overly-curious ears. Itâs toward these offices that Sanemi strides, his face schooled carefully into a mask of neutrality even as his pulse quickens.Â
âMr. Masachika,â a receptionist outside the furthest glass office nods to him, rising from her desk to greet him. âPunctual as always.âÂ
Sanemi returns her welcome with a closed-lip smile that makes her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. The guilt heâd once felt over using the surname of a long-dead friend had run out years before, when heâd been young and desperate to get his brother the fuck out of the Silo.
Besides, he didnât think Masachika would mind, if he knew his reasoning.Â
Behind the glass wall, Sanemi spies the familiar face of his accountant. Her secretary pokes her head inside the door and murmurs his name, and the accountantâs eyes rise over the top of her computer. The receptionist is dismissed with a curt nod, and she steps aside.Â
Thatâs his cue; Sanemi mutters a small thank you and the door behind him is pulled shut. He returns the accountantâs firm handshake and settles into the small, leather chair that sits opposite of hers, and waits.Â
The entire office is encased in glass, offering both the accountant and every visitor a perfect, three-sixty view of the entire bank. From a practical standpoint, Sanemi can understand its use; this bank handles considerable assets, so itâs no wonder that even the accountants want to be able to monitor every movement, every face, which passes through its doors.Â
Still, though, something about it sets him on edge; makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A lifetime spent operating in the shadows means Sanemi hates feeling too exposed, and this fishbowl of an office is about as comforting as a helicopter searchlight.Â
The accountantâs clipped voice snaps him out of his mounting paranoia. âIt is good to see you again, Mr. Masachika. I see youâre here for an asset transfer, and perhaps to discuss a new account?âÂ
âIndeed I am,â the formality with which he speaks feels foreign, and yet, the words roll easily off his tongue. âThe Principalâs estate has generated some new revenue, and it is his desire to add another family member as a beneficiary.âÂ
âI see.â The accountantâs fingers move quickly over her keyboard. âBefore we begin, I will need to verify your identity and your legal authority.â Her eyes flash to his and she offers him an apologetic smile. âItâs an annoying formality, I know, given how familiar we are with you. But our system wonât allow me to proceed until I re-enter the information.âÂ
âOf course.â He presents her with the documents heâd had forged assigning him power of attorney over one Sanemi Shinazugawa (âthe poor bastard was in a nasty car wreck. Practically a vegetable,â heâd told the accountant more than two years ago), and he waits.Â
His palms are sweaty where his hands rest in his lap, but Sanemi resists the urge to fidget. His nerves are nothing new; he always feels anxious here, when heâs wearing the mask of another, more so than he would back home. At least his Hashira mask is not all that different from the core of what he is; here, the identity he assumes is his exact opposite, and the microscope he operates under feels more intense.Â
The accountant enters the information with a punctual tap of her finger on her computer key, and turns her attention back to him. âNow that weâve got that out of the way, how may we be of assistance?âÂ
âFifty thousand split between the two trusts for Genya Shinazugawa,â Sanemi says smoothly, reaching into the suit jacket pocket to produce an envelope full of a thick stack of cash and a folded piece of paper. âAnd another fifty into a new account, to be opened under this name.â
The accountant unfolds the sheet and skims the information, her lips pursed.Â
A bead of sweat slides down Sanemiâs spine, the skin over his knuckles nearly turn white where his hand clenches in his lap, hidden from sight.
âVery well, Mr. Masachika,â the accountant nods before she begins promptly typing the information into her computer. âAnd we thank Mr. Shinazugawa for his continued business. Ms. Y/L/Nâs trust will be active within the next forty-eight hours.âÂ
Beneath the ledge of her tidy little desk, the hand fisted on his thigh relaxes and Sanemi conceals his quiet sigh of relief by feigning a sneeze.
A contingency; Sanemi always has a contingency.Â
â
Itâs a quarter til five when Sanemi rolls to a stop outside the pristine entrance of his brotherâs school. Classes have just let out, and already he can see the flood of boys rushing the courtyard and the quad, laughing away the stress of the day.
Car parked, Sanemi stretches and waits.
He finds Genya easily; the boy sticks out above the others mulling about the campus in the late-afternoon sun by his height and brawn alone, but his mohawk is what really sets him apart. For as long as he could remember, his brother had always worn his hair like that â a mop thick, dark hair carefully arranged, the sides of his head always sheared close to his skin. The schoolâs dress code had initially prohibited it, and ten-year-old Genya had thrown himself a right little temper tantrum when he was ordered to shave it.Â
A well-placed bribe by Sanemi enabled the admin to overlook it. He hadnât been able to eat more than a can of beans for an entire month after, but it was worth keeping his brother happy.Â
Genya loiters under one of the campus streetlamps, his arms folded over his chest, his face set into what he must imagine is a menacing scowl.Â
Sanemi snorts to himself. What a little showoff.Â
He types a quick text to his brother and watches as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, his head shooting up. All of that feigned coolness melts away the moment Genya spots him standing at the bricked archway marking the schoolâs campus. In an instant, Sanemiâs little brother is bounding toward him with a lopsided grin, half-stumbling over his feet in excitement.Â
With his uniform rumpled, a casual carelessness only a teenager could spare, Genya looks every bit the boy Sanemi himself never got to be.
It is not self pity that sinks into his gut at the thought; itâs relief. Because that means Sanemi has at least done something right in his life.Â
âAniki!âÂ
âHey, brat.â Sanemi returns his brotherâs wide, toothy grin with a half-smirk of his own. âHowâve ya been?âÂ
Genya skids to a halt in front of him, his arms half raised as though he means to hug his brother, before they drop back to his sides. When he was a boy, Genya was prone to throwing his arms around Sanemiâs neck whenever his brother returned home with a small bag of candy, or a cheap little toy car heâd managed to swipe from the corner store, pealing with laughter and gratitude that always left Sanemi feeling slightly embarrassed, even as heâd pat his brotherâs back.
That impulse, it appears, still lingers, but Genya tampers it down, perhaps too aware of the number of curious eyes that watch the two of them. Sanemi resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, his brother has an image he wants to maintain. Probably the same tough-guy bullshit he liked to front in his youth, when he pretended like he didnât beg his big brother to tote him around on his back.
ââM fine,â Genya rocks back and forth on his heels. âYou?â His eyes are wide as they count the new scars peppering the skin of his exposed forearms, some snaking their way up to his elbow before disappearing under the rolled cuff of his sleeves.Â
âDonât worry about it.â Sanemi cuts off his brotherâs question before the boy can find the nerve to ask it. âSide effect of the gig. You know that.â He tugs at the shirtâs starchy collar in discomfort. âWhereâd ya wanna eat?âÂ
âThereâs a good breakfast buffet a few blocks away. All you can eat.â Genya rubs the back of his neck, shy. âGood for the dollar too.âÂ
Sanemi scoffs. âWeâll stop there on the way back. Iâm takinâ you to get something decent first.â Sanemi throws an arm around his shoulders and tries not to scowl at the fact he has to stretch up somewhat, his brother now standing a good inch taller than he. âThey feedinâ you here? You feel scrawny.âÂ
Not entirely true, but Sanemi feels rather bruised that his brother has surpassed him in height. Now, the only thing he has over him is his own brawn, though from his cursory squeeze of Genyaâs shoulder, he finds that his brother runs the risk of catching up to him in that department as well.Â
It takes no time for them to fall into their respective roles: Genya, immediately launching into a rambling play-by-play of every single thing heâs done since theyâd talked a few days later, so animated he hardly remembers to take a breath. And Sanemi easily assumes his role as the listener, occasionally scoffing or rolling his eyes as his brother recounts his antics.Â
As they walk, Sanemi supposes that from afar, they look more like friends than a pair of brothers. But despite having the advantage of height, Genyaâs youth is betrayed by the way he curls in on himself as he walks, his shoulders slumped and his head half-pulled in like that of a turtle.Â
Normally, heâd admonish his brotherâs poor posture, but he lets it slide. Because, despite the mildly disinterested set of his mouth, Sanemi is far too happy to see his brotherâs unscarred, smiling face.
â
Despite a rather extravagant meal at one of the best steakhouses in the area, Sanemi knows his brother is still hungry, and that is how they end up at Genyaâs suggested diner not twenty minutes after Sanemi had paid their first bill.Â
âSeriously, the hell am I payinâ them an arm and a leg for?â Sanemi scowls as Genya lopes back to their table booth, the plate in his hands piled high with pancakes, eggs, and bacon, enough to give anyone the distinct impression his brother had not eaten a decent meal in weeks. âThought their big bragginâ point was the gourmet dining hall they have. Buffet style and shit.âÂ
âYeah, but they cut you off after fourths.â Genyaâs eyes gleam, his fork hovering over his bounty as he decides what to start on first. âItâs okay though. Zenitsu and I sneak food back to the dorms all the time.â
He settles on his pancakes right as a waitress brings over their drinks â a soda for him and a hot tea for Sanemi.Â
Genya points at the empty stretch of table before his brother with his knife. âNot hungry?â Â
He lifts his mug by its steaming rim and blows on the liquid. âNot like you.â
Genya shrugs and tears into his pancakes with the same vigor as a hyena does its prey, forgoing his knife in favor of ripping off large chunks of the sweet with his teeth.
Sanemi waits until his brother has chewed his first mouthful before he speaks.Â
âI saw your midterm grades. Good work.âÂ
Genyaâs head shoots up from where he inhales his food, his eyes wide. Just as quickly he straightens and drops his gaze again, his cheeks, red. Â
âThanks, Aniki.â He murmurs after a thick swallow, bashful. âI know my math grade wasnât the best ââ
âItâs an improvement from last term. Thatâs all I care about.â Sanemi takes a measured sip of his tea and scowls. Too weak. Heâs been spoiled; you always know how to make it the way he likes.Â
But thereâs nothing else he can distract himself with in the periods of silence in which his brother shovels his food into his mouth, so Sanemi forces himself to drink it. The liquid is still piping hot, enough so that it burns his tongue, but he pays it no mind. His scorched taste buds just make it easier to choke it down.
âYou hanginâ with anyone else? Or just Kamado and the other shits?â He asks after a moment, his eyes sharp over the lip of his mug. Anyone new? Anyone I havenât properly vetted?
âStill âem,â his brother answers through another garbled mouthful of pancake. âMuichiro ân Zenitsu, too.â
âWhat about the other one?â And when Genya raises a confused eyebrow, he clarifies. âThe one with rabies.â
His brother snorts and swallows half a piece of bacon. âInosuke?â
âYeah. That thing.â
âHe doesnât have rabies â he wore a taxidermied boar head one time ââ
âYeah, and you dumbasses ended up in the Deanâs office because heâd stolen it.â Sanemi narrows his eyes, annoyance flaring at the memory of the phone call heâd received right in the middle of breaking Maedaâs left leg. Heâd had to shove the toe of his boot into the ratâs mouth to keep him quiet while heâd borne the brunt of the Deanâs condescending lecture about why it was unacceptable for students to break into the science and tech building mess with the schoolâs natural history displays.Â
As though heâd been the one to break curfew and at least half a dozen other school rules, and not his shithead brother.Â
Genya only shrugs and returns his focus to his food. He hunches over his plate, leveling his mouth with its edge as he shovels in the rest of his pancakes.
Sanemi watches in muted distaste as his brother shifts to attack his eggs with the same ferocity, only remembering to come up for air to take a long gulp of his drink.Â
âThereâs a girl, Gen.â
The boyâs head snaps up, his jaw slack enough that a dribble of his soda escapes down his chin.Â
Sanemi wrinkles his nose. âClose your mouth.â
âSorry,â Genya swallows thickly and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. âA girl?â
âYeah.â
âA real one?â
Sanemi chokes on a slurp of his tea. âThe fuck does that mean?â
âN-nothing!â Genya turns bright red and shrinks beneath Sanemiâs accusatory glare. âJust, youâve never â at least, youâve never told me about anyone youâre seeing ââ
âThatâs âcause I donât see anyone.âÂ
His brother eyes him carefully. âButâŚyou are now?â
For a moment, Sanemi says nothing; he only plays with his unused knife, spinning it on its tip as he considers his words.
âThingsâŚescalated. Between us.â Sanemi frowns. Itâs the most judicious way he can put it; he doesnât exactly air the details of his sex life to his younger brother on principle, but at the same time, thereâs no other way he can phrase it. âAnd I donât know whatâs gonna happen going forward.â
The implication of exactly how things between Sanemi and you changed is not lost on his brother, and Genyaâs cheeks turn a faint red. He focuses hard on his half-eaten eggs before him, pushing them around with his fork.Â
âYouâŚlike her though, right?â
Sanemi grimaces. Far more than that, actually. Itâs a truth heâs hardly been able to admit to himself, save his silent utterance against your hair long after youâd fallen asleep on him that night.Â
Heâs in love with you. And fuck if thatâs not the most terrifying damn thing in the world.
Genya must realize it too, for he only offers a soft âOh.â
âYeah. Oh.â Sanemi leans forward on his elbows, his hands folded under his chin. âAnd fuck if I know what to do about it. Woulda been easier if I hadnât crossed the line, but well,â he gives his brother a wry grin. âSince when have I ever made shit easy for myself?â
For a moment, thereâs no sound but that of Genyaâs fork scraping across his plate. âWhat does she think?âÂ
âI donât know. I havenât talked to her in a few days.â
Genyaâs eyes widen in something like horror. âYou mean - you all ââ he turns scarlet. âYou all did â whatever â and you havenât talked to her since?âÂ
His face heats and Sanemi disguises his discomfort with a cough that he tucks into his mug as he forces himself to drink the watery tea. Â
Only when he canât avoid his brotherâs discerning look any longer does Sanemi set his cup down. âShit, Gen,â he runs a hand through his hair. âI donât even know what to do about her at this point.âÂ
The boy turns his fork over again and again, eyebrows furrowed in thought. âYou want to be with her though, donât you? Like, date and stuff?â
Sanemi scowls. âI donât know. Iâve never really dated anyone. You know how shit is. The risks. I canât even be a normal brother to you, so I sure as shit ainât boyfriend material.âÂ
Genya chews on his lip and then shrugs. âI dunno. I donât think you wouldâve brought her up if you werenât looking for permission, I guess.â He glances up and this time, he doesnât cower under the intensity of his brotherâs gaze. âAre you?âÂ
But Sanemi doesnât know the answer to his brotherâs question, and if he did, he supposes he wouldnât still be stuck in this limbo.
âYouâre allowed to be selfish, Aniki.â Genyaâs voice softens to something almost gentle. âYouâre allowed to do things thatâll make you happy. I wish you would.âÂ
Sanemi doesnât have many memories of their mother, but he does remember how she spoke to him. Always kind, always loving in a way that made him feel a flutter of happiness; a warmth, even when the lights at home had been cut off, and they were slowly freezing half to death.Â
Thatâs exactly how Genya speaks to him now, and it makes him want to squirm. Heâs already feeling too emotionally exposed thanks to his feelings for you; he doesnât need to turn to mush in front of his baby brother simply because Genya managed to inherit all the good of a woman heâd never known.Â
Gruffly, Sanemi clears his throat. âIâm tellinâ you all this for a reason. You know how Iâve got stuff for you, if somethinâ happens to me?â
His little brother scans anxiously behind him, before answering in a hushed voice, âThe accounts?â
âJesus, be more obvious, why donât you?â Sanemi rolls his eyes and brings his mug to his lips. He tips his head back and swallows the rest of the cupâs watery contents in a single gulp. âYeah. Those. You still got that lockbox with all that shit in it?âÂ
The one Sanemi had brought to his brotherâs dorm in the dead of night and had him shove beneath his bed. Genya nods.Â
âGood,â Sanemi reaches into his jacket and pulls free a small envelope folded twice. âPut this in there, too. Itâs for her. You know the drill. I wrote down all her info on the cover sheet. If anything happens, give her a call and have her meet you outside the City. I donât want you going near it, understand?âÂ
Genya nods and accepts the parcel Sanemi slides across the table, tucking it safely into his own jacket lining.
A waitress brings them their check and Sanemi tosses a few bills onto the table. They wait for Genya to chug the rest of his drink and then the two set off, the bell above the door chiming as it swings shut behind them.
It sounds just like the one that dangles above your store door.Â
â-
The walk back to Genyaâs campus takes considerably longer than it should, though the diner is only about four blocks away. Not that Sanemi minds; in fact, heâs purposefully walking slower, wanting to stretch out the minutes until he has to bid his brother goodbye as long as he can. Whether Genya knows, or whether heâs simply acting on his own hesitancy, he canât say, but his brother seems not to be in any more of a hurry than he is. God knows the next time Sanemi will get to see him.Â
If heâll see him again at all. This single day of pretend away from the Corps hasnât changed shit about his life expectancy, and Sanemi wants to savor every moment he can.Â
All of it is for him, after all.Â
Soon, far too soon, the iron and stone gates of the school come into view, and Sanemi steels himself against the impending goodbye. His brother never failed to look at him with the same, wide-eyed trepidation heâd had the very first time Sanemi had brought him here; a child-like fear of the unknown, even though Genya was all-too aware of his brotherâs likely future. It was an anxiety that never failed to make Genya hug him harder, cling on longer than he should, until Sanemi was forced to push him away.
It killed him, every time.
He wonât get choked up in front of Genya â he wonât. Heâll swallow his heartache, choke it back until only a tear or two escapes down his cheek as he drives away, the school and his brother safely in his rearview mirror.
Sanemi turns to his brother, dread curdling in his stomach. He parts his lips, ready to give him the gruff, guess Iâll be headinâ out, that always precipitates this most dreaded goodbye, but his brother speaks up first.
âI think,â Genya hesitates, his mouth opening and closing before his lips press into a firm line. âI think you should decide what you want. Our whole life, youâve been making decisions to survive, yâknow?â And he shakes his head. âYouâve never done what you wanted. Iâm grateful for everything youâve given me but ââÂ
Genya trails off for a moment and looks out to the proud, stately campus quad sprawling before them. âI think itâs time to be selfish for once, Aniki. Youâve earned it. You canât survive on your own.â He turns back to his elder brother with a wan smile. âYou know that better than anyone. Used to tell me all the time.â
Heâs not sure what he was expecting Genya to say, but it sure as shit wasnât that. It isnât often that heâs caught off guard; even less than heâs left at a loss for words, and for once, Sanemi finds it difficult to meet his brotherâs eyes. âItâs not that simple. Me beinâ selfish has consequences.â
âBut â I mean, youâve already made a choice in a way, right?â Sanemiâs gaze snaps to him as Genyaâs hand pats his jacket, right over where the envelope bearing your name sits. âYou might as well enjoy it.â
He stares at his brother for a long moment until Genyaâs cheeks turn pink. âWhen the fuck did you get so grown?â
âYeah, well,â his brother shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at a stray pebble. âMaybe you just needed to hear youâre allowed to be a little happy.âÂ
âYou sayinâ Iâm a grouch?âÂ
âYeah,â Genya admits with a toothy grin. âYouâre a real asshole sometimes, yâknow? Maybe she can make you nicer.â
Sanemi mirrors his shit-eating smirk. âAn asshole, huh?â With a viper-like swiftness, he locks an arm around his brotherâs neck and yanks him down, mashing his knuckles into Genyaâs head. âStill an asshole when I let you eat a hole through my wallet?âÂ
âAni â Sanemi â!â Genya wrestles with Sanemiâs arm, helpless against his elder brotherâs playful assault on his carefully-styled mohawk.
Sanemi lets himself indulge in this brief moment of rough-housing and for a second, he imagines this is what it wouldâve been like had life dealt them a less-shitty hand. Just two brothers, wrestling on the lawn, laughing with a freeness neither one of them had ever known.Â
Just two boys.Â
But like all good things in his life, the moment ends, and Sanemi straightens, his grin sliding from his face. Genya sorts himself out, too, though his eyes turn sad.Â
âGuess you gotta hit the road, right?âÂ
Sanemi swallows around the lump growing in his throat and nods. âIâll text ya when Iâm back.â
As tall and brawny as his little brother is, Genya looks every bit a kicked puppy as he stares hard at the ground, his lips mashing together in an effort Sanemi knows is meant to keep himself from crying.Â
âStay safe, Aniki.â His voice is small.Â
A hand reaches out and clasps the boy around the shoulder, pulling him into a firm hug. âIâll try,â Sanemi says roughly, clearing his throat. His brotherâs arm squeezes tightly around his neck, and Sanemi closes his eyes, allowing himself to imagine, just for a moment, that they are kids again.Â
He claps Genya on the back and pulls away. âGo on,â he juts his chin toward the dorms. âNot having you gettinâ your ass chapped over missing curfew on my account.âÂ
The boy rubs at his eyes and fakes a yawn to cover how they water. âI know. Thanks, Aniki. For visiting.âÂ
âYeah, yeah,â Sanemi waves him off, flashing him a crooked grin. âDonât get all mushy on me. Get back to your studies.âÂ
With that, Genya turns and shuffles back toward his dorm, periodically looking over his shoulder. Sanemi holds his arm up in farewell, and stays there until his brother is safely inside and out of his sight.
And only then does he lower his hand to wipe at the tears misting in his eyes.Â
â
The entirety of the more than three-hour drive back to the City is completed in total silence.Â
Itâs done out of preference, more than anything. Sanemi is too used to his bikeâs lack of a radio, the rumbling purr of its motor, the only noise that accompanies him on his rides. The radio carries too much potential for distraction, and Sanemi wonât impair his senses if he can help it.Â
Besides, after Genyaâs too-shrewd observations of the shitshow that is his lovelife, Sanemi needs the hours to think.Â
The day heâd been initiated as a Hashira was the day Sanemiâs future had ended. The moment heâd been pushed to his knees, his shirt stripped from his back, he understood that his life began and ended with the Corps. As heâd searched the faces of the other Hashira, noting the youth in each of their features, heâd known that his expiration date was likely sooner rather than later. It was only logical; to rise up to the level of Hashira meant you had skills that painted a target on your back. To claim a kill on one of them meant solidifying your own status within whatever fringe group you belonged to. When the Kizuki came along, theyâd only upped the ante, offering exorbitant payouts to even non-affiliates who could deliver on a Hashiraâs head.
So yeah, Sanemi had known his chances of making it out of his twenties were slim to none. He thought heâd given up any idea of growing old the moment Uzui placed that searing hot iron between his shoulders, every trace of a future untainted by blood sizzling away under the pop and crackle of his burning skin.Â
Until you.Â
Your simple existence had been a seed that was cultivated the longer heâd gotten to know you, one that blossomed into a portrait of what his life might be, rather than what it is. And once heâd seen it, heâd not been able to look away. It was a life of happiness; unshackled and unburdened by the Corps, the stains of his misdeeds finally washed from his skin. One that ends not in a spray of gunfire and an unmarked grave, but when heâs old and gray, surrounded by kids and grandkids, tangible proof of a life long-well lived.
A life created out of his love for you. With you.
It was one thing for him to keep these reveries locked tightly in his heart, only to be taken out under the dark cover of solitude and handled carefully, a fairytale like those in that book with the story of the beauty and the beast. To keep them confined to a secret sanctuary for him to retreat into whenever he needed to pull himself out of that gaping numb chasm that always opened in his chest after a particularly bad job. Heâd never need to seek comfort or distraction in the arms of another again, not as long as he had this small dream of what couldâve been to keep him warm. There wouldâve been no need to get you involved at all, save the permanent place youâd hold in his heart.
You would be safe and he wouldâve been alone, as intended. As needed.
But heâd gotten greedy; and when youâd looked up at him, sweaty and naked and vulnerable, and told him you loved him, Sanemi had seen how that small, glowing dream of his was more than what could have been. It was what still could be.Â
Sanemi rests his hand on his fist, his left arm propped on the ledge of the driverâs window as his other guides the steering wheel. Never before has he felt so torn between two paths. Then again, heâs never been presented with a choice; he has only ever been forced to adapt to the shit life hurled his way.Â
And it had thrown one hell of a wrench at his head through you.Â
I donât think you wouldâve brought her up if you werenât looking for permission. Are you?
Sanemi sits up, eyes widening in thought. His brotherâs question packs more punch than heâd initially realized, settling over him like a weight as he drives.Â
Is there any choice left to be made at all?Â
Perhaps the part of him that has screamed and cursed his stupidity for doing the one thing heâd sworn not to do hadnât been his own conscience at all. Perhaps it had been the Corpsâ, and Sanemi, too accustomed to being an extension of its will, had simply been unable to know the difference. After all, wasnât that the entire reason heâd let himself be forced to his knees all those years ago to be branded â in order to forsake his own identity so he might be re-forged into a weapon through burning hot iron? Had he not whored himself out, allowed himself to be bent and molded and beaten into the perfect shape of a soldier in exchange for the promise of a filled belly and the chance that Genya might be free of the cage theyâd been born into?Â
That had all been before; heâd lost himself somewhere between the stench of his burning flesh and the black, twisted underbelly of the Corps. And it wasnât until you appeared that Sanemi had dared to wonder whether he might find his way back to himself.Â
You were the comet that streaked across his perpetual gray sky; the light in the dark whose fire revealed the beauty in the shadows of his small world that he hadnât known existed. Was it selfish of him to want to pluck you from the horizon and tuck you into his pocket, for keeps? Perhaps. But Sanemi had spent so much time alone in the dark that he hadnât been able to help wanting to cling to what little brilliance had been brought into his life.
I donât think you wouldâve brought her up if you werenât looking for permission. Are you?
Genya had hit the nail right on the fucking head. All this time, he has been agonizing over what he should do without any consideration as to what it is he wants. After a life of having to make decisions to survive, he really shouldnât have expected anything less â he simply didnât know how to do anything different. But heâd made a choice the moment heâd laid you back against your blankets, drunk on your lips and ensorcelled by the feel of your skin sliding with his.
So what does he want?Â
The answer is easy; so easy, in fact, even his kid brother could see it.
He wants you. Only you.
Don't worry, he's gonna go get her.
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#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#sanemi shinazugawa#kny#kny x reader#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#kny fanfic#kny smut#demon slayer smut#shinazugawa sanemi#sanemi x y/n#sanemi fanfic#sanemi smut
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WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?
ex husband!leon x f!reader
word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | ko-fi
18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together â and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.
a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didnât want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, iâve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. itâs the only way iâm able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since iâve started writing on here 7 months ago, iâve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly donât know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^
leon regrets everything heâs done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.
the divorce.
it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.
for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.
he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.
your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.
you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughterâs hair before ushering her inside.
he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.
you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.
âyou okay?â
he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..â
he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. âwhen i wasâ last night, i thought⌠uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?â
âwhat?â you muse at his question. âleon, i really donât wanna have this conversation with you again,â
he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.
leonâs adamâs apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky â anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.
"no, wait, hear me out,â
"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. âi just wanna talk.. to you.â
he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.
âiâm sorry, leon. iâm busy,â
he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. âcâmon, please?â he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. âi.. i know it isnât what we do anymore butââ
âno, seriously. i literally canât. i have something up.â
âoh.â he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? iâm sure we can..â
âleon.â it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. âi have a date.â
ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.
"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.
he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.
leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. âyeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.
you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing â it's all so confusing, so messy.
the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone â he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.
you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.
but itâs not really easy.
not when youâre sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.
your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.
âhey, sorry i couldnât make it. something important came upâ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.
a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.
now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.
you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like youâve been doing it for hours till youâre startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.
it's a text from leon, of course it is. itâs another one of his âwhere are u? i miss uâ âcanât stop thinking about you. please let me c uâ meltdowns.
he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing heâs only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.
your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. âcome over.â you hesitate, then send the message.
by then, heâs already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.
click.
the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.
he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.
âleonââ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.
âmissed you sâ much, baby,â he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.
âlet me make it up to you, please,â he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic itâs comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.
his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.
he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.
you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.
once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.
the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.
he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.
âthese âre pretty,â he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.
âleon!â
he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. âsorry,â he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. âgonna buy you new ones,â
his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that youâre willing to give him.
he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.
god, itâs been so long. the feelings practically foreign.
his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.
âyou still mine?â he huffs. ââcourse you are, âm the only one that can get ya this wet,â
slurp, smack, suck, repeat.
his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.
âfuck, leonââ your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace thatâll make a grown woman go crazy. âd-denise, were gonna wake her up,â
a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. âdonât matter,â he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.
he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.
it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and youâre eating it up. âgonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "âm the only man who can make you feel this good,"
he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.
"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that theyâre pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.
your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this â legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you donât care to find out.
"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"
your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, pleaseââ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.
your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.
he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.
he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.
he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.
he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.
he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.
sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.
he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. âfuck, feels so good,â he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. âcan't believe i ever let you go.â
"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.
he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.
you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, iâ" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.
he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.
âlove you, love you, fuckââ
the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.
the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.
"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, shouldâve tried harder, i... iâm gonna make things right, i swear,"
he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.
he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.
and for a moment, you let yourself believe that heâll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.
tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae
#â greyâs fics !#luvrgreyy#leon kennedy#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon#infinite darkness leon#yippie#leon scott kennedy#tw cheating#divorce#ex husband#angst#good stuff#idk what else to tag#they have a daughter#shes a girl#tw drinking#drunk texting#bittersweet ending
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âł mattheo riddle x fem!reader drabble (fluff, angst)
âł đ¤đđđ đđđ˘đđĄ : 1,02k
đ đ˘đđđđđŚ : mattheoâs jealousy causes an argument, but both find yourself comforting eachother
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"i told you i donât care about that ravenclaw guy, he was just asking me about a potions assignment," you snapped, the frustration of your argument with mattheo finally reaching its peak. your boyfriend had found you talking to another boy in the great hall this morning, and he hadnât let it go since, making you the main target of his pent up anger.
"well, i care! i care that my girlfriend was being all giggly with some guy in front of everyone, and i care even more that youâre brushing it off like itâs nothing!" he shouted back, running his hand through his brunette curls in frustration. you knew mattheoâs short temper well, how his mental health and past trauma affected his ability to express emotions, but he rarely lashed out at you like this. today had been different, and youâd sensed it the moment you saw that flicker of harshness in his usual soft brown eyes.
you sighed, trying to explain yourself calmly and hoping to ease his anger before things escalated, silently aware that it wouldnât change anything. "look, i understand how you must be feeling right now, butâ" he cut you off, his voice sharp and unyielding.
âno, you donât ! stop playing therapist all the time. you donât get it, and youâre never fucking going to." his words were harsh, and you tried not to let it get to your head, knowing he wasnât thinking clearly. you braced yourself for what might come next, knowing he was too far gone to appreciate your gentleness. "maybe if you werenât always trying to fix me, it would be easier. not my fault youâre oversensitive and canât take anything !"
that was the breaking point. heâd crossed a line, and he didnât even seem to care. mattheo knew how much you hated being yelled at, how it made you feel small and vulnerable, and yet, today he hadnât held back. deep down, you knew the reason : he hated how much power you had over him, how easily you could mess with his heart. in this entire school, you were the only one who dared to stand up to mattheo riddle, to tell him the truth even when it hurt. it was why your relationship worked, but also why you ended up having those arguments so often.
something shifted in your gaze, and he noticed it : the tiny spark of pain mixed with the tears welling up in your eyes. you whispered pleadingly, "donât yell at me like that, i canât do this." your voice was small, but the impact was immediate. the anger faded away from his eyes, when he remembered you telling him the reason why you couldnât stand shouting. he realised heâd just reenacted the past trauma you had told him about and his lips curved into a barely-there frown. you saw the regret settling in his expression.
"i know⌠i took it too far. i shouldnât have." his voice was softer now, the anger draining from his features. you didnât move or say anything, still reeling from the sting of his words. mattheo took a hesitant step towards you, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of guilt and desperation. he hesitated, he saw the hurt heâd caused, the way your body tensed as if waiting for more. he hated himself for letting his temper get the better of him, for hurting the one person who had always stood by him.
âbaby, pleaseâŚâ he said softly, his voice trembling slightly as he took another step towards you. he reached out, but you instinctively flinched, and he froze, the guilt getting to him. you turned away, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. âmattheo, you know i care about you more than anything, but i canât keep doing this. you canât keep lashing out at me every time youâre upset. itâs not fair.â
âi know,â he whispered, his voice thick with regret. âi just⌠i donât know how to deal with it sometimes. i get so scared of losing you that i get jealous and push you away. itâs messed up, i know that.â you finally looked at him, seeing the pain in his eyes, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. it was the side of mattheo that made you fall for him, the boy beneath the act who just wanted to be loved and understood. but that didnât make the hurt disappear.
âiâm not going anywhere,â you said, your voice steady but soft as you tried to comfort him. âbut i need you to be with me in this, mattheo. i canât be the only one trying to fix it.â he nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek, though he quickly wiped it away. âi promise, iâll do better. i donât want to lose you. youâre the only good thing i have.â
the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, and then slowly closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. his arms enveloped you immediately, holding you tight as if you might slip away. you had never seen him cry before but that single tear on his cheek was enough to make you forget what had just happened
âiâm sorry,â he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled but heartfelt. âiâll work on it, i swear.â you nodded against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow as he calmed down. âi know you will. just⌠talk to me next time, okay? before it gets to this point.â
âi will,â he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. âi love you, and iâm not going to let my stupid temper ruin what we have.â you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, forgiving smile. âi love you too, mattheo. just⌠no more yelling, okay?â he nodded frantically, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. âno more yelling. iâll keep that in check.â
you both stood there for a moment, just holding each other, letting the tension melt away. the storm had passed, and in its place was a new sense of understanding and commitment. mattheo might not be perfect, but neither were you, and that was okay. as long as you faced your flaws together, there was nothing you couldnât overcome.
âbut you have to promise me not to let anyone get too close to youâ he finally said, his voice lighter, almost playful. âand besides, youâre only supposed to laugh at my jokes.â
you smiled, chuckling. âhe didnât stand a single chance.â whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew youâd face them together, and that was all that mattered.
âââ ââ
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