#does anyone know of any good fics where he's part of that scene?

[bishicat]

I think he actually really wanted to go :(

[gothcsz]

El Cumpleañero | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~8.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

Tags: friends with benefits dynamic, jealous!javi (can't help myself), flirting, dancing, javi is a little ooc here but idgaf i need him (in my head he's a bit younger in this au), some untranslated spanish, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), back shots for days, a lil bit of exhibitionism on javi's part, creampie, one use of a degrading term (slut), some dirty talk, pussy pronouns, facial, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions of reader, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: hiiii everyone! this is my humble submission to @yxtkiwiyxt's never have i ever challenge with my prompt being never have i ever woken someone else because i was too loud during sex 🙈 kiwi bb tysm for hosting such a lovely writing challenge for us, i hope you enjoy this smutty fic! oh, and i am dedicating this one to @letsmeetintheafterglow, amorcito, you left such me a juicy request in my inbox for javi that i just had to write! so, i merged it with the challenge prompt 🖤 hope you dream of him tambien ☁️ also, i couldn't help but project my fantasy of wanting to dance to corrido/banda music with javier. i feel like he's actually a pretty good dancer! swinging ya around to the beat of the song with his hand at your lower back and a modelo in the other. ugh. the song la niña fresa basically inspired the nickname javi calls reader 🍓 and just sets the vibes, i think. as always, let me know that you think and thank you for reading 🖤

The backyard is buzzing with the chatter and laughter of what feels like half the town, the smoky scent of barbecue wafting through the air and the twang of a corrido blasting from oversized speakers, making the ground shake.

You walk through the fenced yard, the southern breeze grazing your skin as familiar faces nod or wave in passing. Your eyes scan the crowd, skimming past clusters of people dancing and conversing, all of them gathered to celebrate someone who swore he didn’t want a fuss.

Of course his family didn’t listen. They turned his “keep it small” request into a blowout, like they always do, inviting anyone and everyone. Not that he could stay mad—he never really does.

When you spot the man of the hour, the corner of your lips lift instinctively and your feet seem to move on their own accord, pulling you toward him.

He’s by the bonfire, the glow of the flames painting his chiseled features in shades of gold and shadow. He stands with his hip jutting out, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, sharing it lazily with two girls you barely recognize.

They hang on to his every little move, trying to soak up whatever attention he might spare. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed too many times, and you really can’t blame them.

You’ve been in their shoes (still are, truth be told), waiting for even a flicker of his focus to land on you, and you know all too well where that desperation led.

To his bed, on his tongue, his cock—you shiver at the memory, your nipples pulling taut.

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to try to make hearts ache; it’s just who he is.

A walking daydream wrapped in leather and indifference, with that devil-may-care grin that promises trouble and delivers every time.

You roll your eyes and huff sassily, detouring toward one of the coolers instead. You grab a drink, making polite small talk with a couple of acquaintances, though you can’t keep your gaze from wandering back to him.

He’s already looking at you.

It stops you mid-sentence the way his brown eyes are fixed on you, heavy with intention.

The cigarette is at his lips, the faint glow of its cherry pulses when he sucks in then lets out a ribbon of smoke. 

He makes it look so damn hot, it’s almost enough to persuade you into picking up the bad habit.

The curly haired beauty next to him is chattering a mile a minute, but it’s clear he isn’t listening.

His focus remains locked on you, sweeping slowly—mischievously—down the length of your body. You can feel it, as sure as a touch, lingering at the deep neckline of your sweater then on the way your jeans hug your curves. It’s shameless, but that’s him, isn’t it?

Your smile tilts into a puckish smirk. Lifting your hand, you wiggle your fingers in a small wave.

It’s like striking a match. His gaze narrows slightly as if he’s trying to decide his next move.

He hands off the cigarette with a casual flick of his wrist and shifts his focus back to the girl beside him. She’s still rambling, her words tumbling over each other in an eager attempt to hold his attention.

He doesn’t bother pretending to care. Instead, he lets out an indulgent chuckle, shaking his head like whatever nonsense just came out of her mouth is equal parts adorable and absurd.

You almost feel bad for her. It’s hard not to fall for that sleazy charm—especially when it’s attached to a man that’s so fucking handsome.

When she swivels to chat with her friend, his eyes immediately find yours again. A cocky expression paints his countenance, one that practically asks: What the hell are you doing all the way over there?

You entertain the idea of making him wait, savoring the power in holding his attention hostage for just a moment longer. But who are you kidding? The magnetic pull he has over you is impossible to resist. It always is.

The small box tucked snugly in the back pocket of your jeans presses against you as you weave through the crowd, sidestepping a few overly tipsy guests and slipping past the fold-out tables scattered across the lawn. 

“Hey,” you say, sliding yourself effortlessly between the two girls, not caring about interrupting their conversation. Immediately, their sharp side-eyes practically stab you with twin daggers of irritation.

You don’t flinch. You’re not here for them, anyway.

You only care about the pair of deep brown eyes that make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he looks at you. “Happy Birthday, Javier.”

A flicker of what looks like smugness and amusement crosses his face as he licks his lips, taking another measured drag.

He’s dressed in a variant of his signature look—a white button-up with a few buttons let loose to show off his neck and the top of his chest, despite the brisk autumn air, and a worn brown leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders.

However, it’s the ridiculous tiara perched atop his head that catches your eye, and the sight makes you frown ever so slightly when you notice the matching glittery ones on his groupies, like it’s some inside joke you’re not a part of.

For some inexplicable reason—it rubs you the wrong way. You can’t believe you’re slightly jealous of it. How stupid.

“Thank you, fresita.” 

Ugh, that infuriating nickname. You’d been charmed by it at first, assuming it was something sweet and impish. It wasn’t until Chucho let it slip that it’s also used to describe a woman that’s spoiled and picky that you realized it wasn’t just affectionate; it was also dig at your finer tastes.

And so what if you are a little high maintenance?

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though he loves coaxing it out of you. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting a soft undercurrent of flirtation lace your voice as you ask, “Mind if I pull you aside? I’d like to give you your gift.”

His interest is evident in the way his brow raises and the girls bristle slightly, their expressions shifting to thinly veiled jealousy once they realize he’s no longer focused on them. You captured him the moment he saw you amidst the crowd.

“We were just finishin’ up,” Javi says casually, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. He flicks a glance at the two disappointed faces, his smirk widening. “Con permiso, chicas. Thanks for the smoke.”

As he steps away from them, you feel a little triumphant thrill surge in your chest. They look deflated, their pouty expressions almost comical as they watch him leave with you, muttering goodbyes under their breaths.

The curly haired woman stares you down, and you try not to let the smug victory of whisking him away be too obvious… though you can’t help but smile condescendingly before fully turning away. 

“Some fan club you’ve got,” you tease once the two of you are finally alone, near the entrance of the sunroom that’s a part of the house.

He smirks, leaning against the siding and tilting his head, once more eyeing you down like you’re the finest thing he’s ever seen. “You jealous?” 

You scoff, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Absolutely not.” It’s a little white lie, since you had felt a twinge of that pesky envy, but you don’t want him to know that. He’d either give you shit for it, or on the more extreme end, rethink this arrangement he currently has with you.

And you’d rather not lose it. Not right now, at least. You’re having too much fun letting Javier fuck your brains out on a consistent basis. 

Slowly, you close the space between you, your fingers darting up to flick the tacky tiara perched on his head. “Cute.”

Before you can step back, his hands are on you—big and warm as they grip your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

The force of it has you sighing out in satisfaction. There’s something wholly fucking addictive about the way he handles you.

His hands know exactly where to place themselves, his fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure to set the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“No need to be, baby. You know you’re my favorite.” If your friends knew you were hooking up with the town slut, they’d definitely stage an intervention before you could finish your next sentence. Laying out all the reasons why letting Javier Peña into your bed was a one-way ticket to heartbreak city.

They’d call it desperation. They’d call it lowering your standards.

But what they don’t know is that standards start to feel awfully overrated when Javier has you pinned to a mattress, whispering filthy promises in your ear as his hands map every inch of your body. They don’t know what it’s like to have his full attention—his lips trailing worshipful kisses down your skin, his gravelly voice murmuring sweet nothings in Spanish that you don’t fully understand from how he slurs them together but feel all the same.

Being around him is electric, intoxicating, a high you’re not quite ready to give up.

So no, your friends don’t know. And as long as you can keep this thing between you and Javier your little secret, they never will.

“You gonna let me unwrap my gift or what?” His hand slides lower to cup your right cheek with shameless familiarity, giving it a frisky spank that makes you giggle.

This man and his obsession with your ass—it’s borderline ridiculous, and yet, you’re absolutely here for it.

“Later, maybe,” you reply with faux coyness, your finger dragging along his mustache then over to his pouty lips. He purses them, placing a kiss to the tip of your finger, “if you’re not too busy.”

His hold on your backside tightens, voice morphing into something more sultry, raspier, which is your absolute weakness. It makes your thighs rub together. “You know I always make time for you.”

You laugh softly at that. More often than not, you’re the one initiating while he only reaches out when it suits him. It’s not ideal at times, but you don’t get hung up on it.

You’re not about to ruin this by asking more of someone who doesn’t have it in him.

You reach back and pull the small box from your pocket. “Here’s your real gift,” you say, holding it out to him. Your voice softens, but there’s still a playful inflection. “Hope you like it.”

Curiosity fills those dark eyes as he takes the box, eyeing the tacky birthday wrapping paper with a soft smile. The sight of that grin on his face has your eyes morphing into hearts.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” you reply with a shrug. “But I saw it at the thrift store and just knew it had to go to you.”

You angle yourself to press a light kiss to the tip of his chin, your lips brushing against the stubble before you nip at it gently with your teeth. “Open it.”

His nimble fingers pull apart the crinkled folds of the wrapping paper to reveal the small box inside. When he opens it, you see his immediate delight, and your heart does a traitorous little flip.

The golden chain bracelet glints under the string lights strung along the roof’s edge, somehow making it look nicer out here than how it had been displayed at the store.

“Damn, this is nice,” he says, genuinely appreciative. The praise sends a faint thrill up your spine, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him lift the bracelet out of the box to inspect it.

You’ve imagined how good the gold would look while his wrist is flexing as he grips your thighs, holding you open for him. Or when he’s feeling you up, rough and greedy, fingers digging into your soft hips as he takes your pussy how he wants.

“Put it on,” he holds his wrist and the bracelet out toward you. His tone carries that easy confidence, like he already knows you’ll obey without question.

Which you do, obviously. You carefully clasp it around his wrist, your fingers brushing his skin as you secure it, and that little brush feels like you’ve just snorted a line of adrenaline with how amped up your body gets.

“Looks good on you,” you admire your handiwork, though the truth is; he’d make anything look good. Even a paper crown. Or, you know, a tacky tiara.

“Gracias, fresita,” he replies smoothly, that familiar nickname rolling off his tongue.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Nah.”

Before you can come up with a witty retort, he pulls you against him again, One hand at your lower back, the other tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s eager and completely unapologetic.

“Easy there, birthday boy—”

“Can’t help it,” he cuts you off, his voice rough against your lips. “Been waiting for you to show up all night.”

You can’t help but chase after that tasty mouth of his, your tongue licking against his, teeth biting into his lower lip and the slight tickle of his mustache makes you shiver. Then his hips grind against your thigh, his erection prominent, which in turn has heat flaring all over your body. 

“Let’s go inside,” he breaks away, tugging you toward the small steps leading into the sunroom.

You weren’t expecting to fuck him so early on in the night but you’re not about to complain about it. Every fiber of your body yearns for this man—but specifically your cunt. She’s obsessed.

The room looks like it’s in the middle of a renovation—a man cave in progress.

One wall boasts an unfinished bar, complete with half-empty bottles and shot glasses scattered across the surface. A brand-new pool table sits in the center of the room, its felt pristine, untouched by drunken games or spilled drinks. 

At the far end, a set of leather couches and a recliner face the large television set and entertainment center.

The double doors to the house are shut tight, leaving the room dim and private, save for the warmness of the string lights spilling in through the windows.

You’re caught up taking it all in when Javier sneaks up behind you, pressing hot, greedy kisses against your neck as his hands roam your body.

There’s nothing tentative about his touch—he cups your tits with both hands, squeezing them over your sweater as a deep groan rumbles in his throat. His need for you is palpable, a force that makes your knees weak even as he maneuvers you toward the pool table.

“Here, Javi?” you pant when he sucks at your weak spot under your jaw. “Let’s just go up to your room—”

“No,” he growls, spinning you around to face him, his dark eyes alight with lust. “Want you right here on this table.”

Before you can argue, his lips are on yours again. You let yourself melt into it, your hands reaching up to pluck the ridiculous tiara off his head and tossing it aside with a flick of your wrist.

His hair is soft under your fingers as you card through it, tugging lightly just to feel the way his body reacts, the way his kisses deepen in response.

When his tongue slides into your mouth, you surprise even yourself by wrapping your lips around it, sucking gently. You’re greedy and he loves it.

Javier’s grunt prompts your thighs to clench instinctively around him. His jacket hits the floor as he shrugs it off, lips trailing down your neck. You kick off your boots, his hands lifting you with ease to place you on the sturdy pool table.

Your sweater is gone before you know it. He’s in the middle of working on the button of your jeans, his fingers deft and impatient, when your eyes land on something that makes you freeze.

Or better yet, someone. There’s a figure slumped in one of the recliners at the far end of the room.

Your breath hitches, your body tensing. “Javi, stop.” Your words falter into a moan as his lips find your collarbone, sucking on your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, barely pausing as he tugs your pants down your hips. Despite yourself, you lift slightly to help him, even as you frantically nudge your head toward the recliner.

“There’s someone here,” you whisper.

He stops, his head snapping up to follow your gaze. His expression shifts into a frustrated scowl when he sees the figure sprawled in the chair. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling away from you and heading over to investigate.

You watch as he approaches, his boots heavy on the hardwood. It’s his cousin Danny, completely passed out, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open. Javier whistles sharply, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Nothing. He gives his shoulder a firm nudge once, twice—still nothing.

“Out cold,” Javier says, his tone both annoyed and amused as he turns back to you. “Took down almost a whole bottle of tequila earlier. He’s not gonna bother us.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the unconscious form. The idea of hooking up with someone uninvited in the room feels... complicated… exhilarating, maybe? You’ve never done it before.

But your reluctance evaporates the moment Javier closes the distance between you again, his hands sliding your jeans clean off, leaving you in nothing but your mismatched bra and panties.

He drinks you in, and the rest of the party—including the slumped figure in the corner—melts away under the weight of his attention.

No words are needed, not when he roughly tugs the cups of your bra down, letting your breasts spill free, nor when he dips his head, his stubble grazing your skin as his warm mouth captures one of your nipples.

Your breath catches, back arching your breasts into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue lazily circles and flicks over the hardened bud. Then he sucks harder, pulling a drawn-out moan from you before switching to the other side.

You bite your lip, determined to stifle the sighs of pleasure threatening to break. His knocked out cousin in the corner keeps you cautious, even as your body aches to let go.

Javier notices. Always does. He pulls away with a pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his pouty lips to your nipple. “Nu-uh,” he chides. “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m not trying to wake him up,” you counter, though your voice wavers from how good his mouth felt.

“You won’t,” he replies, almost dismissively, giving you a peck on the lips before he drops to his knees before you. He starts at your calves, leaving slow, deliberate kisses that send sparks dancing along your skin.

The faint scrape of his facial hair adds to the wonderful torment as his mouth works its way up, switching from leg to leg.

When he reaches the inside of your right knee, he kisses it almost sweetly, before dragging his tongue slowly in a hot stripe up to your inner thigh. You can’t stop the small shiver that ripples through you, your hands gripping the edge of the pool table for balance.

Javier finally reaches your pussy and you shudder as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed clit. The heat of his breath and the firm pressure of his lips through the cotton of your panties makes your back arch.

He hooks a finger into the fabric and pulls it to the side, diving in immediately. His tongue parts your folds, curling and slithering against your pearly clit before moving lower.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your hips bucking involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth.

He groans, enjoying how reactive you are, his fingers digging into the soft meat of your thighs while he holds you firmly in place. His mouth works with a singular focus, his tongue swirling and dipping into your entrance, then sliding back up to flick over your clit.

The feeling of his stupid mustache makes it that much better, scratching at your cunt lusciously. 

You can’t help it now—a soft, keening moan slips out of you, echoing faintly in the dimly lit room. Your head lolls around on your shoulders as pleasure coils at the pit of your stomach, the tension winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

“That’s it,” he practically purrs. “Let me hear you.”

His lips seal around your clit, sucking gently, and you swear it feels like you’ve been possessed—holding back is impossible. Another moan escapes you, louder this time, your thighs shaking in his grip as he devours you.

Javi pushes you over the edge so effortlessly that a cry of his name spits out of your throat before you can stop it, cutting through the room.

You're grateful this area of the house is directed away from the backyard, where the party celebrating him outside continues on, oblivious of his absence as he indulges in you.

Your orgasm settles like a heavy current, fingers nearly going numb from holding on to the pool table for dear life.

You’re still disoriented and flustered when Javier stands, looming over you, cupping the back of your head and bringing you in to passionately make out.

His mouth is coated in your tangy essence, making you taste yourself as he slips his tongue down your throat.

You whimper, clawing at his chest for more and he pulls away to turn you around, manhandling you onto your stomach on the table.

His hands are firm yet impatient as he grips one of your legs by the back of your knee and hooks it over the edge of the wooden border.

Javi stares down at your sex, partially exposed and glistening for him. Your panties are askew, one swollen pussy lip peeking out while a dark, damp patch spreads over the cotton where his tongue had devoured you moments ago.

“Fuck.” The lewd sight has him hastily undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, his dick hard and ready to bury himself inside your sweet cunt. 

Propping yourself up on your palms, you glance back at him over your shoulder, a teasing, blissed out smile playing on your lips despite the burning heat between your thighs. “I figured you’d want to savor me. Wait for later…” you coo, rolling your hips and causing your ass to jiggle, feeling giddy at how his eyes zero in on the motion.

“I savor you all the time, baby. Even during these nasty, quick fucks.” Him saying that has you over the fucking moon. “You can’t expect me to wait knowin’ this pussy needs me to fuck her real good.”

The hand adorned with your golden bracelet grabs your supple ass, kneading the flesh before landing a stinging spank that makes you jolt and let out a cry. The sharp sound carries, making your eyes flick nervously toward the recliner where his cousin still lies, unaware of the debauchery happening mere feet away.

Javier seems completely unbothered, casually toying with your panties as though you have all the time in the world. He hooks his finger into the soaked fabric, dragging it back and forth against your sticky folds, smearing your slick across your pussy lips.

Your hips move on their own, chasing the friction, and you bite your lip hard, trapping the needy moan building in your throat.

“Can I come over later?”

His question is so nonchalant it nearly makes you laugh, but the way he teases you has you too far gone to do so. You grind back against his touch, desperate for more, your lips parting in a breathy moan.

“Yes.” The thought of him showing up at your doorstep at three in the morning, bourbon on his lips, just for you to sink to your knees and take him down your throat makes your pussy clench around nothing, crying out for his cock as more of your arousal leaks against your panties. “Whenever.”

He hums in satisfaction, stepping closer and reaching for your jaw, tilting your head to the side roughly and meeting you for a kiss. The fabric of his shirt grazes your bare skin and he tugs your panties to the side again while his mouth continues to hold yours captive.

His cock nudges against your waiting entrance, teasing, the flushed head dragging over the fleshy cleft of your clit in languid taps.

When he finally pushes in, there’s no preamble—just the yummy stretch of him filling you to the fucking brim, shoving a strangled whine out of your mouth as he sets a brutal pace immediately, not giving you even a moment to adjust.

Your palms slip against the velvet of the pool table as you struggle to hold yourself up, but it’s no use. The force of his thrusts sends you collapsing forward onto your chest, scattering the neatly racked pool balls across the table.

They clatter and roll in all directions, but Javier doesn’t slow for a second. His grip on your waist tightens, forcing you to fuck yourself back on his dick.

“Shit,” he growls hoarsely, already breathless as he watches your ass bounce with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a loud fuckin’ mess,” he hisses, though there’s no real malice there—just straight horniness.

In one smooth motion, he grabs both your wrists with one large hand, pinning them to your lower back. He then angles your pelvis so that your clit is grinding against the smooth wooden border of the pool table while your tender nipples rub against the green felt.

The effects of that are immediate, your body feeling like it’s burning from the inside out. “Mmm, fuck yeah, keep doing that,” you moan desperately. 

The raunchy sound of your ass clapping against his thighs fills the room, a filthy rhythm accompanied by the feeling of his heavy balls brushing against your cunt. 

The noise feels impossibly loud, your whimpers and his grunts reverberating off the walls. Surely, his cousin will wake up—surely, someone will walk in on the shameless display Javier is putting on with your body.

Or maybe not, since Javier keeps fucking you all hot and wanton, especially when he hits your sweet spot and your ribbed, gushy walls hug around his dick like a vice.

Your forehead presses against the table as you chant his name, your vision swimming.

You try to glance toward the recliner where his cousin is passed out, but your eyes can’t focus. Everything’s a blur—two of everything, indistinct shapes swimming in the haze of your arousal.

The only thing you can truly focus on is Javier: the way his cock breaches your most intimate spaces, the heat of his body against yours, the sharp bite of his belt against the backs of your thighs.

You’re soaking him, ruining the hem of his half-buttoned shirt. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s splitting you open so perfectly, his tight grip on your wrists keeping you pinned and utterly open for him to take.

Your sore clit continues to rub against the smooth wood of the table, now sticky from how shamelessly you’ve been humping against it while chasing your pleasure.

Between the stimulation on your clit, the rough scrape of the felt against your sensitive nipples, and the relentless pounding of his shaft brushing your g-spot—it’s all too much. 

Your body trembles, a loud cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm slams into you.

"Javi!" you spasm in his hold, nails digging into your palms as your wrists remain trapped beneath his firm grip. shoulders burning from his rough hold.

Your pussy clamps hard around him, wet and creamy as you come, soaking his cock and leaving no doubt about how thoroughly he fucked you.

Javier curses through gritted teeth, switching between Spanish and English as he ruts into you, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, fresita, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—just like that.”

He doesn’t falter, fucking you even as your orgasm settles over you like a heavy current.

He hauls you upright, pulling your back flush against his chest, his grip on your wrists unrelenting as he traps them between your bodies.

Both of his arms wrap tightly around your trembling frame, one hand sliding up to grab your tit, kneading it roughly while the other sprawls against your stomach and waist to hold you steady as he fucks up into you.

His mouth is at your ear now, his breath ragged. “Gonna bust inside this pretty pussy baby and you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You nod weakly, biting down on your lip as your eyes flutter shut. “So fuckin’ willing to take my cum like a real slut,” the degrading name makes your clit twitch because he’s right—you are a real slut. Only for him. Always hungry and ready to please, to do anything to satisfy him and he knows it.

“You’re so goddamn perfect—fuck.” His hips jerk a few times before he groans deeply, his cock pulsing as he finishes deep inside you, his hold on your body tightening to the point where you wince but it hurts so good.

“What the fuck?”

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, yanking you back to reality. Your eyes snap open, and panic floods your system as you instinctively try to shield your almost-naked body.

Across the room, Danny sits up in the recliner, his hair a mess and his bleary eyes squinting in confusion. He looks like he’s been rudely yanked out of a drunken slumber, and unfortunately, it’s your fault.

Javier, of course, remains maddeningly calm. “Relax,” his voice still thick with that post-climax rasp as he mumbles in your ear.

Meanwhile, your body is burning—part embarrassment, part leftover heat from the sinful things Javier just did to you on this pool table.

You try to wriggle out of his grip, but his arms are like iron bands, keeping you firmly in place.

Danny rubs at his eyes, blinking hard as if trying to process what’s in front of him. His head tilts slightly, and for one horrifying second, you think he’s piecing it all together. But instead, he suddenly leans over the side of the recliner and starts retching, the sound loud and wet as he empties his stomach onto the carpet.

The sharp, acidic stench of vomit hits the air, mixing unpleasantly with the heady scent of sweat and sex. It’s enough to finally get Javier to loosen his hold.

He pulls out of you with a grunt, leaving you aching and exposed, and you both watch as his release starts to spill out of you, trickling over your swollen folds and dripping onto the table with obscene little plops.

But there’s no time to dwell on the mess. You scramble to grab your clothes, your movements frantic and clumsy as you yank your jeans up your legs and shove your arms into your sweater.

Javier’s doing the same, though far less hurried, like he’s still amused by the whole situation.

When you finally look up at him, his dark eyes are sparkling with mischief, and he throws you a roguish grin that almost makes you laugh despite yourself.

Danny, meanwhile, is still groaning and gagging, his face pale as a sheet. You feel a tiny pang of guilt, but before you can even think about offering help, Javier grabs your hand and tugs you toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low.

“Fuck no,” Javier replies without missing a beat. “Not my fault he couldn’t handle his liquor.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, his lips warm and soft against your skin, and you can’t help but follow him.

You glance back over your shoulder as you’re being pulled toward the backyard, unable to stop yourself from throwing out a half-hearted, “Sorry!”

He doesn’t respond—he’s too busy dry heaving—but you and Javier are already sneaking out, stifling your laughter as the sounds of the party grow louder around you.

The music thrums through the air, its infectious rhythm pulling you in as your dance partner tightens his grip on your waist. His hands are firm, guiding you with confidence, but the musky cologne mixed with the sour tang of sweat is enough to make your nose crinkle if you focus too hard on it.

Still, you’re here out of spite, letting the sway of your hips speak louder than words as your body molds to his. The banda song carries you both across the makeshift dance floor, your movements fluid and natural as though the music itself has taken over.

Javier is just a few paces away, entangled with the curly-haired girl from earlier. His hands rest on her lower back, his body moving with ease. 

There’s a playful challenge in both of your eyes when your gazes finally meet, knowing how this little game of yours will end. 

Neither of you looks away, both determined to outdo the other, even in this small, ridiculous way.

Your dance partner spins you abruptly, breaking the moment. The move is smooth, you’ll give him that, and you find yourself face-to-face with him once again.

He’s not bad looking, honestly—sharp jawline, nice green eyes—but the cologne is killing the vibe, and his wandering hands are starting to push it.

Thankfully, the song winds to a close just as his fingers inch a little too far down your back. The music shifts, a different tune kicking in, and you step back, offering a polite smile as he thanks you for the dance.

“Got a number I can save?” he asks, hopeful and slightly cocky.

You grin, a little too sweetly, and rattle off your number without hesitation. You’ve got no intention of responding if he uses it, but you can’t resist the temptation to stir the pot. As he finally walks away, you feel it—a scorching stare burning into your back.

You don’t even have to look to know who it’s coming from.

“Baila conmigo.”

The familiar rasp of Javier’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps into your space. He takes a swig of his beer, his leather jacket gone, leaving him in just the white button-up that hugs his chest a little too well.

You cock a brow, crossing your arms. “What happened to your dance partner?”

“Sent her away,” he replies easily, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “Poor girl couldn’t catch the rhythm.”

You let out an amused huff, rolling your eyes. Of course, he’d say that. Before you can think better of it, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you toward la pista.

The moment you’re there, he pulls you flush against him, one large hand settling at your lower back while the other still clutches his beer. You fall into the simple two-step with ease, your bodies moving in perfect sync to the music. 

His thigh slots between yours, the friction sparking something electric, and you can’t help but press closer, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you.

“Reminds me of that night at the club,” his lips brush at your ear. It’s a miracle you can still hear him over the loud music. “When you finally let me get between those pretty legs.”

The heat in his words, combined with the faint scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath, floods your senses. He smells and feels like everything your last dance partner wasn’t.

Whistles and cheers ripple through the crowd as you and Javi throw yourselves into the rhythm of the song, your bodies moving like two parts of the same melody.

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good dancer the first time you shared a dance—not until that night at the club. 

And just like his dancing, the way he fucked you afterward had blown every expectation out of the water.

The song comes to an end, leaving you both flushed and slightly winded, sweat clinging to your skin despite the cool night air. The cheers die down as a new track begins, and Javi’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin.

“C’mon, give me another one,” he urges, his voice still rich and sensual despite the exertion.

You laugh, shaking your head as you step back, hands on your hips. You hadn’t planned to stay this long, and now your body is screaming for mercy. “Raincheck, handsome. I gotta head home.”

Javi’s grin falters slightly, but it doesn’t fade completely as your hand drifts down his chest, fingers savoring the firmness of his body.

His broad shoulders and toned frame are just so enchanting, and you can’t resist indulging one last time before grabbing his beer. You take a long, slow sip, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you drain the bottle and set it aside on one of the plastic fold-out tables.

“Not gonna stick around for the cake?” he asks, that boyish charm in his tone as he steps closer.

You flash him a flirty smile. “Save me a piece.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the rowdy chaos of his friends and cousins cuts him off. They swarm him, loud and eager, tugging at his shoulders and shouting for him to take another shot.

He laughs, but his gaze finds yours, his warm brown eyes locking on to you one last time.

“Enjoy, Javi,” you tell him with a wink. “You know where to find me.”

That familiar smirk is at his lips as he’s pulled toward the makeshift bar. You watch him for a moment before turning to make your departure.

You’re cutting across the lawn when you hear a voice behind you.

“Need a ride home?”

It’s the guy you danced with earlier, his cologne still potent even in the open air. His gentlemanliness would’ve been charming if it weren’t for the obvious expectation in his tone.

You decline politely, offering a quick smile before brushing past him and unlocking your car.

What you don’t realize is that Javi sees the entire exchange from afar. He’d caught the tail end of the guy trailing after you, his gaze narrowing as he watched you disappear into the sea of parked cars.

A flicker of irritation tugged at his expression, but he stayed rooted to his spot, letting his friends push another shot into his hand.

Instead of following, he threw himself into his own celebration, his laugh loud and boisterous as if he hadn’t seen a damn thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving with that guy, and the glint in his eyes that had been so bright when you were there dulled just slightly. 

Still, he let it go, for now.

He knew exactly where to find you, after all.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your back arching against the cold tile of your kitchen floor. Javier thrusts into you with a raw, animalistic need, his cock driving so deep inside you that it feels like he’s carving himself into your very being.

The absurdity of the situation is a bit funny—you’re still fully clothed, minus your sleeping shorts having been thrown haphazardly across the room, a stark contrast to earlier when you’d been bare and spread for him on that damn pool table.

Just as you predicted, he showed up at your door in the dead of night, his silhouette illuminated by the dim porch light. You’d barely made it to the door before his desperate, insistent knocking threatened to wake the entire block.  

It felt like he might break it down if you didn’t open it fast enough. Whoever dropped him off didn’t even wait to see if you’d answer.

No words were exchanged when you finally let him in. His brown eyes, dark and searing, did all the talking.

He’d cupped your face with one rough hand, the other holding a plate with aluminum foil covering it, precariously balancing it in his palm as he kissed you with an appetite that left you breathless.

You let him back you into the kitchen, setting the plate on the counter, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go.

And now, here you are, legs spread wide, the weight of him pressing you down into the tiles, his jacket still on, smelling like beer and bourbon as he ruts himself against you.

“Givin’ your number out, huh?” he growls against your lips, his words dripping with bitterness. His hand snakes up to wrap around your neck, firm but not harsh, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his. You feel the subtle coolness of the bracelet against your skin and that only makes it better. “That’s all it takes, fresita? One fuckin’ dance?”

Each word is punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust that has you gasping for air.

Your hands scramble at the back of his jacket, trying to find some sort of anchor while his dick fucks into you over and over, your slick cunt clamping helplessly around him.

If your brain wasn’t fogged with pleasure, you’d call him out on his jealousy, tease him for letting something so trivial get under his skin. At least you were better about hiding it.

But god, it’s too fucking hot—seeing him like this, so undone, so unhinged, all because of you.

Javier, the man who always carries himself with that cool, confident swagger, who never seems to let anything faze him, is now losing his composure right here on your kitchen floor.

And all it took was watching some other guy’s attention on you to make him snap. If anyone is picky and spoiled here—it’s him.

“Answer me,” he demands, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to leave you lightheaded, his thrusts never faltering. His free hand grabs at your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, the angle forcing you to experience every inch of him.

“I—it was nothing,” you manage to cry, though your words are almost incoherent as he’s driving into you. “Javi, I—”

“You what?” he interrupts with a curt laugh, his teeth grazing the underside of your jaw before he bites down gently, making you squirm beneath him. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around, lettin’ some asshole think he’s got a chance with you?”

The thought alone seems to fuel him further, his movements growing rougher and you swear you’re on the edge of unraveling.

And as he watches the way your body responds to him—your nails digging into his back, your moans turning into screams—he knows he’s making his point loud and clear. 

Javi’s grip around your throat tightens, cutting off your breath just enough to stimulate you. The pressure makes you feel somehow, impossibly, even more turned on.

“He can’t fuck you like I can,” he grinds against you, his coarse and damp pubic hairs bristling against your sensitive clit, the friction of it almost too much. “No one can.” His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your mouth falls open on instinct, tiny, wheezy moans spilling out as his nose brushes against yours.

Javier’s dark eyes feel like they’re boring straight into your soul, gleaming with hunger as he watches your every twitch, every little surrender. He leans in and kisses you all demanding and vehement. 

His lips claim yours like he’s trying to eat you whole, his tongue slipping inside to taste every gasp you give him.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs mockingly as he pulls back just enough to let his gaze drop between your bodies, watching your pussy swallow his cock. “Just listen to how wet you are, baby. Think he could ever make you sound like this?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment—and arousal—as the obscene, sloppy sounds of his length plunging into you fill the air, amplified by his words. The drive of his hips is merciless, each stroke drawing you closer with dizzying precision.

Your nails dig into his forearms, bending your body beneath him as your vision starts to be blotched with white spots.

You can feel it, the winding of your orgasm at your core pulling taut, about to burst. When it finally does, your pussy flutters and squeezes as waves of smoldering intensity crash over you.

“Puta madre,” he snarls, his head falling back from how good it feels to have you come around him.

Pulling out, Javier pins you down with his weight to keep you from squirming away. His cock, flushed, drooling, and shiny with your juices, hovers inches from your face as you lay flat on the floor.

Your swollen lips part instinctively, the scent of your own headiness making your mouth water.

“Tongue out, baby,” he commands, his voice rough but coaxing.

You obey, sticking your tongue out lazily, your half-lidded eyes locked onto his. The sight of you like this—wrecked, pliant, and waiting for him—is enough to undo him completely. His hand pumps his cock, the golden accessory on his wrist jolting with each move. 

With a low, rasping groan, he spills over you, thick, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face and tongue.

You moan softly, savoring the warmth, licking your lips and swallowing whatever lands in your mouth. The taste of him leaves your tongue and throat buzzing, and you revel in the messy intimacy of it.

He uses his fingers to wipe the remnants of his release from your cheeks, then pushes them into your mouth without hesitation.

“Suck,” he orders, and you comply, wrapping your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue over them with eager enthusiasm. You get carried away, your tongue flicking and sucking greedily, and he chuckles darkly.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you can’t help but tease, your voice carrying amusement as you both come down from the dazed fucking.

Javier sways a little, his inebriation finally catching up to him. He stumbles, but he steadies himself smoothly, like the world itself wouldn’t dare let him fall.

He wipes a hand down his face before meeting your gaze, still kneeling on the floor. “Not a fan of people playin’ with what’s mine,” he says, the statement edged with that possessiveness he tries to pretend isn’t there.

Usually, a line like that would have you rolling your eyes and telling the guy to take his ego down a notch. But with Javier? You don’t mind. At all. Something about the way he says it—like it’s a fact, not an opinion—makes your stomach flip in the worst (or best) way possible.

“Yours?” you challenge, sitting up on your forearms and arching a brow at him. “I thought this was casual.”

“It is,” he says without missing a beat, bringing his fingers up to caress the side of your face, more calm and sure, like he’s completely unaware of how contradictory his behavior is.

You narrow your eyes slightly, refusing to let him off the hook that easily despite melting under his touch. “Casual hookups don’t go into a frenzy after watching the other dance and flirt with someone else.”

He doesn’t even flinch at your words, doesn’t even bother to defend himself. Instead, he smirks—because of course he does—and stretches his arms over his head like the entire conversation is nothing but a minor inconvenience to him.

He straightens up then stands, extending a hand to you, his palm open and inviting, the gold band of the bracelet glinting in the low light.

You let him pull you up and let out a sound of exertion, your muscles still tense from rolling around on the hard floor with him.

“Dance, flirt with whoever you want. When I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

That’s possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “That so?” You try to sound unimpressed, but your voice betrays you, just the tiniest bit giddy.

“That’s so,” he concedes vaingloriously. “Don’t forget who makes you feel this satisfied.”

As if I could ever. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite.

He leans in, kissing you gently, then his voice drops into that deep, velvety murmur that makes your pussy tingle. “Yet you keep coming back.”

You don’t respond because, let’s face it, he’s not wrong. Especially not when he pairs those words with an affectionate kiss.

Instead, you finally roll your eyes, the most predictable move in your arsenal, and step around him to grab your discarded sleeping shorts.

Sliding them back on, you make your way to the counter, where the lonely styrofoam plate of half-smashed birthday cake waits for attention. Without a word, you pull it closer, grab a fork, and dig in.

Javier watches you with a grin still plastered across his face, leaning his hip against the counter. “Didn’t even offer the birthday boy the first bite, huh? Real cold.”

You stab a piece exaggeratedly, lifting it to your mouth, and chewing slowly, giving him a look that says cry about it.

But when you see the faint pout pulling at his lips—a deliberate act, no doubt—you sigh, scoop up another forkful, and hold it out. “Fine. Even though technically it’s not your birthday anymore.”

He leans in, not breaking the eye contact, and takes the bite straight from the fork, his lips brushing the tines with an unnecessary amount of flair.

You swear he’s showing off, but you don’t call him out on it, not when he groans softly in appreciation and you can’t help but admire him like this, playful and flirty in your kitchen.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Javi,” you say after a moment, softer now.

He swallows, his smirk shifting into something a little more genuine as he meets your gaze. “Gracias, fresita.”

For a moment, the air between you shifts—gentler, almost intimate. Then he reaches for the fork still in your hand and steals another bite, flashing you a look that drags you right back to reality.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz .

[headkiss]

hi hi there! Newcomer to your blog here, and I just wanna say that I love love love your writing sm, it makes me warm and happy and I wanna consume it like good soup. I saw that you’re looking for Spencer requests (my beautiful beloved baby) and I was wondering if I could just request a classic friends to lovers where the reader is a member of the team, and gets hurt on a case and that’s what makes Spencer realize? Any format you’d like. This might be a bit tmi but I just got broken up with and honestly fictional men are the only thing getting me through this rn, and seeing you were taking requests was just straight up happiness. Thank you!

this is so sweet what if i cry :,) i hope this helps you at least a little bit (especially since this has been sitting in my drafts for a MINUTE) <3 you will get through this my love (spencer thinks so too!) | 0.7k words!! my first spencer fic so bare with me 😅 tw mention of a knife and a small injury !

You’re no stranger to taking risks. Nobody at the BAU is. It’s practically written into your job descriptions. Split-second decisions, no room for mistakes.

Only, usually they seem to pay off. Mostly. This time, you aren’t so lucky.

After three days of profiling and trying to catch this unsub, of new victims and suspects and secrets uncovered by Garcia, you’ve finally found him. Apprehending an unsub seems to either be the easiest or toughest part of a case.

This time around, it’s the latter. He’s stubborn, and smarter than you’d like to admit, and when you think you’ve got an opening, the upper hand, that one wrong move proves you wrong.

It’s so quick, the way he grabs your wrist and twists your arm behind your back harshly, a pained groan escaping your mouth before you can suppress it. The way the team all springs into action quickly, talking to him calmly, Hotch at the forefront.

And the look on Spencer’s face. The pleading in his eyes that he can’t seem to control.

He’s who you look to first. Who you keep looking at, because you think if anyone could keep you calm in this moment, if anyone could make you believe you’ll be okay, it’s him.

There’s a knife held to your neck, a cruel grip on your arm, and still, you look at Spencer.

“I won’t cut her if you let me go,” the unsub says. You squeeze your eyes shut before blinking them back open.

You know Hotch has a plan, and if he doesn’t, then Emily does, and so on. They’re all incredible, and there’s not a part of you that thinks they won’t get you out of this, but your heart still pounds, your stomach still twists in fear.

“Go ahead,” Hotch says.

“Hotch-” Spencer’s voice is quiet but sharp. He trusts Aaron, he always has, but you aren’t something he wants to gamble.

“You won’t get far,” Hotch continues.

You find Spencer’s eye and nod at him, so slight that he’d be the only one to pick up on it, since he’s paying such close attention to you. Under different circumstances, you might feel your heart flutter from it.

Sure enough, Aaron does have a plan, and before you can really process what he’s said or done to get through to him, the unsub lets you go with a harsh push, and the first place you go is into Spencer’s waiting arms.

“Take her outside, Reid, we’ve got this,” Morgan says quickly. Spencer doesn’t fight him on it.

He walks you out with one arm tight around your waist and the other stabilizing your wrist. His hands are far kinder than the ones that had been on you moments ago, and you let him hold some of your weight until you’re settled sitting in the back of one of the ambulances on scene.

Spencer watches them wrap your wrist with a tensor bandage, watches them assure you that it’s just a sprain, that you’re otherwise injury-free. He holds your good hand the entire time. Maybe too tightly.

You both wait until the paramedics are done and have walked away to help somebody else before speaking.

“Well, that was fun,” you say. Your instincts are always to play things down, to hide behind jokes. Still, you let yourself lean your head against Spencer’s shoulder.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. The hand that isn’t holding yours covers your bouncing knee. “I know a lot about odds, and they weren’t in our favor back there.”

“It was mostly my fault, probably. I let him get too close.”

“We arrived seconds later than we should have. That car slowed us down in the intersection on the way, and then the rest was off.” He tells you. Comforting you the way he knows how; with the facts. “Time is what went wrong. Not you. Never you.”

You pick your head up and turn your head to look at him, his hair falling around his ears, his eyes still worried but soft. “Never, huh? I’m gonna remember that.”

Reid squeezes your good hand, his pinky running across your wrist to find your pulse, like he’s making sure you’re really okay. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so afraid on the job.”

“Not even when you’re the one being held like that?” you ask.

“No,” he tells you. “Not even then.”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

A Step Towards Him

Part Two of Betrayal. Or how meeting Gothams Vigilantes leads you to look for your ex. Does it count as a Fix-it fic if it's my own work? I do not follow the canon timeline in this. ~2.8k words

The world changes for you after that night, after finding out your boyfriend is a crime lord. And not just any crime lord. Gotham's biggest. It shatters you. You take some time off of work, request to be transferred off the case. Gordan gives you strange, worried looks over it, but doesn't ask. It makes you want to hide in your office and sob.

The world changes around you too. You try to ignore the reports about Red Hood, but you can't. Not when helicopters catch footage of him confronting Batman. Not when he's sighted entering an abandoned building before it explodes. (No, you don't throw up when you hear the news. Or let out uncontrollable sobs in the bed that he used to share.) Not when he comes back as some sort of vigilante, a protector of crime alley. (No, you don't drop to your knees in relief in front of the television.)

Your life finds some rhythm of normal. You go to work. You cook dinner alone. You curl under your comforter. You convince yourself the bed doesn't feel empty. That life is normal. Except some things aren't. 

It starts with Nightwing. He drops down next to you when you're picking through an active crime scene. It doesn't set off any warning bells at first, the Bats always seem to be where they're needed. Then he speaks.

"So, you and Red Hood?" He asks, voice light and teasing.

You nearly jump out of your skin to look at him wide eyed, before your head whips around to see if anyone's heard. They haven't, the crime scene is empty save for the two of you. You turn back to him, hackles raised and eyes narrowed. "How do you–"

He shrugs, smiling easily like he's not dragging the shattered pieces of your heart across the coals. "Found out by accident."

"Well, we aren't together anymore." You huff, averting your gaze from him and back to the crime scene. You know he's analyzing you, even under his relaxed demeanor. You're just not sure what he's looking for. 

"That's a shame." Nightwing chirps, spinning the sticks in his hands you know are equipped with enough electricity to bring down a rhino. 

You can't help the wince you make at that. "Why?"

"It seems like he really liked you." 

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, a mannerism he definitely sees. You know Jason– Red Hood liked you. He used to say all that and more against your skin when he thought you were sleeping. (You don't relive that memory when everything's heavy and your stomach twists and you need something good.) "It's in the past." You answer instead. 

He opens his mouth to answer, but you never hear what he wanted to say. The sound of lab techs arriving at the crime scene draws your attention. By the time you turn back to him, he's already gone. You shake your head, trying not to read into the vigilantes' words. Damn Bats.

There's a kid in your office. Not just any kid. Red Robin. Ok, sure, he's not exactly a child, but he's definitely a teenager and definitely should not be sitting at your desk, in your office, and typing on your computer.

"Um, hello, Red Robin. Is there something I can do for you...?" You ask, lingering in the middle of the room. 

He looks up, turning your computer slightly towards you. You step closer to look. "Have you thought about using this cipher here?"

You glance over the screen. Huh. He's right. That code had been troubling you for a week. Leave it to a Bat to get it done in a day. "Oh. Thanks, that's pretty impressive work."

He grins at you and sits back in your seat. "That means you have some free time to talk to me?"

You eye him wearily, remembering your encounter with Nightwing. "I– yeah. Sure. Of course I do."

"Great!" He practically lights up and starts rambling. "Did you know Red Hood has a direct comlink to the batcave? And he saved that family from the Park Row explosion last week. Did you know he likes to read? He's kind of a nerd but–"

"Woah, woah, hey." You cut him off. "Look, I heard about the rescue and I know about the– uh, reading stuff, okay? What's this about?" He studies you, he can probably read your emotions better than you know them yourself. He probably knows exactly what you're feeling about Red Hood.

He smiles wider at you, like he's found what he was looking for, and stands up, almost bouncing to the window. "No reason. Just wanted you to know." He's launched his grappling hook and is out of sight before you can get another word in.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. Bats.

You're almost expecting it when you find yourself in the presence of the next vigilante. Sitting alone in an unmarked car, the most boring stakeout of your life isn't so boring anymore when Batgirl drops herself onto the hood of your car. You only embarrass yourself a little bit by yelping, spilling what's left of your coffee on the dashboard. She's at the door and tugging the handle by the time you've frantically wiped down the lukewarm liquid off the car. 

You unlock the door. If you didn't know better you would have said the stitches in her mask turned upward. 

She slides into the passenger seat.

It's quiet for a long time. So long you actually start to get comfortable with her being in the car with you. 

"Brother."

Your gaze snaps to her. "What?"

"Tries." 

You blink at her. She's already leaving the car as gracefully as she entered it. Okay. Okay. Definitely nothing to read into there. There's no way she was talking about him. Jason– 'no' you correct yourself– Red Hood is definitely not related to Batgirl and he's definitely not anything else she says he is. 

Work was particularly long today, your shoulders ache, your head is pounding. It's a relief when you finally open the door to your apartment.

"I understand why Todd likes you so much."

"Motherfu–" You half shout, reaching for the baseball bat by the door before you stop short, gaze settling on Robin, who seemed to have made himself comfortable in your home. 

He waves a picture at you, one with you and Jason together, the one you took during a date to Gothams botanical garden. The one you know you had tucked away under your bed. 

You exhale heavily, far too tired to find the energy to scold the kid and lecture him about boundaries. "What are you doing here, Robin?"

"I am here to join the others in their endeavors to reconnect you and Todd."

You tense, jaw dropping a little before you can gather yourself. "No one's doing that."

He places the picture carefully down on the counter. "Of course they are. You're good for Todd. And he asked for you when he was coming out of the fear toxin hallucinations. That shows trust."

"He what?" You ask, voice pitched and startled.

"He asked for you." Robin responds, voice steady and factual. "You didn't know?"

You shake your head, thoughts racing. 

"Oh." He looks unsure, you've never seen any of the Bats look unsure, it snaps you out of your spiraling. "Perhaps, don't mention I told you?"

"Course, Robin. I won't." You answer, and you're relieved when your voice doesn't shake.

He nods, like he expected that answer, but you're not sure if he did. 

"Can I get you anything?" You ask and he actually looks surprised. 

"No. I need to return to patrol. Technically my route doesn't cover this area."

"Oh?" You prompt, unable to keep yourself from prying. "Whose does?"

He scoffs like it's obvious on his way out your window. 

Despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn't come easily that night.

Your final straw is Batman, because of course it is. 

Gordan had handed you a stack of files. "Detective, I need you to take this to the roof, I have the mayor waiting in my office to hear more about the Freeze situation." He rolls his eyes, dark circles and lack of sleep evident on his eyes. "Though he should know by now hounding my officers won't change anything."

"Sir," You start, "can Montoya do it?"

He gives you a pitying look. "Sorry, Detective. Montoya's in archives. You're the only one I can trust with this."

That's how you ended up on the roof of the GCPD precinct. 

"Detective." A low, distinct voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin, even if you knew he was coming. 

You whip around, only relaxing when your gaze settles on Gothams Dark Knight. You silently offer him the files. He takes them, but doesn't look at them, watching you instead. Analyzing you. Studying. It's starting to get nerve wracking being judged by every vigilante Gotham has to offer.

"I know you and Red Hood–"

"Please don't." You cut him off with more bravery than you knew you had.

He doesn't. You look away. But the time you've found the courage to turn back, he's gone. 

You're walking through crime alley, alone, at night, just a few days later. You're not completely sure what your plan is, what you want out of this. But settling whatever is lingering between you and Jason is worth the danger. 

But, danger never finds you. You don't make it two minutes into crime alley before the sound of boots hitting the ground behind you reaches your ears. You know it's him. You know he could have done that soundlessly, but he let you hear him. It steadies some of the unease in your chest.

"What are you doing here?" His voice sounds robotic through the voice modulator, but his shoulders are stiff, body tense, when you turn to face him. You notice his fingers twitch towards you, that soothes another ache in your chest. 

"I wanted to talk to you." You say slowly, carefully. It feels more daunting now that you're here, in his element. 

He looks around. "It's too open."

You follow his gaze, the streets seem empty, but you know Gotham well enough that the shadows have ears. "Then where?"

He considers you for a moment. "The roof. Can I– can I carry you? Just to get us to the roof faster. Or I could drop a fire escape for you?"

"Oh. Um, sure, I don't mind you carrying me. How do you plan on getting us up there, exactly?" You ask, voice pitching slightly at the thought of being close to him again.

He holds up something you recognize as a grappling gun as he steps to your side, hooking an arm around you and firmly tugging you against him. "Hold on."

You wrap your arms around his neck and air is flying past your ears before you've even realized your feet have left the ground. 

He lets go of you slowly once you're both settled on the roof, hand lingering at your waist to make sure you don't fall over. "Good?"

"Good." You echo, and he reluctantly moves to give you space. 

"So, why are you putting yourself in danger just to talk to me? You know these streets aren't safe." He crosses his arms over his chest, it would seem defensive if you didn't recognize the stiffness in his shoulders, like he's bracing for the worst. You wish you could see behind his mask.

"I– could you talk to your family? They keep coming to see me and I think they have the wrong idea." You tell him, voice careful and even.

"Wait, wait. My family?" His arms drop to his side, confusion apparent even through the modulator his helmet.

"Yes? Some of the other vigilantes came to see me a few times–" 

He curses softly, shifting and clenching his fists. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. They shouldn't have done that."

You falter, "I didn't mean it in a bad way."

He sighs heavily, like he's carrying all of life's burdens as he unclenches his fists. "I know. It's not you I'm mad at." He shifts his weight, unsure. "It's just– you should have meant it. I'm not good."

You straighten out, upset he would even consider himself that after how much he's changed, tried to be good, succeeded at being good. You'll never admit it, but you can't help but follow every story about him, every tiny detail about what he does. "That's not true. I'm the one that's not good."

He levels you with look. "Don't act like I don't know you. You are good. You wouldn't have given up running my case if you weren't. You could have run me out of Gotham."

"You know about that?" You ask softly.

"No shit, I know about it. I know you." He says it like it's a fact, a universal truth. 

"But I– I broke up with you. Without really listening. I didn't try to understand." You protest, because with all the bad he's ever done, the good he's done– the fact that he's trying– outweighs it all.

He tilts his helmet towards you. "Because Iied to you. I was using you."

"You said you stopped that."

"I did." He answers, firm and resolute, then sighs out your name. "But I still did that to you, I still hurt you." He pauses, "Look, I'll talk to the others. They won't bother you again, okay? Just– Let me take you home."

"I don't want to go home." You step closer to him. You've decided what you want.

He seems to freeze at the movement. "You don't want to go home?" He repeats slowly, carefully like the words don't make sense to him.

"Red Hood– Jason. I'd like– I miss you, okay? I miss waking up next to you, I miss making dumb jokes with you when we cook, I miss cuddling with you while we make fun of movies together. I want to– I want to try again. If you'd let me."

"If I'd let you?" He echoes your words again. It makes your face fall, how stoic he seems. Then, his mask is clattering against the roof, his gloves tugged off and dropped haphazardly so he can cup your face with his hands. He leans his forehead against yours, and breathes out your name. "I'd let you take anything you wanted from me."

You grab his wrists, intent on keeping him close after so long apart, as your heart races, your breath catches and everything centers on him. Your eyes dart over his face, trying to see the truth in his eyes. 

"I mean it. If all you ever wanted from me was friendship, just someone to keep your bed warm at night, or something more. I'd give that to you." His eyes dart over your face in return, wanting to make sure you understand his words, his feelings for you. 

"I want more. I want you." You say quickly, because he needs to know he's important to you. That he matters to you and what he does as Red Hood didn't and can't change that. 

He lets out a breathless laugh and kisses you. It sets your nerves on end and for the first time since you told him you didn't want to see him, you feel grounded. You kiss him back, hands leaving his wrists to grab the leather of his jacket and draw him closer. 

He only pulls away when you're both gasping for air. "I know I have a lot to make up for–."

"So do I." You cut off.

"Then maybe we're even, yeah? A fresh start." He says softly, tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You smile and tilt your head up to kiss him again, sweet and lazy before leaning back. "I'd like that."

He's smiling when he kisses you again, and neither of you move to untangle yourselves until you hear whooping and cheering coming from the rooftop across the street.

It's been a few weeks since then. And your relationship is good, better than before, if that's even possible. You're picking over snacks in the grocery store with Jason when an elderly, but alert looking man walks up to the two of you. 

"Ah, I see this is your partner you've been trying to hide from us?" 

Jason straightens out, "Alfred? What are you– uh, yes. Yes. This is them." 

You grin, pulling your fingers from Jason's to reach out and shake Alfred's hand, offering him your name as you do. 

Alfred's eyes seem to twinkle and he nods approvingly as he introduces himself. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. You're welcome to dinner any night, I know the others are eager to officially meet you."

Jason groans a little, and he rests his hand against the small of your back. "We'll think about it, Alfred."

Alfred smiles knowingly at you, "Of course. Take your time."

And as you lean into Jason's side, you have a feeling you'll be making it to that dinner sooner rather than later. 

A Side Story

[swoofllia]

THE PROJECT.

-ˋˏ✄┈ #Vance Hopper x Reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ PAIRING/PAIRINGS : Vance Hopper x Fem! Reader.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ FORMAT : Series.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ SUMMARY OF CHAPTER : Y/N and Vance were partnered up for a project. Obviously, both of them did not want to be together because of an incident that happened two summers ago. But were there any other choices? And what other surprise would await Y/N later on the day?

♺ TW ! : Mentions of fighting, cuss words, bruises, wounds, brusies, scars, blood, threats, abuse, kidnappings, and more.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ AUTHORS NOTE ! : I just want to say that English is not my first language and that there is a scene (where Y/N is complaining to her best friend) inspired from a Vance H. fic called Pinball, Hair, and Detention by ellemfaoh! Please go check it out. It's so good! Also, there will be some 70s slang in the fic, so I will give you the meaning of it down below!

↓

𓍯 Hairy eyeball - If someone were to give you the hairy eyeball, it would mean they're shooting you a nasty or menacing stare.

Enjoy your stay ! :)

CHAPTER I - What A Day.

NORTH DENVER, COLORADO - 1977.05.27.

"And... Vance and Y/N! You two will be the last assigned pair for this upcoming project." Said, Mr. Hall. You froze at the news. You hated Vance. Well.. Not exactly hate. It was more of a dislike type of way. From your side, at least. Long story short, when you moved to town before first grade, you both became friends. But because of an incident two summers ago that everyone in the school knew about, everything went upside down. Though the feeling was mutual. Vance felt the same way about you, too.

Now you are just a girl who has hobbies and interests others would call weird and lame, while some idiotic kids at school try to pester you and whatnot. You have tried to ignore them, but just can't ignore the agitating buzz they made in your head. Could you now?

Needless to say, both of the teenagers wanted to be switched with someone else. Even if it's with the most stupid kid in this class. Seriously.

"If you have any questions, ask the-"

"I'm sorry for interrupting, sir, but is there any chance that I can work alone? I just feel like I'll be better on my own." You questioned, raising your hand slightly to attract the teacher's attention. Mr. Hall's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you.

"If anyone works alone, it will be an automatic fail. If you want an explanation, I won't give it to you, because i don't owe you one." Mr. Hall stated flatly as you groaned quietly in annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Now, I want everybody to sit next to their assigned partner. Remember, I will check if everybody is sat where they have to be, if not there will be consequences."

Cringing quietly at that last part, you shifted uncomfortably as you glanced around the room to see if anybody reacted the same way. Some of them did, but most didn't. Probably because they were so used to Mr. Hall and his weird ways of threatening. There was some rumor tha-

"Move, fat ass." Jumping slightly in your seat, you were a bit startled. As you looked up at the figure that insulted you and brought you out of your mind, you couldn't really recognize who it was. Was she one of the girls that liked Vance. Carol, maybe? You grimaced. Did you have to sit next to him? To Vance Hopper? That's probably why she looked like there was steam coming out of her ears. Does Carol still think that you and Vance are friends or something? Even though the whole school knows you aren't?

"Maybe when you calm your balls down a bit, I will move you snot-flicking doofus." You spat out. Getting up, she threw you a nasty glare. You ignored her and went to sit where Vance was. Great. When you went to his desk, you dropped your bag on your side and sat down, giving the dirty-blond a quick glance. Just as Vance was about to say something to you (probably something spiteful) , Mr. Hall started checking as he promised, and after, he announced. "As you all know, yesterday we wrote down some very important notes about World War 1 and World War 2. Well, almost everyone." paused Mr. Hall, giving Vance a quick look of disapproval before continuing. Vance, in response, sneered. "All of you will have one to two weeks to do this project. Before you start it, I want all of you to write down some more notes, as the project's prompt will be about WW1 and WW2." After that your mind completely dozed off somewhere else. The prompt was all you needed. You would just write down the notes that were needed and zone out again.

As some minutes ticked off, you felt a sharp pain towards your leg. You quietly hissed out as you looked beneath the desk and saw Vance's leg, ready to attack again. You shot a glare towards Vance. All he did was smirk. Narrowing your eyes, you moved your legs far away as you possibly could. After a while, a thump on your leg was heard, and you bit your tongue just so you don't yelp out from pain. Looking up at the wall in front, you checked the time. Your eyebrows furrowed for a second before going to an unexplainable expression. 15 more minutes. You sighed in defeat, leaning your head on your palm. It won't be that bad. Right? It was just 15 minutes.

WRONG.

"You don't understand, Bugs! It hurt like a hundred hits with a belt!" You stated while she raised an eyebrow, silently questioning your words. "Okay, okay, I'm exaggerating, but still! He's the worst! And just as I thought he was gonna stop, he started tugging and pulling on my hair!" You ranted to your best friend. Exchanging the books in your hands with the ones in the locker, you slammed it shut. As you leaned against it, you turned towards her - Maya. She was obviously trying to hold her laughter. When you started squinting your eyes and crossing your arms is when she burst out laughing. After a second, you chimed in. The both of you got weird stares from some other kids, or whatever. Who cares, tho? You were only having fun with one of the most normal girls in school.

When you were over with the giggling session, she spoke. "Maybe our little Vancey has a little crush on you!" teased Maya. "Oh yes, I hope Vance likes me! I really do!" You said with a fake smile and a high-pitched voice, making a face afterward. Maya started laughing again, but you just stood there watching her. You rolled your eyes and sighed as she laughed. "If a boy likes you, he shouldn't be tugging or kicking your leg! Not bullying the person you're attracted to is literally the bare minimum!" You exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air in frustration, face laced with confusion.

"True, true. But still, imagine if he actually does."

"Are you trying to get on my nerves today?" You grumbled out, looking sideways at her. She shrugged as the bell rang. "Maybe, but luckily we have English together. You know what that means..." She exclaimed, changing the subject as her mouth curved into a smile. You gave her a smirk of your own.

Whenever the both of you had classes together, you wouldn't stop giggling for the most stupid reasons. Would it be teachers, other kids in school, hell, even objects! Honestly, she was everything you could ask for in a best friend. You knew each other since first grade. Maya knew about the incident with Vance because she was there too. Ever since then, the both of you hung out a lot, and you got very close, resulting in her being your best friend and you being hers.

As you both walked towards the English classroom, ahead of you, you saw Vance with his supposed 'friends' and some two other girls. You scoffed, rolling your eyes while Maya just looked at them with the white of her eye. The both of you walked past the horrendously annoying group (in your opinion), but you noticed that Maya made some sort of expression you couldn't explain. Closest to it was one of surprise. An 'Ooh' and 'Aah' escaped from her lips as if she were reading some sort of fascinating fashion magazine. You turned your head to see what she was 'Ooh'ing' and 'Aah'ing' about, and you mentally groaned out.

Turning your head back, you saw Vance fucking Hopper staring at you. Right directly at you. The both of you locked eyes. As you kept eye contact with his icy blues, you saw that Carol girl angrily glaring at you. Making a face you turned your head towards Maya.

"I swear that chick has some problem with me!" You commented. "She keeps giving me a hairy eyeball, and I don't know why! I honestly think-"

"It's because she likes Vance. Yeah, I know. The whole school does." She replied, cutting you off. "Last year, when I was paired up with him for the school's baking competition, she kept either glaring or sneering at me." She said with laughter. "Who cares, tho? It's not like she can win over his heart with her bitchy attitude. Wait! Actually no!" She exclaimed, her head turning towards you with wide eyes and a grin on her face. "They would be the perfect couple! They both are assholes like it's their full-time job and are just... Eugh!" Maya shivered a bit, a scowl plastered on her face while you chuckled at her reaction.

When you both went inside the classroom, you went to your usual seats, which were almost at the back. As you sat on the dirty plastic chairs, both of you started talking about different topics.

"And then she-" Maya got interrupted by the teacher walking in. Ugh. Mrs.Young..

After a while, you started quietly giggling at a thought that came in your head. Maya looked at you, confusion drawn on her face. You just gave her a nod, meaning that you would tell her in a bit. As the class began to sit down, Mrs. Young started talking about something that clearly wasn't important to you because you were quietly laughing and whispering with Maya.

"Y'know.. Young doesn't suit her. Like at all. She's fuckin' ancient, an annoying old hag that passes the jocks so they can graduate, just because she wants to pull down their pants since she can't do that to her husband." Maya quickly put a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh or even giggle. You could see her eyes slightly filled with tears as she blinked profusely.

"It wasn't that funny, but still. Its so-"

"Y/N!" Mr. Young yelled out. You stiffened as the expression on your face quickly turned from joy to panic. As you straightened up and turned your head towards her, you saw her make the most horrendous expression on an adult you have ever seen. You tried to keep it inside, but you let out a giggle and a quiet laugh.

"Get up!"

Here we go.

"Something funny, young lady?" The teacher questioned.

Yes.

"N-No Mrs. Young.." You said through laughs.

Fuck.

As you glanced at Maya, you already knew she was gonna be the reason you were gonna end up in detention. As you let out a laugh again, that's when Mrs. Young shouted out.

"That's it! Detention for three days!"

"But-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses!"

You sighed as you plopped down on the plastic chair, placing your cheek on your palm.

What a day, honestly.

When the bell rang, you quickly gathered your stuff and left without uttering a word to your best friend. She called out to you, but you ignored her completely. As you went to your locker, you heard someone shout out your name while you quickly switched up your books.

"Y/N..!"

Maya's voice echoed through the hall. You turned around to look at her as she jogged towards you. When she was in front of you, she panted for some seconds before speaking up.

"What." You questioned, voice flat. It took her a moment to talk as she was taking some breaths. "Listen.. I didn't mean to make you mad or get you into trouble. I just wanted to make you smile after her nagging 'n shit, you know?" "Yeah, but that doesn't mean while she's scolding and looking at me!" "I'm sorry! Okay?" She exclaimed quickly while looking down at the ground. You just smiled at her. When she looked to you, her blue eyes crinkled at the end as she gave you a grin. You know she didn't mean any harm. "You're lucky you're my best friend, or I would have done everything possible to get you stuck in detention with me." She let out a giggle and hugged you, you doing the same.

As the time flew by, you went to detention, and when that hell of a place was over, you walked to the exit to leave school. You decided to go to the Grab 'N Go later and you walked half the way towards your house, you heard leaves crunching behind you. You shrugged it off and started walking a bit faster. When you realized the person behind copied you, you hesitated to turn around, and you did. Your eyes slightly widened a bit, then narrowed.

Vance fucking Hopper. Great. Just great.

You locked eyes with him. He looked you up and down, sneering. You stopped in your tracks, your face contouring into confusion and annoyance. "Are you followin' me or something, Hopper? You weren't even in detention, so what are you doing here walking so late after school?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow as you gripped the straps of your backpack. He probably took notice of it because he looked at them. Narrowing his eyebrows, he barked out, "Get a hold of yourself, dimwit. I would never follow anybody, especially you. Stupid bitch." 'Such a lie. He would definently follow someone if they piqued his interest.' You tought. Then he walked past you, grumbling something inaudible afterward.

You rolled your eyes and started again. Honestly, you expected some more arguing with him right now, but he didn't really do anything troublesome today when you think about it. Not even a minute fight with someone. Well, except when he started kicking your leg and tugging on your hair. He didn't answer your second question, too.. whatever, but what was that supposed to mean? Someone like you?

This time, Vance was ahead of you, so you decided to observe him. He was wearing his jean vest, a mix of blue-ish and gray-ish jeans, a white wife beater, belt, and some dirty black shoes. That was the outfit he wore most. Then, your eyes went up to the back of his head. His long, dirty-blond curls bouncing with every step he took. Honestly, you sometimes envied him for his hair. It was interesting. Wait. Did you just give that asshole a compliment? Yeah, but his hair was pretty! But his personality was the total opposite. It's like he was born on this planet to terrorize everything and everyone. You tought to yourself for a moment that it was because of his home life. You knew about it. He had told you a bit before you two had started hating each other. But that didn't excuse his behavior at all.

What you didn't realize was that you were so caught up in your mind that you were two blocks past your house. Stopping in your tracks when you had realized, you turned around, giving the blond one last glance.

Unlocking the door, you went inside, kicking your shoes off and dropping your backpack. You went to the wired phone to call Maya. Dialing her number, you put the receiver on your ear and waited. When she answered the both of you made an agreement to meet at the Grab 'N Go in 10.

Hanging up, you quickly ran up to your room, grabbing a 5 dollar bill, shoving it in your pocket. You closed the door and rushed down the stairs, putting on your shoes. You went outside and locked the door. You weren't really rushing, so you were walking at a normal pace. You started wondering where the nickname 'Bugs' for Maya came. After a while of thinking, you remembered it was from that one cartoon animation with a bunch of episodes. Looney Tunes, was it?

When you arrived at the Grab 'N Go, Maya wasn't there. She lived closer to the mini store than you did, so you thought it was unusual. Another strange thing is that she always waited for you right in front of the door. You decided to wait for some more minutes. Maybe she would be a bit late than usual, or was she inside? Your gut feeling was telling you something was wrong. You just hoped that The Grabber didn't kidnap her. Just the thought of that made you want to vomit. You quickly decided to first look inside the Grab 'N Go.

Going in, you saw a familiar blond hunched over the Pinball Machine, trying to beat his high score, its bell dinging whenever he scored. Typical Vance.

Ripping your attention off of him, you went between the aisles, but there was no sight of Maya. Suddenly, you heard a lot of commotion come from the side of the freezers. You decided to go there. Going on the other side, you saw a formed crowd of kids. A lot of hyping up and yells could be heard. A fight was happening. You don't know how the lady at the cash register wasn't hearing them chanting 'Fight, fight, fight!'. You wanted to shrug it off, but it was like an itch waiting to be scratched. As you pushed through the kids towards the center, you froze. Your eyes widened from the scene in front of you.

What the fuck?

Some two girls were holding Maya's arms from both her sides, and a third one was throwing punches and kicks at her. Your best friend's face was bruised, and so were her legs and arms. Her lip was almost busted. It wasn't even a fight at this point it was torture.

With clenched fists, your knuckles probably turning white at this point, you looked at the cashier and then back to Maya. When she moved her eyes towards you, you saw pain but relief when she took notice of you. There was so much more, but you couldn't just stand there anymore.

As you pushed through the kids, you went behind the girl who was hitting her. Grabbing her from the hair, you heard her yelp out in pain. "You putrid crotch-sniffing toerag, I swear to God I will kill you!" You yelled at her while turning her head to look at you. "Let me go, you cunt!" She screeched out. Ignoring her demanding, you straight up bashed her head in the freezer then threw her to the ground afterwards. Lifting her head up you saw that her eyes were teary and her nose was bleeding. She touched the bloody trail dripping from her nostrils with her fingertips and she quickly glared at you, anger evident in her eyes. As she got up she swinged a punch at you but you quickly ducked. Seeing her leg move a bit, you assumed she was going to try and kick you somewhere. Knowing her next attack, you blocked it with the tip of your elbow. You heard from somewhere that blocking it that way hurts your opponent more. Suddenly, an idea popped up in your mind. You grinned, bending your knees down a bit, hands resting on them.

"Stupidity ain't a crime, so feel fuckin' free to get outta here, bitch!" You remarked. "Oh! And by the way. I dont know if your parents realize that they're living proof of making a complete mistake and a fucking bitch that bullies other kids and projects her problems on them." You spat out afterward. She just stared up at you. And that's where you crossed the line. Before you can even comprehend, she punched you right in the nose.

"Y/N!" You heard the voice of your best friend call out to you. There was so much noise and commotion. You felt like everything was a fever dream. That was until you felt a kick to the stomach. You shut your eyes, a stinging feeling in them as you clutched your stomach with your arms. When you opened them, they were teary, and you felt a warm liquid trickling down your nose. Yup, you definently got a bloody nose, too. You wiped the blood with the sleeve of your shirt and looked up at her with a nasty glare. She was just grimacing down at you like you were some sort of creature that snuck on Earth. Out of nowhere, she decided to kick you in the hip multiple times, and your not gonna lie, it hurt like a bitch. It almost felt like you were gonna have a broken pelvis.

Just as you thought you were done for and embarrassed yourself in front of the whole Grab 'N Go, Maya shouted unexpectedly.

"Hey, you cock-sucking hackwag!" The girl turned around, facing her. She was surprised at her words because earlier she was tormenting your best friend, and now she's getting insulted by her. "Getting bold, are we?" She questioned, tilting her head while crossing her arms in front of her chest.

You sat up, your back leaning against the freezer door. You felt a slight lump on your lip. As you touched it a bit with the tips of your fingers, you realized she busted your lip. Grimacing, you looked up at the crowd. Some of them were watching Maya and the girl. Some were watching you. Including Vance. His eyes were scanning your bruises and whatnot that was on your exposed skin. He wasn't looking at you only. He observed the girl, Maya, and you. He was a fighter. After all, he was here for the fight. But when his eyes went to your slightly parted bloody lips, his eyebrows furrowed as he locked eyes with yours. The both of you were having a staring stand-off. Well, that was until someone's torso fell on your feet, hissing and groaning as you heard an 'Oh!' from the crowd. You were ready to attack that rascal again if Maya was the one on your feet, but it wasn't. It was quite the opposite, actually. Maya was standing proudly, a small grin plastered on her lips. You brought your feet up to your torso, her back hitting the ground, making her groan out again. You let out a laugh and stood up, dusting yourself.

Grabbing your best friend's hand, you pushed through the crowd. "We gotta leave immediately!" You exclaimed, turning your head to glance at her. Going past the cashier lady, she gave you an odd look. Maybe it was because of your beaten up state. Or maybe because of the loud voices all at the same aisle. Turning her head, she gazed to where the leftover commotion was coming from.

When you and Maya went out the door, the bell rang, signaling your exit. You started running and giggling bit, both of your lungs burning. You were bruised - blue, green, and yellow spots covering your arms and legs, scratches, and whatnot. People on the street were giving you weird and concerned looks, but hey. At least you kind of protected Maya. But you owed her now. She saved you from that imbecile of a girl before she could do something else than throw a blow and some kicks at you. You were just glad she was okay.

As for now, both of you went over to your house and fixed each other up on the living room couch while watching some clichè action movie. There was a comfortable silence between you. That was the feeling you needed. A feeling that made you feel safe while not needing to talk - maybe something like silent communication.. After a while she spoke.

"Dude, I honestly thought you were done for when she started kickin' you 'nd shit. You looked so.."

"Don't even finish."

She chuckled at your fast reply, laying her head on your lap as her legs rested themselves on the armrest. "I'm just glad you're okay, N/N." She murmured.

"Me too, Bugs." You answered, bringing your hand to her head, caressing her hair. "Oh, by the way, did you see the way Vance looked at you? It was weird."

"I know, don't mention it. Again." You exclaimed quickly. "Why?" She asked. There was a moment of silence between the both of you. "Because I don't know what kind of look it was." You mumbled. "What kind of look did you hope it was?" She looked up at you, her blue eyes looking for an answer in yours.

"I don't know." You stated, ripping your eyes from hers towards the TV.

"Then, if you don't know now, you will find out another day." She said before turning her attention towards the movie.

What a day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ NOTES : Hello, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am currently working on the second chapter of the fic, so stay tuned! If you want to get tagged when chapter II is out, please leave a comment or like! If you have any suggestions for the next chapter, feel free to tell me in the comments! Bye-bye! :D

Tags ! : @yayitsyannie @serradiary1ry @dollyzdove I edited the fic up a bit, so that's why I'm tagging you guys for chapter I !

© swoofllia

[eetherealgoddess]

Hihi

Could you do a fic where reader is like a driver 4 bonten and something comes up so she has to like pick (u cld do all or chose one it doesn't matter) them up then some smut, noncon and fem reader.

Thx in advance if you'll write this, I've been searching for a writer that does noncon🥲

Hope you enjoy this! Also hope you don’t mind about a little mxm between the men in it! Also dark ending!!

Also I’m thinking of making an au where the guys are poly with each other and the reader is added to it or walks in on it or something idk yet but lmk in the comments or requests what you think about that.

ꨄBonten’s Propertyꨄ

Part Two

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au

❦You pick up your boss and fellow executives from the club❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Bonten’s Property

“Why do I have to pick them up from the club?” You whine, giving Kokonoi a disturbed look as you stare at his sitting figure, focusing on the laptop in front of him.

“You were specifically requested tonight.” He continues to type as you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but not by our boss. All the guys are gonna do is terrorize me while I’m trying to drive.” You cross your arms as you rest on one leg, hip poking out as you shake your head.

“Boss is with them currently so I assume he relayed the message.” You groan. “You better get going so you don’t anger him.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know Koko.” You finally walk away, snatching the keys as you make your way out of the shared penthouse, heading to the car and unlocking the door before hopping in.

You’re not usually one to pick up the men from the club considering how wild they get, usually only Kakucho or Takeomi could handle the ride, though when you do, you’re usually efficient. Even when Sanzu messes with the wheel or Kazutora tickles your neck to distract you. Even when Ran blows smoke in your face or when Rin pours alcohol on you. Mikey’s not with them usually, so you have no idea how that’s going to be, hopefully he stays a little professional considering you’ve never seen him drunk or high.

Worse comes to worse you can use the partition to divide the front seats from the back which is what you’ve done before. Still, who wants to drive a bunch of drunk or high idiots around? Hopefully they’re not too rowdy, they’ve never been bad enough to prevent you from driving all of you home at a good time. You sigh as you pull up in front of the large club, nodding at the security guard to signal your arrival for Bonten. He nods back before walking into the doors.

You scroll on your phone, waiting for what felt like an hour before you heard the car’s doors opening. Laughter and slurred speech could be heard as the men entered the car, your body tensing into professionalism when you see your boss through the rearview mirror enter, tightening your grip on the wheel. Sanzu sits in the passenger seat with a pink face, eyeing you before smirking. You ignore him as you double check that everyone is situated before driving off.

You ignore their conversations, Kazutora, Sanzu, and the Haitani brothers conversing about the women, drugs, and alcohol all the while Mikey eyes the window a dazed look on his expression as well as a warm face. One of your eyebrows raise as you find humor in your boss's look, unknown to whether he was high or drunk though definitely not sober. You continue the drive peacefully in your own zone as you eye the dark road.

“Y/n, why didn’t you come to party?” Kazutora questions with a smile.

“I don’t ‘party’ like you guys.”

“I think we should’ve hired you as a stripper rather than an executive.” Ran says, his eyes slightly narrowing as he smirks in your direction.

“Yeah, I would’ve paid to see you on stage any day.” Rin adds as he eyes your expression from the side.

Of course, you made a mistake in thinking that they might not fuck with you during this ride considering their boss is here. You ignore their remarks as you continue to drive. Your grip clenches around the wheel once more when you feel a poke against your side.

“Heyy! You’re being spoken to.” Sanzu says as he glares at you.

“Yeah don’t ignore us!” Kazutora whines playfully, poking you until you flinch, using one of your hands to swatt him away. You grit your teeth as you feel a cold liquid running down your thigh, glancing over to see Rin pouring his bottle once more as he chuckles and Ran smiles wider, finding humor in torturing you.

“Goddamnit!” You hiss as you snatch the open bottle and throw it out of the window.

“Awe you’re no fun.” Rin frowns, leaning back into his seat with crossed arms. Ran passes the recently lit blunt you hadn’t even noticed to Sanzu who breathed in a huge wad of smoke just to blow it in your face, slightly blocking your vision as you wave it away.

You continue to ignore them considering what they want is a response, so you drive down the road. You don’t notice the way your boss eyes the situation with amusement as well as staring at you through the mirror, warmth from the drug Sanzu gave him invading all of his senses as his face turns darker, heavy eyes shifting around the car.

“Want some, boss?” Kazutora questions Mikey, handing him the blunt as he takes it from him, breathing in a huge hit before blowing it out slowly. They all praise their boss as he relaxes in his seat. You slightly chuckle before focusing your attention back on the road. You just couldn’t help but find humor in your boss’s laid back behavior for once.

“Here.” He leans over to hand it to you, though you only glance at the flower.

“Oh boss, you can keep it, I don’t smoke.” Honestly, you’re lying because you like smoking. You just don’t want to be high around them or behind the wheel.

“Take it.”

“I can’t smoke behind the wheel.” You say sheepishly.

“Pull over.” Your eyes widen. What the hell?

“B-boss, that’s not necessary.”

“Are you defying the King?” Sanzu growls, narrowing his eyes.

“What? N-no, I just…”

“Then why aren’t you listening?” Kazutora questions.

“Boss clearly gave you an order.” Rin says as his brother eyes you.

All of this over a fucking blunt? What's gotten into them?

“Boss, I’m not disrespecting you, I just thought you wanted to get home! I can smoke in the penthouse if anything.”

“Pull over, now.” You didn’t hesitate to find an empty spot to pull over in, parking the car once you reached it with a shaky hand.

This is so weird.

You take the blunt from Mikey’s hand and put it to your lips, inhaling a little before blowing out.

“More.” You look at your boss from the rearview mirror with confusion.

“I still have to drive, I don’t think I should smoke…”

The barrel of a gun to your head causes you to quiet down, eyeing Sanzu who’s holding the weapon.

“What was that?” Ran teases. “Could you repeat what you just said?”

You glare at them before setting it back to your lips, inhaling deeply before you blow out a huge cloud of smoke, tears forming in your eyes as the burning sensation overtakes your throat.

I don’t understand why they’re making such a big deal out of this.

“Since you can’t drive you should sit in the back seat.” Kazutora says with a fake concerned expression.

“I was ordered to be the driver so I’ll be okay. None of you can drive, anyway.”

“No, it’s alright. Come here.” Following your boss’s order, you reluctantly open the door, hopping out of the driver's seat before opening the back door, blunt still in hand.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassment as you climb in, feeling the intense gazes as you settle into your seat squished in between Mikey and Kazutora who don’t bother to move over, the Haitani brothers having already shifted to the empty seats across from you as well as Sanzu who sits beside the siblings, gun hidden. You squirm awkwardly into your seat as you inhale the leaf once more. Holding the smoke in as a hand on your chin forces you to turn to your right.

“Blow into my mouth.” You try to move your head from Kazutora’s hand, the burning sensation catching up to you, forcing you to blow in his direction, his mouth slightly open as he sucks in the air, his lips barely grazing yours.

This is definitely too intimate. What drugs did they take because marijuana doesn’t do this.

The air feels suffocating as warmth builds, gazes becoming heated as your eyebrows furrow. Suddenly, the hand on your chin moves to the back of your head as your lips are forced to meet with Kazutora’s. Your eyes widen as your hands immediately push against his chest, his hold stronger as he keeps you in place, golden eyes staring into your orbs. Biting his lip only caused a moan from him as he leaned into you, the metallic taste mixing in with mary jane and alcohol.

When he finally releases you, because you were still shoving away from him, you accidentally land on your boss’s chest. Immediate fear causes you to sit up, though you were stopped by arms wrapping around your waist, your head resting against his shoulder, positioned in between the leg that's propped on the seat and the other one on the ground as he leans against the door. Kazutora grabs the blunt from you as he takes a hit from it.

“B-boss?” You question as his hands slowly roam up your blouse, your face heated as the warmth of his hands rests on your breasts that are covered by your bra. “W-wait! Mi- boss! Stop!”

“Are you telling me what to do?” His breath causes tingles down your neck as his lips meet your ear.

“Two times in a row, not a good look for you, Y/n.” Ran says, ignoring his erection under his pants.

“Wait, I just need some air or something! I need to be okay to drive!” Your chest rises and falls as Mikey squeezes your breasts, your hands grabbing his wrists to pull them off though his strength is firm, even when intoxicated.

“You’re not being a very good executive, Y/n. So disobedient.” Rin taunts before he grabs one of your ankles, removing your shoe as well as Kazutora doing the same with your other after handing Ran the wood. You attempt to pull your legs back, forgetting how you are the weakest amongst these men. Sanzu moves to the floor board next to the upper half of your body as Ran moves to the lower, unbuckling your pants as you struggle against Mikey’s hold, blunt in his lips.

“Y-yeah I’m telling all of you to stop! This isn’t profession-!” You’re cut off by Sanzu’s lips, his hand cupping your face as Mikey’s tongue slithers against your ear. Saliva falls down your chin as your hand reaches to push against Sanzu’s chest while the Haitani brothers and Kazutora pull down your pants, revealing your panties. Your eyes become wider as you start kicking your legs, whimpering against Sanzu’s mouth as you try to break free only for Kazutora and Rin to hold your legs apart as Ran uses a finger to trail down your slit through the fabric before he hands the leaf to his brother.

One of Sanzu’s hands pulls your blouse over your chest before he moves back to pull it off, Mikey helping in the process as he holds your arms still.

“Guys! You’re too intoxicated! St-stop, now!”

Rin’s lips trail down your leg, rubbing your thigh in the process while the blunt lies in between his index and middle finger. Kazutora mimics, though removing your sock before he licks your foot, a tingling sensation going up your spine.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Mikey whispers against your ear, unclipping your bra before he forces it off of you, of course you make it harder by preventing the handles from being removed from your arms. He tears them, throwing your bra to the side as one of his arms circle around your waist while the other hand reaches your nipple. Sanzu grabs the other mound in his hand before he lowers his head, eyeing you through heavy lids, his lips circling around your nub as you frantically try to move.

Ran lowers his head as he uses a finger to move your panties to the side.

“As pretty as I’d thought it’d be.” He says before he uses both hands to pull them down, Rin grabs them as he throws them to the side before handing Sanzu the blunt. Ran analyzes your pussy with a sly smile, using a finger to gather the slight slick that’s formed before sucking his finger and releasing a quiet moan.

“Stop touching me!” You exclaim, everything becoming overwhelming as your boss and coworkers roam your body, Sanzu pulling your nipple as he takes another hit.

“Relax.” He says before placing it against your lips. You move your head away before he roughly grabs your chin and forces you to face him.

“Smoke it.” He demands. You blatantly shake your head.

“No! No more of that or any of this!” You hiss as you move up once more, only for you to let out a high pitched scream of pain once Sanzu places the burning wood against your arm. Tears fall from the pain as your face becomes hot. Your other hand grips the arm that was just burnt. You shakily wipe away the residue ash left on your skin.

“Say that again.” He says before placing the blunt against your mouth. You inhale before holding it in and blowing out once more. He wipes the sweat off your forehead as he keeps it against your mouth, you having to inhale more before breathing the smoke out again, mellowing out although your heart continues to race.

Your body jolts as you feel a wet muscle slithering against your clit. Ran’s tongue flicks your nub before his lips close around, sucking as he slightly bobs his head. Kazutora sucks his fingers before sliding his hand down, bending over as he uses two fingers to ease into your wet pussy. Your hole clenches around his fingers as your hips twitch, biting your lip as you hold back from releasing any sound as your eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly, hands grab your hips as you're pushed up, legs hovering over your head as your body is bent. The wetness moves to your ass as his tongue glides against your anus.

“Hah! Not there! Stop it, please!” Tears fall in humiliation as he eats you out, Rin positioning himself to eat your pussy as Kazutora angles his fingers, gliding in and out slowly as he holds pressure to your g-spot before pulling out again, watching your pussy contract intensely. A tongue runs along your clit repeatedly flicking the nub before he sucks it. Sanzu and Mikey hold up your legs as they kiss and lick your neck before leaving hickeys and pinching the skin between their teeth, Mikey handing Sanzu the roach before he throws it out of the cracked window, returning his hand to your nipple.

As Kazutora accelerates his fingers, your hips slightly meet his hand as the brothers eat you out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with your mouth slightly ajar, head falling back on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Ran.”

“Yes boss?”

“Pull out my cock.” He complies, pulling Mikey’s sweats down as well as his underwear, revealing his hard girth. You tense once you feel his head against your ass.

“W-wait, Mikey there’s no lube. Please don’t!”

“My King, I can help.” He says with a dazed look.

Mikey eyes him for a second before he nods his head, Sanzu and Ran switching placements as Ran settles next to her upper body and Sanzu moves to Mikey’s throbbing cock. A groan leaves Mikey’s lips, brushing against your ear as Sanzu lowers his head, lips circling around Mikey’s tip before shoving his cock deep within his throat.

You feel your boss’s hips jerk as his head falls back against the car’s window. Another moan leaves his mouth as you hear the mixture of saliva and precum combining as Sanzu pulls his head back and forth steadily, making sure to wet his king’s cock to the fullest.

“Knew he’d be eager to suck Mikey’s cock.” Rin whispers against your pussy as Kazutora and Ran chuckle at his statement. Sanzu pulls his head back and uses his hand to angle Mikey’s cock against your anus. Your body is forced to drop on his thick cock, tears escaping as the pain shoots up your back.

“Fuck!” You cry out, “Take it out! Take it out, you fucking assholes!” Kazutora removes his fingers as Rin pulls back, sitting in their seats as they pull out their own hard cocks, using spit to rub themselves off. Once Mikey’s cock was stuffed all the way into your ass, he held it there as he basked in your warmth. Sanzu hovers over you as he uses his own spit to wet himself. You jolt when his head meets your pussy lips.

Your hands grip Sanzu’s shoulders as he eases into your pussy, fortunately the juice that was already there makes it less painful, though your hole clenched around his girth as you're full from both sides.

“Relax your muscles.” Ran whispers in your ear as his own hand wraps around his cock, while the other caresses your head.

“I can’t! It hurts!” You exclaim as your eyes shut tightly. Your head falls back once more, Ran leaving a kiss along your jaw.

“Yes you can. Just breathe.” You had no choice but to comply as you tried to get through the pain, breathing heavily as Sanzu and Mikey began to move slowly. A drawn out moan escapes Sanzu as the pressure from Mikey’s cock could be felt through your walls, causing extra friction.

Time passed and their hips began to accelerate, the car filling with five men’s moans as all of them thrust their hips, pulsating cocks engulfed in warmth. Sanzu’s cock, angled to hit your g-spot, causes an intense pleasure that contrasts with the lingering pain from Mikey’s cock stretching your ass. The agony numbing out as you begin to fill a pleasurable fullness as your body rocks up and down, nails piercing through Sanzu’s fabric. You grunt as your ass clenches around Mikey’s cock, barely holding back a moan as the friction causes you to near your orgasm.

“Tell me how good it feels.” Mikey hissed against your ear, hand reaching around your throat as he slams his hips against your ass, speeding up.

“It doesn’t!” You cry out. “I-it feels terrible! Get out of me!” A loud moan accidentally leaves your mouth when Sanzu’s pace becomes faster, ambushing your g-spot repeatedly. A sharp pinch against your nipple causes you to yelp.

“Lie again.” Mikey growls, “Tell me the truth or I’ll blow your brains out as soon as I cum.”

“Fuck, this is so hot.” Kazutora hissed as his head falls back, rubbing his cock violently as his erection pulsates in his grip. Rin bites his own lip as he thrusts his hand, rubbing a thumb over his slit as he watches the display.

“Come on, angel. Be good for us, yeah?” Ran breathlessly says as he brings himself closer, hand gripping your head as he ruts against his other hand.

Your body convulses, warmth overcoming your abdomen as your hips grind hard against the two cocks, head back as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream.

“F-fuck! I’m… ah! Cumming!”

“Shit!” Rin hissed as his hand moves faster, your voice turning all of them on as they continue to work for their own orgasm.

You cry out from Mikey and Sanzu continuing their assault, thrusts becoming sloppier as they cause you to overstimulate, your hips frantically grinding back as the feeling becomes all too overwhelming, nose scrunching as your nails scratch Sanzu.

“Say it now! Tell us how good it feels to be full of our cocks! Right now, Y/n!” Sanzu growls, pink hue covering his face as he gazes into your eyes with a lustful, crazed glare.

“Feels good! S’ fucking good, hah! I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum again!”

In reality, post nut clarity will definitely come soon considering how violated you truly feel, though the feeling of being so full and your g-spot being abused causes your body to react, pussy contracting as you’re brought to your second orgasm, the men following along right after as they all release their loads.

You feel Sanzu and Mikey’s cum shoot deeply inside of you, so much coming out as some of the liquid spills out of your ass and pussy.

“Y-you all violated me.” You growl in anger as tears spill from your eyes, cocks pulling out of you causing you to grunt from the residue pain.

“You liked it.” Kazutora frowns as your vision becomes blurry.

“You should rest. Sounds like the weed is getting to your head.” Rin snorts.

Before you could prevent it, your eyes fluttered shut, darkness engulfing you into a deep sleep.

The next day, the men sat in the meeting room, awaiting your arrival. When you didn’t show up, Kakucho went to check your room, only to find you balled up in the blankets on your bed, hiding your whole body.

“Y/n?”

When you didn’t answer, he walked out of the room back towards the meeting to relay the message. The meeting continued without you. When it was over, Kazutora visited your room.

“Y/n? Why are you acting like this?” He says as he sits on the bed next to your figure. His eyebrow raises when his hand reaches your form, squeezing it before he stands up and snatches the blankets back, revealing an empty space.

“Shit!” He hissed in anger.

Two years pass and you just got out of your therapy appointment, walking to your car before you hopped in and drove to your apartment. You knew that the only way you could leave Bonten was by death or running away. So you decided to make a new life for yourself in a different country, far away from Japan.

You knew the job was toxic anyway but you didn’t know that you’d be violated sexually. You’re in a better head space, though you do have moments where you can feel the hands all over you, not scrubbing your body hard enough as your skin raws. Your new boyfriend, along with your friends and therapist have helped you grow positively as you slowly let your past go.

Entering your apartment, you expect to see your boyfriend in the living room on video games, not his limbs detached from his torso, or head decapitated as it’s rolled in between someone’s feet. Nor did you expect to see blood all over your carpet as well as the frames and paintings broken, thrown off the walls, glass shards everywhere. Your trembling hand covers your mouth as you eye the five men you never wanted to see again, staring at you with cold stoic expressions, worse than any angry look you could’ve ever received.

Hyperventilating, you turn on your heel to run back out your front door, only to run into Takeomi’s chest.

“No, no, no! Let me out, Takeomi! You don’t know what they did to me!” Your fists hit his back as he swings you over his shoulder.

“Oh I know. Now they’re pussy whipped and can’t get over you. Not even boss. You’re lucky you’re not gonna be killed, but there’s no way we’re letting you out of our sight again. Consider yourself, Bonten’s property.” He says as he walks to the car.

You continue struggling in his grip as tears leave from your eyes, crying out in anger and devastation over your boyfriend’s gruesome death. The life you created for yourself being torn from your grasp as another thing important is snatched away. You mourn your lost freedom as well as what’s to come.

[sunrizef1]

Switch Up

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem!driver!reader

Warnings: cursing???

Authors note: a written fic??? Ewwww if it’s bad don’t read it pls guys. Guys pls. Not proofread cuz I didn’t feel like it. It is 2 am.

Summary: You had just grabbed a random shirt off the floor of Logan’s room, you didn’t know it was his

———————————————————

“Excuse me,” Your hand comes up to push lightly against the Williams drivers back as you try your best to slide past him in the tight hallway and also not interrupt the conversation he's having with his engineer.

You actually weren't supposed to be in the Williams garage at all, your own team several rooms down and probably looking for you by now, hence the need to not make a scene in the middle of Logan Sargeants garage.

Because of your haste, you don't notice the blondes eyes following you as you dart out into the pit lane, Ferrari red racesuit hanging off your hips. You don’t notice the way his eyes trail across your skin and skim over your hair, landing on the white shirt clutched in your hand.

He knew the shirt well, it having been thrown onto the floor of his room just a few hours earlier. Confusion spreads across his face as he wonders what you could possibly need with one of his Williams t-shirts.

You, on the other hand, had no idea you had grabbed his shirt. The two of you had both coincidentally worn white shirts to the paddock that day and in your haste to exit the Williams garage after retrieving your shirt, you must’ve grabbed Logan’s instead. But you’re still none the wiser to the switch-up as you toss the shirt into your room before navigating your way back into the Ferrari garage as smoothly as possible.

Several engineers glance curiously at you, face red and breathe slightly heavier than usual. All you do is grin as someone places your helmet in your hands. The grin only increases when your teammate walks into view.

“Where have you been?” Charles rushes out, tone hushed and eyes darting around to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

You try and hold back your laugh at the stressed look on Charles’ face, “What do you mean?”

He narrows his eyes at your amusement before rolling them and crossing his arms across the black fireproof he was wearing, “Everyone’s been looking for you, didn’t know your pre-race ritual was to scare the shit out of everyone by disappearing.”

“I didn’t disappear, you knew where i was,” you point out, moving to go and zip up the race suit from its place on your hips.

Charles sighs and rolls his eyes again, annoyance clear in his stance, “Yeah, which also means I had to cover for you for the better part of an hour. The worst part is that I don’t even get any good gossip from it since you won’t tell me who it is you’re seeing.”

You laugh and start to move to where your engineers who are stood waiting for you to stop talking and actually lock in, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Charles just rolls his eyes but a smile does break out on his face as he slides out of your side of the garage to go back to his own, sliding his race suit up as he does.

You hadn’t told Charles about your non-relationship with Logan. He had accidentally found out after you had tried to sneak back into your drivers room before a race and he had found you, tousled hair and hickeys galore. But it’s not as if there was much to tell, you and Logan weren’t actually dating. You were moreso friends with benefits. If friends and benefits actually acted like a couple behind closed doors and spent most of their time together without acting on any “benefits”.

You had just told Charles you were meeting someone to which he replied “no shit” and that’s all he got to know. But he did tell you that you looked happier and he was fine not knowing who it was as long as he knew they made you happy.

Before you know it, you’re out on the track, six cars lined up in front of you. P7, not bad for only being your second season but you knew you should be higher up. Especially in a Ferrari. Your hands tense as the red lights start to tick and your foot’s on the gas the moment they flick green.

Lights out and away we go.

“Let’s go!” Your shouts echo through the radio as you cross the finish line to the checkered flag. P3, a podium finish. Just behind the familiar red of your teammates Ferarri and an expected amount behind the navy blue of Max’s Red Bull.

You park your car and weigh in before running to your team, all lined up at the barrier to great you and Charles after the double podium.

You had had podiums before but this one felt extra special since Qatar had always been such a difficult race for not only you, but everyone on the grid. One of the reasons Qatar was so hard was the best and as you embraced your team, you definitely felt it. You step back as a wave of nausea overcomes you and you unzip the racesuit, pulling your helmet off as quickly as possible right after.

As Charles finally comes up to you with a grin on his face, it falters slightly as he sees the state you're in, “You alright?”

You nod quickly, you truly were fine. Its just that any more time in the suit and long sleeves might make you not fine pretty quickly, “Yeah, I'm cool. I need to change shirts at least before interviews or I might pass out.”

Charles nods at your statement, turning to tell the team, who all have curious looks on their face, your words as you jog lightly back to your room, grabbing the first shirt you see and sliding off your fireproofs. You hold the shirt tightly as you jog back out, taking a second to let the air hit your hot skin.

As you reach your team, someone ushers you toward an interviewer and you pull the shirt over your head, placing a hat on your head that you don't remember being handed. The interviewer chuckles as you look up, microphone now in hand. You don't question it as your probably look a little strange in your random Ferarri shirt and hat, suit hanging low once again.

“Hi y/n, i have to say that was a wonderful drive today, p7 to p3. You managed to stick through the heat and overtake into third past the mclarens and a red bull. Now, ill ask you about the race in a second but first, I do have to ask about the shirt,” the interviewer seems to be hiding her laugh as she gesture towards your chest and you glance down at it.

Instead of the usual red and yellow colour scheme you'd see on your shirts, you're instead met with the blues of the Williams logo. You gape wordlessly as you stare at the shirt, a blush coming up to blend with your already heat-flushed cheeks.

“Some support for the double Williams points today?” the interviewer seems to sense your disbelief as she cuts in to help your find your words.

You nod slightly before double-taking to think about her words, “Double points? Where'd they finish.”

You don't think about about how you've one hundred percent blown the explanation she was trying to give for the shirt but you don't care, only worried about where Logan and Alex finished.

“Albon P6 and Sargeant P9,” the interviewer states after turning to check with someone behind her.

You light up at her words, “Before any penalties?”

The interviewer nods and you grin, “Let’s fucking go, Captain America representing the 305.”

The interviewer just nods, probably having no clue in the world what any part of your sentence meant. Eventually, you get back on track and start to talk about your race but, by now, that’s not the part of the interview that anyone will be talking about.

“Yeah I think it was a good race overall, really the only weakness of that Red Bull is the heat so we tried our best to take advantage of that. It did work for one of the drivers but, I mean, nothing we could do about max haha.”

“Thank you so much y/n and great race,” the interviewer smiles as you hand the microphone back to her, stepping back slightly to start to go back out to your team, “I’ll see you back here next time.”

You laugh, “hopefully! Have a great weekend.”

You walk away from the interviewer, thoughts on the podium ceremony ahead of you. As you exit the media pen and someone starts to usher you away for the ceremony, your eyes catch on a certain blond man in a white shirt and a Williams race suit. You pull away from the man guiding you who protests but you walk quickly to where Logan’s standing, patting him on the back as you walk up to his interview.

Maybe the Qatar heat had melted your brain but you truly didn’t put together how quickly people would connect you and Logan if you walked up to him with a shirt from his team on it and inserted yourself into his personal bubble.

As Logan turns toward you, you realize that that part didn’t matter since Logan was practically advertising your little relationship to the world himself. The heat must’ve gotten to him as well since he was also missing his fireproofs. Instead, he was wearing a white t-shirt that would’ve been pretty oversized on you but fit him fine. In the middle of the shirt was a giant Ferrari logo emblazoned across the chest.

You stare blankly at the shirt for a second, blinking absently before turning your gaze to the camera and then glancing back to Logan.

“Nice shirt,” you mutter, a slight smirk gracing your lips as you glance between him and the shirt.

“Thanks, you too,” he tries his best to hide his laugh, “In my defense, I only put this on after I saw you wear yours.”

You hum, unamused, as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, your eyes locked forward onto the camera and arms crossed over your chest.

You can’t help the blush that forms over your cheeks though, having cooled off from the heat but now the red was back in full force, displaying your embarrassment for all to see.

Logan has zero embarrassment about the situation though, a proud grin adorning his face. This combined with the points finish might’ve made for his favorite race of all two seasons he’d been on the grid.

You glance over and see someone gesturing for you to leave the interview and go up for the podium celebration. You lean away from the microphone in Logan’s hand as you slide out of his grasp.

“See you later, yeah?” You ask the man in front of you, walking backwards out of the frame of the camera.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan replies, pulling the microphone away from his mouth to respond, “I’ll see you after, congrats.”

You’d already turned around when the congratulations had left his mouth but you grin widely after he says it, turning your head to throw a quick peace sign in his general direction. You hear him laugh slightly as you quickly rush to follow the impatient employee that had been waiting for you.

The podium is exactly how you expected it to be. The only downside being that you’ve not gotten champagne all over Logan’s shirt and more than a couple Ferrari employees weren’t thrilled about you wearing another team’s merch on a podium. You couldn’t have cared less.

Once you’ve gotten down from the podium, bottle of champagne in hand, you’re met with a certain Miami native waiting for you. You laugh and skip over to where he’s standing, a grin on his face as he watches you approach.

“Here,” you raise the champagne bottle as you reach toward his face, “open your mouth.”

Logan laughs but bends his knees slightly to be below the bottle and closes his eyes while you pour the liquid in his open mouth. You laugh as he shoots straight up to swallow the alcohol, wiping a hand over his mouth.

“Mmm, good,” Logan hums slightly, taking another swig of the bottle before handing it back to you, you taking a swig right after him.

“Yeah?” You ask, licking the leftover champagne off your lips.

Logan just nods in response, a grin settled on his features. After a few seconds he pulls you in for a hug, “Congrats by the way, amazing drive.”

You pull back from him and your eyes close slightly from the strength of your smile, “And you! P9! I’m so proud of you!”

Logan’s cheeks go slightly red but he takes another sip from the bottle, “p7 actually, Pierre and Daniel got penalties.”

“P7! Even better! Gonna be challenging me for podiums soon,” you exclaim and Logan laughs, glancing away from you as he does.

You notice a slight shift in Logan’s demeanor but you don’t have a chance to say anything before Logan’s piping up, “Do you wanna go to dinner with me? As a celebration?”

“Like a date?” You blushed, eyes locked on Logan’s wandering ones, currently looking at anything but you.

Logan fumbles over his words for a moment, hand coming up to run through his hair, “Y-yeah I mean, if you don’t want to, we can just get dinner as friends I don’t really mind.”

The only response you have is to pull the driver down by his neck, your lips meeting in a slow kiss. The taste of champagne spreads between you and the Qatar heat simply aids to the blush covering both of your cheeks. You only pull away at the sound of a yell and you glance away to see Charles stood, champagne in hand, cheering loudly.

You laugh and look back toward Logan, ignoring your teammate for a moment, “I would love to go on a date with you, Logan.”

Logan smiles softly at your response, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “Great, I’ll text you.”

———————————

Taglist: @casperlikej @evie-119

[runa-falls]

Omfg I just had an amazing idea (I hope this hasn’t been done before or I’ll look stupid LMAO)

In ATSV, there’s that scene where Miguel Molly rocks miles into that train or whatever, and says that he’s been left to clean up his mess yeah? And no one ever acknowledges how much he’s really doing to keep everything together :((

Reader who appreciates everything that Miguel does for the multiverse in more ways than one. Fluff/smut porn with a little bit of plot for the distinguished gentlemen/ladies/people (I also just like longer fics lol)

Plz I’ll literally drop to my knees and beg you’re my savior 🙏🙏🙏

GN reader plzz ❤️❤️ily

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader

cw: explicit (18+), angst, nipple play, comfort head, face fucking, rough handling, choking, cum eating.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: thanks for sending this in nonnie! i love angst/comfort :)) wasn't sure if you were ok with a reader who has female genitalia so i just wrote non-penetrative stuff...

thank you @campingwiththecharmings for reading this over <3 LOVE YOU BAE

masterlist

--

sometimes miguel comes home in silence.

he won't announce himself as he enters the front door or walk into every room to find and greet you with a tired smile and kiss like he usually does.

you won't even realize he's home until large arms suddenly wrap around you to pull you close late at night. Until he's guiding you into bed, holding your body so tight that you can't get away. you can't leave him.

sometimes he doesn't come back at all.

sometimes you have to sleep alone, huddling your face into his pillow, reminding yourself how capable he is -- that he's going to be okay. that he'll be back soon.

miguel is sweet. too sweet for his own good.

he works hard to make his life with you as normal as possible. he does it for you, but also for that part of him that craves domesticity.

the part that remembers having a family, a house in the suburbs, and a regular routine of waking up, eating, working, and sleeping.

he tries to keep everything bad -- all his stress, frustrations, anger, and fears -- at work. he never wants to bring it home to you. never wants you to have to hold the weight of his struggles on your shoulders.

so when he starts to lose his grip, he hides away.

and when he can't hold on any longer, he doesn't come home at all.

---

today, miguel came back quiet but not silent.

he opened the front door swiftly, kicking it shut behind him before making a beeline to the kitchen and grabbing a drink.

even if you weren't already downstairs, you'd be able to hear him.

he immediately hid away to the back porch, still in his suit, sitting on a bench that he put together when you first bought the house. his glove-covered hands clutch a cool beer that's already sweating from the balmy summer air.

you watch from the living room, perched on the couch, as he sits there in silence, barely moving a muscle.

he completely missed you when he walked in, too distracted by the mound of thoughts rushing through his mind.

this must be where he goes when he doesn't want to worry you. when he wants to be home but not present.

his dull crimson eyes drift shut as he lets the stress of the day roll off of him in waves, releasing the tension from his shoulders and the pinch at the middle of his eyebrows.

he tilts his head back until it bumps against the back wall of the house, letting out a sigh as he's supported from falling back.

slowly shutting your laptop and setting it to the side, you choose to just stare out the window and observe him as he watches the world move around him.

ever since you've known him, the fate of the multiverse has weighed on his shoulders and no matter how much he tries, how much he's done, it just keeps going. it's a never-ending cycle of protecting, saving, and destroying.

it's not healthy, but where would you be without him? where would anyone be?

there's an unspoken rule in your relationship to never talk about these occasional scenes of silence because you both know that you'd risk breaking the illusion -- the faux life where he can hang up his suit at the front door and come home to dinner with his partner.

like how it was before. how it could've been.

your shared temporary happiness, or sporadic bouts of happiness, was never meant to last long in the first place.

so why ruin something that can only be yours for a few more moments?

by the time he gets up from the old bench, the sun is setting, and his beer is long drained, bottle dangling prettily from his long fingers.

you don't even realize the hours of silence you've shared with him through the glass window until you hear the back door squeak open.

you look up and meet his eyes as he stands there frozen. he wasn't expecting you to be there. to see what you saw.

"...have you been there the whole time?" the door clicks shut behind him, but he stays put. you nod sheepishly, feeling like you've been caught doing something illegal. "i-i'm sorry i didn't say hi...i was distracted."

"no, it's ok. i was just answering emails--" you look down at your laptop, the one you shut off a few hours ago, "--until i decided to rest my eyes."

you aren't a very good liar, but it doesn't seem to matter. miguel hums absently, lost in his thoughts, placing his empty beer bottle on a table nearby. his movements are slower than usual when he shuffles closer to the couch.

"are you okay, honey?" you put your computer on the coffee table and turn toward him.

his eyes shut and he takes a deep breath, one hand holding onto the back of the couch for support. that answers the question for you.

you should've known not to ask that question. it never leads anywhere good. he'll either lie with a flat 'fine' or --

"I'm...tired." he finally says, a mere whisper like he doesn't want to admit it. you tilt your head, finally taking in his slouched shoulders and exhausted eyes.

of course, he's tired. he should be tired.

"come 'ere," you stretch out your arms, gesturing him to sit next to you. he walks over, plopping himself right against you, nearly sitting on you, but you don't mind. you wrap your arms around his broad shoulder, feeling him melt at your comforting touch.

it feels so good to have him in your arms again, to feel his unnatural warmth permeate through his super-suit. though you wake up in each other's arms every morning, you still crave his touch and his tendency to lean his whole weight against you like a lazy housecat.

"you've been working so hard, miguel..." he nods silently against your shoulder, nuzzling his head further into your space.

"someone has to..." he mutters, body already less tense than it was a few seconds ago.

"you don't have to, but you do anyway. you put your life on the line, day in, day out, protecting those who don't even know the dangers you're keeping them from."

he snorts, "you're making me sound a lot more heroic than i actually am. i'm just doing what needs to be done."

"you are heroic! you're a hero -- my hero."

his head lifts from your shoulder, "...really?"

his burgundy eyes sparkle when they meet yours, the first glimmer of energy that you've seen in him today. you smile, but you can't decide if it's a happy smile or not. on one hand you're sad. sad that he can't see how amazing he is, or how much he's done for the universe -- the multiverse.

but you're also happy that you get these moments with him. that you are at the receiving end of those sparkling eyes and hopeful looks. that he cares about your opinion that much.

"yes, really."

"you're not tired of me yet? of dating the busiest man in nueva york?"

"never." you lean into him, gently pressing your lips against his. you're suddenly giddy when he kisses back, lips moving expertly against yours. then he's smiling against you.

before you could pull back, he tugged you closer by the collar of your shirt, deepening the kiss, tongue tangling with yours. you giggle lightly when his hand slowly drifts down, fingers running over your chest and squeezing at your waist.

"thought you were tired?" you tease when you pull away. miguel is barely listening, too focused on pulling your shirt off. "miguel!"

"not right now, cariño. wanna see you." the cool air of the living room quickly wraps around you, your nipples pebbling right under his stare.

his eyes darken to a deep cherry hue as he teases you with a flick of his thumb. you whimper at how sensitive you feel, especially with how the texture of his gloves contrast with the softness of your skin, the delicate point of your bud.

"you're always so responsive for me..." he coos, "so nice, jus' letting me touch you like this." you gasp when he pinches you, goosebumps raising over the expanse of your body. his touch drifts down to the top of your pants, tan hands fiddling with the waistband teasingly.

you take a hold of his wrist before he could pull them down and he immediately stops, looking up at your face, wondering if he overstepped. you bite your lip as you build the courage to say what you want.

"wait, i-i wanna do something for you."

"what d'you mean?" miguel's hand comes up to cup your cheek, "you always do something for me, just by being by my side."

you want to fawn over his words, melt against his body while he does whatever he wants to you, but you quickly remind yourself that sometimes he needs to let go. that you should do the work and let him relax.

"please, miguel, just... let me." your hands move over the large bulge that presses against his flexible suit. you hear him sigh as you squeeze him gently. his hips buck into your hold, eager for your touch. "c-can you take it off please?"

"you mean you weren't just going to mouth over my suit until i cum?"

an intense heat flushes throughout your face at the idea. how filthy and needy that would be! you could imagine how his cock would throb under the material, how his cum would soak over the front of his crotch...

"i-i could--"

"-- i'm kidding, sweetheart." he chuckles, clicking a few buttons on his watch. his suit disappears without a warning and his muscled torso flexes under you from the sudden coolness of the room. he's wearing tight briefs underneath his suit, contouring his desperate hardness underneath.

you experimentally smooth a hand over him, watching avidly as the veins in his forearm pulse as he attempts holds himself back. you carefully tug his underwear down to reveal the wet mess that his dripping cock has made for you.

you run a finger over his sensitive tip and spread the precum that spills every time he takes a breath. he shivers at the feeling, eyes glowering as he watches you tease him. "are you just gonna stare or actually do something about it?" he growls, tired of the delicate touches and shy looks.

you don't answer him, instead, you dip down, licking softly over his shaft before shallowly suckling his tip into your mouth. he groans deeply, fingers instinctively burrowing into your hair without pushing you down.

"you're so sweet to me, baby. sucking my cock into your throat just to make me feel better..." you close your eyes as you start to take him deeper, swallowing around him until you feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat. "you like this don't you?"

his grip on your head tightens when you moan around him, saliva dripping messily over his lap.

"fuck!" his hips buck and it shoves him further into your throat. not expecting the harsh intrusion, you choke around him, eyes watering as you struggle to breathe through your nose. "s-sorry, you're just so hot when you drool over me."

your legs tighten as his rough voice whispers soft apologies. he sounds so needy and desperate like he's barely holding himself back from fucking your throat.

you quickly recover with a hum, hand resting against his firm torso for support as you lift yourself off of him. he lightly holds onto your arm, staring lustfully at your flushed face and slick lips as you breathe heavily on top of him.

you're suddenly shy as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, despite sitting over him topless and cock-drunk.

"you know you can fuck my face if you want..." you offer, unable to meet his eyes. he doesn't let you look away though. his rough hand holds you by the jaw, making sure you can't escape the simmering heat in his eyes.

"don't say that baby...'cause i'll actually do it." his hips start to move as you stroke him again, fucking your fist harshly until your hand starts to tingle from the wet friction.

"...i want you to."

"really?"

"you work so hard, mig. you deserve some appreciation..."

"please, cariño..." he begs, breathlessly.

you lean over him and take him back into your mouth, bobbing your head as your tongue slicks against the underside of his shaft. he doesn't hesitate when he shoves your head down, forcing you to swallow all of him down.

he feels you gag a few times before he lets go. he almost didn't though. the feeling of your whine was euphoric as it vibrated up from your throat and against your lips. you're a mess on top of him, precum and drool coating your mouth, chin, and hands.

miguel lovingly brushes some stray hairs that have fallen in front of your face behind your ear as you continue to suck on him. he starts with soft thrusts into your mouth, dragging his cock slowly over the silk touch of your tongue. you open wide, round eyes staring politely up at him as he fucks your mouth from below.

he loves having control over you -- actually, he loves it when you give him control because it means you trust him, even after seeing all sides of him, good and bad, you're still with him.

he groans at how cute you look, his huge cock stuffing your pretty mouth. his hands move to hold both sides of your head, guiding you onto him until you can fully engulf him between your lips.

he can't hold back anymore; he needs to feel your throat tighten around him as you struggle to swallow him down your throat. he watches himself disappear down your throat, how eagerly you drink him in without a complaint.

his hips snap against your mouth, filling you over and over until your jaw aches. you whimper, heavy eyes watching as he falls apart for your mouth.

"i-i'm getting close--" he warns shakily, unable to stop his frantic movements when you look at him like that. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's spilling into your mouth. he finishes deep inside of you, cock prodding the back of your throat.

you drink him in, tasting his distinct salty sweetness, listening to his delicious groans as he comes down from his high. he jerks when your soft touches start to push him towards overstimulation, moans turning desperate.

"baby, enough, please."

you release him from your mouth, lips tingly and plump.

"feel better?" you sound raspy, even with how quietly you're speaking.

"i feel amazing, mi vida." he pulls you on top of him and holds you close (though it's insanely hot with your skin pressed against his like this). you cuddle him back, smiling as he pecks your tacky neck and shoulder lazily.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CHAPTER FOUR WAS SO GOOD UGHH literally the only fanfic I have ever loved so much and wait for updates like this. Am so excited for the next one!!!

On the topic of finally opening requests, I was wondering if I could ask for head-canons of what a relationship with Seishiro and a female reader would be like. If we want to be specific, maybe related to the fanfic? Like, how you would imagine their relationship would have been like back when they were still in high school, young and with Nagi’s past soccer career and all. Don’t feel pressured to write this, and good luck with everything!😽😽

── DATING NAGI!

Synopsis: Headcanons about having Seishiro Nagi as your boyfriend.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Nagi x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Content Warnings: none really, just generally fluffy and silly

A/N: AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON i hope you like where i go w the story in the future!! and hehe now that we’re in the past arc of peregrine you will actually get to see all of the nitty gritty details of their relationship in the fic itself so i won’t spoil it 🤫 but i love nagi ofc so i’ve added some general headcanons on what i think he would be like as a bf

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

no matter how the two of you get together, reo is somehow involved LMAOAOAO like bro is ALWAYS at the scene of the crime in some way shape or form just because i don’t think nagi would really pick up on the fact that he has a crush on you without outside intervention

it would also definitely be a jump scare when he confesses!! you would have zero idea it’s coming because he literally hasn’t changed how he acts towards you whatsoever

canonically he doesn’t really interact with a lot of people or have a lot of friends and he’s not aggressive with romance so i just don’t think he’d really know what the appropriate method of telling someone you like them is

would probably say some shit like “reo says i have a crush on you” and would be so nonchalant about it meanwhile you’re like “???” because you did not even realize he knew your name and also why is reo being brought up

i honestly think he would not be a bad boyfriend. yes he is lazy and unmotivated but he does what he needs to do and if something is important to him he generally puts in effort for it

that’s another reason why it would take him foreverrr to ask you out — he would have to like you enough that he realizes he does in fact want to have a relationship with you even if it is a hassle

he doesn’t have social media though so don’t expect there to be an official announcement that you guys are together or anything like that HAHA

he would probably forget to tell anyone that the two of you are dating and it’s not because he’s ashamed of you or is trying to hide you or anything he literally just does not care what other people think and would prefer not to talk them if possible so it never comes up

you’ll show up to an event with him and everyone’s like “omg nagi who is this” and he’s like “this is my girlfriend” and someone (probably otoya tbh) is like “since when have you had a girlfriend” and he’s like “it’s been two years 😐”

i think he would be fire at insulting people just because of how many video games he plays…that man has seen some of the worst sides of humanity

the world is lucky he’s a pacifist and avoids conflict because he has some vile stuff stored away (i will never be over him asking barou if he practiced kneeling because he’s about to make him his servant)

this particular quality makes him the BEST person to talk shit with

he’s not a gossipy boyfriend in the sense that he doesn’t have anything juicy of his own to contribute to the conversation but i’m pretty sure he mentioned he watches dramas at one point so you know he’s locked tf in if you need to complain abt someone

he will sit there and be so invested in the tea…def would not give any useful advice but he will make fun of anyone bothering you so you still end up feeling better

i don’t think he would get jealous honestly

the thought of you cheating on him doesn’t cross his mind at all because why would he date someone he didn’t trust fully???

i would say he expects the same from you because he would but at the same time he voluntarily talks to one (1) other person besides you and that’s reo so the opportunity for you to be jealous just wouldn’t even crop up

definitely super clingy and cuddly

loves being babied too

according to epnagi he has this whole automatic system in his apartment to clean and do laundry and i think he’d be fine if you appropriate that so no more cleaning!! but you will have to cook because that man literally only eats fruit jellies

genuinely how is he so built and not dying of malnutrition SKJFDSHKJ

he probably is terrible at coming up with date ideas so it’s up to you to plan things

again it’s not malicious i think for him just spending time with you is his ideal date!! like he doesn’t see the point in getting dressed up and going somewhere fancy when you could just eat at home and be comfortable together

but if it’s an important day or you tell him that you want him to suggest something for once, he WILL go all out (which means calling reo for advice and doing what he tells him to)

overall communication is key with him. he’s not particularly sensitive or in tune with other people’s emotions so being passive aggressive or expecting him to read your mind will honestly just end up making your mood worse because he will not pick up on the fact that something is wrong

but if you tell him what you want him to change he will happily do it!! he just needs to be told very clearly if you’re upset or need him to do something different

honestly it would be very refreshing. there are zero games with nagi and he doesn’t really try to hide anything — what you see is what you get 100% of the time

overall 10/10 would date idc haters dni he’s a sweetheart and he’s doing his best

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Daddy Lessons 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Summary: You agree to tutor for the Cameron's, but find your student less than cooperative.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

There aren’t many summer jobs in Hammer Ford, but you promised your parents you would find something. Without any response from the grocery store, cafe, or library, your search is hopeless. That’s until you ran into Rose Cameron.

“Weren’t you valedictorian?” She asked.

The scene plays over in your head as you step off your bike to walk it up the hill. What luck that she found you picking out flowers with your mother. Almost as if she’d been looking for you.

“Uh, yeah, last year,” you smiled. 

It’s been a year since high school ended, since then you’d spent two semesters outside the hamlet. In the city, people don’t just come up to you for no reason, and rarely a good one. Nor do they know you by name. Your home town seems more quaint the longer you’re away from campus.

“Great, I need a tutor,” she tutted, “how’s fifty an hour?”

You shake your head as you straddle your bike again. It’s an offer you really can’t pass up, even if the Camerons weren’t the most friendly family in Hammer Ford. It doesn’t matter as long as you can tell your parents you have a job.

You pedal east towards the house on the hill. You’ve never been up there. Not even in high school when everyone was going on about the ragers at the Cameron ranch. It was never really your scene. That and you weren’t invited.

You slow as you approach the low fence, breathless as you stop by the closed gate. Do you let yourself in? There’s a gold bell mounted on the post. You ring it and it sends a thunderous toll through the air. 

You wait, looking around, though you don’t know if anyone’s coming. Someone appears across the field. You recognise Ward Cameron as he nears, waving a gloved hand as he does.

“Hi, Mr. Cameron, um…” you hold onto your handlebars and dismount, “Rose, uh, asked me to drop by.”

“Sure thing,” he unhooks the inside of the gate, “I was just brushing Juliet.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile.

“You can work in the dining room if that works, or the back porch? It’s pretty nice out,” he lets you through the gate and secures it before he points you towards the house. “Really glad you could come out. We went to an agency in the city but they wanted us to go to them.”

“Um, yeah, sure, no problem,” you peer over at a foal and its mother in a pen, “nice place.”

“You think so? Does it look different in the day?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I know about the parties,” he chortles, “it’s fine.”

“Well, I never…” you rub the back of your neck, “anyway, I guess we can study where Sarah wants.”

“Sarah?”

“Oh, erm, Wheezie?” You wonder.

“Did Rose not… explain?”

“I… assumed, well, she just said you needed a tutor so I thought…” You blink and chew your lip, “Rafe?”

He laughs again, “the one and only. We’re tryna get him back in good graces. He has a conditional offer in the city but he has to take an entrance exam.”

“Right,” you try not to show your discomfort. 

Rafe is a year older than you. Even so, he never failed to knock your books out of your hands or laugh in your direction. When he graduated, the student populace sighed in relief but he only made it through one semester in college before he flunked out.

“He’s not the kind for ranch work,” Ward says as he gestures you up the front steps, “frankly, I don’t know what he’s cut out for but a degree will at least give him some prospects.”

“Mhmm,” you drone nervously. If Rose had said so, you may not have been so eager. You just assumed it would be one of the two Wards still enrolled in school.

“He should be around–” he pulls open the front door and lets you in first.

You step aside to slip your shoes off as he hollers for Rafe. You glance out the screen door and wonder if you can come up with a good excuse. Your mind is racing but you come up with nothing. 

“What?” Rafe snarls as he traipses in through a broad archway.

“Tutor’s here,” Ward says.

“Tutor?” Rafe mutters.

“I told you,” he chides, “go get your books.”

“Dad, I told you, I’ll write the damn test–”

“And you’ll pass,” Ward insists, “books. Now.”

Rafe huffs and stomps upstairs. You turn around to watch him go. Ward shakes his head and beckons you onwards. You marvel at the neat interior. It’s all a lot more modern than the rest of Hammer Ford. A rustic contemporary mix of sleek white and faded pine.

“Feel free to help yourself to some water, or there’s a Keurig,” Ward offers, “I’d get you some myself but…” he holds up his gloved hands, “I doubt you like the taste of horse hair.”

You smile and nod as you slip your bag off your shoulder. 

“Thanks, uh, I’m good,” you say.

“Don’t let him get to you. I know how he can be. He gives you any trouble, I’ll deal with him.”

“Sure, uh, no, shouldn’t be an issue,” you shrug, though you sound less than convincing.

“I’ll be around,” he says and taps the door frame as he leaves.

You sit as he goes and you open your laptop on the table. Your parents bought the used model for your first year of college. It’s a bit slow but it works. You’ll just need the wifi.

A sudden slam makes you yipe and jolts the table. You look up as Rafe stands across from you, scowling. Behind your laptop, there’s several textbooks and a notebook with curling pages. You try to smile but your lips only tremble.

“Oh, hey,” you eke out, “uh, so… we can start on comprehensive literature–”

“Fuck off, dork,” he drops into the chair. 

“Well I… your dad–”

“My dad wants me to sit here and waste his money, sure thing,” he crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, “but i’m not takin’ no lessons from you.”

“Right, well, I…” you don’t know what to say. “Can I have the wifi at least?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your question as he pulls out his phone. You think he’s looking it up but he just sits and scrolls, his floppy hair drooping down his forehead. You fidget and flutter your fingers listlessly over the keyboard.

You should just go but you need the money. You close the laptop and reach for one of the textbooks. You open it and smooth the pages with your hand.

“Right, rules of grammar,” you begin, “nouns, pronouns, verbs–”

“Fucking dweeb,” he drops his phone and stands up, “for someone so smart, you sure are fucking dumb.”

“Identifying sentences…” you focus on the page as he paces.

“You think you’re so fucking clever,” he startles you as he pulls out the chair next to you, sitting in it as his elbow hits the table.

“Read the following and underline–” you angle the book towards him, silence by a jarring squeeze on your throat.

You recoil as his hand closes on the front of your neck and you push yourself back in the chair. You grab his wrist and choke, wiggling in your seat. What is he doing?

“What–”

“Shhhhh,” he puts his finger to his lips then presses it to yours, “you talk too much.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, pulling helplessly on his arm. He smirks as he leans forward, pulling you towards him.

“You think you’re better than me?” He snarls, “let’s see about that.”

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [8] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: mentions of assault, abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11.2k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 7 >> Part 8

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It’s been a week since you took unwilling part in the biggest scandal to overtake the ton this entire season, and you’re feeling more and more certain with each passing day that your reputation will never recover.

You thought the same thing at the beginning of the season, just a few months ago. At the time, you thought it couldn’t get any worse. Funny how time ends up proving you wrong. 

Of course, you have no idea how the ton is receiving any of the gossip. You know the facts, as does everyone else who was in the room when it all happened, but that doesn’t matter. Someone will undoubtedly distort them for the sake of a good story. Your stepmother has been refusing all calls on your behalf, though, so you have no clue what the ton is saying. It’s not like she would tell you, anyway. The morning after the Jung ball she slapped you across the face so hard you saw stars, and you had to listen to her scream at you for an hour after that. When you tried to ask her what people were saying about you a few days ago, she gave you another mark to match the first one.

The bruises still hurt to the touch. 

Maybe it’s just as well. You’re not sure you want to know what anyone is saying. The gossip about you and Beomgyu had hardly abated before the Jung ball, and with all the speculation then about you being sort of shameless whore able to seduce men into offering you marriage proposals, you can only imagine what they’re saying about you now. They probably think you seduced Lord Cho, too. 

They probably think you deserved whatever he intended to do to you. 

Which isn’t true. You never asked for any sort of physical relationship with him, never even considered it. You said no when he offered it—if the word offered could even describe the situation. Stupid as it is, you really did believe he wanted to marry you, and his words cut you deep when you learned of his true intentions. But the cynical part of you can’t help but feel like you got what was coming to you. You should have known better—known that no one would truly ever want to marry you, because you have nothing to offer. Maybe it’s true that you aren’t fit for anything more than a mistress. 

If you didn’t have so much damn pride, maybe you’d have been able to accept that by now. 

You can forget any delusions of being married, now. If you weren’t already ruined by Beomgyu leaving you after the waltz, surely this incident has marked you as a fallen woman—or at least as close to it as you can get without having actually been deflowered. Never mind that you never asked for it. Never mind that you had to beat him off with a damn candlestick. No one wants a woman who’s been sullied by another man’s touch, no matter how unwarranted. 

Maybe it’s really time for you to start making plans to run away. 

Even as the thought crosses your mind, though, you have to stifle a snort. Pausing in the middle of scrubbing out a large pot, you close your eyes for just a moment, hoping to clear out all of your remaining stupid thoughts. Run away, yes? With what money? You have nothing. This family has nothing. There’s nothing useful you can even steal from the house, and your father isn’t coming back with any money. This, you know now. 

You can still hear the terrible silence that accompanied the opening of that letter. Your stepmother’s simmering rage as her eyes scanned every carefully penned line that told of the passing of your father, and the loss of any remnants of the family fortune at the hands of his gambling addiction. You had no idea he had such an addiction. The few times you saw him over the past decade, he always seemed so stoic, so upright. You never thought he could have been hiding something so terrible behind that façade. 

But he was. And now he is dead, and he has passed nothing onto you except a mountain of terrible fortune. 

There’s really no end to it. You sigh, returning to the pot still half covered in suds in the sink. Maybe this is for the better. You’ll grow into a spinster, hide yourself from society with your position as a servant in this household, and fade away from public attention. In a few years, people will forget about everything. Maybe. Hopefully. And then you’ll have some peace of mind. 

…There’s no real hope of that, though. You’ll never have peace as long as you live with your stepmother. Maybe that’s your eternal punishment for all the stupid choices you made this season—having to live with her until she dies, or you do. 

At least she’s gone now. She left a while ago to make some morning calls, you think. You tried to ask who she was going to meet and she just snapped that she was trying to clean up the mess you had made of yourself and your family this season. 

Very useful information, that was. You didn’t press though. You didn’t want to add on to the collection of bruises already beginning to bloom across your cheek. 

She’s gone now, though, and you haven’t heard her return, so you have some time to breathe without her sneering down her nose at you every minute of the day. The silence is nice even if you know it’ll be short lived.

Something sounds in the hall as you’re scrubbing the last pot clean. You stiffen, thinking it might be your stepmother, but it still feels like it hasn’t been long since she left—surely she wouldn’t be back so soon? You look over at Soyoung, who’s helping you scrub away. Her raised eyebrow indicates she’s as confused as you are.

Footsteps sound down the hallway, and then you hear Brighton speaking. Your confusion increases by the second—surely no one has any reason to call, not when your stepmother has been chasing away callers almost every day. You wonder if Brighton will have them leave too, whoever they are, but he likely won’t. Without your stepmother here, he would probably defer to you, unless she left him with explicit instructions not to. Though he might disobey them anyway. The staff here don’t take very kindly to your stepmother. 

The thought makes you smile, but that smile quickly begins to drop as Brighton’s characteristic light footsteps sound closer and closer to the kitchen. You finish rinsing off the last pot just as he enters the kitchen, standing primly in the doorway. 

“Miss L/N.” 

You turn around, wiping your hands on your apron. “Yes, Brighton?”

A hint of distaste edges his words. “Mr. Choi has come to call.”

Despite the situation, you almost smile. You can’t say you don’t appreciate the staff’s quiet support at your situation. No doubt they’ve heard all manner of gossip from the other servants around town, but you told Soyoung what truly happened so your staff has been very kind to you since everything started going downhill. Brighton in particular has taken to speaking the Choi name with a subtle, almost undetectable annoyance that only butlers can emulate, and you won’t deny that it makes you feel a little better, sometimes. Not because you hate Beomgyu—you wish you could hate him, it would make everything so much easier—but because it’s nice to know that someone has your back.

The almost smile slips off your face almost as easily as it came, though. Because you really don’t know if you want to see him. He was right about Lord Cho, right from the start—and all you and everyone else did was just brush his concern off as jealousy. You don’t want to face him. You don’t want to know what he has to say. And truth be told, you’re still not entirely sure you forgive him for what he did at the Haynesworth ball. He tried to explain when he called the last time. You didn’t let him. You’re still not sure if you want to let him. Anger is the only shield you have now against your pain and you’re not ready to give up its embrace so soon, even if its warmth is more suffocating than nourishing. 

There is another warmth that is nourishing, though. A warmth you’ve only ever felt with those you loved. Delia, Henry, Soyoung…

And Beomgyu, too.

All of the residual anger drains out of your body, leaving you cold and a little empty. You look down at yourself, at your dirty servant’s garb splashed with water and soap, at your tender hands still holding a sponge covered in suds. You should hear him out, let him speak, but you’re just…so tired. You want this all to be over. And anyway, even if you knew you wanted to speak with him, you don’t know when your stepmother will return from her own morning calls—calls meant to repair your reputation, whatever the hell that means. She might come back in the middle of a conversation and you really don’t want to know what would happen then. 

That’s just an excuse, though. You know that just the thought of your stepmother wouldn’t be able to stop you from doing anything you really wanted to. The question is, then, do you really want to see Beomgyu? Do you really?

“For what it is worth,” Brighton says, interrupting your thoughts, “he has tried to call every morning since the Jung ball, Miss L/N.” He twists his hands together in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “Your stepmother turned him away each time, but…perhaps he truly does have something to say.”

Every morning since the Jung ball. You blink. That’s…dedication. It reminds you an awful lot of how he tried to see you almost every day for a week after the Haynesworth ball, which in turn reminds you of that terrible last conversation you shared with him. He had wanted to explain himself. You hadn’t let him. Instead, you’d told him never to come back and he had heeded your words then, but now he’s returned. 

Part of you still hurts at what he did to you—or rather, what he didn’t do. Even now you can still call up some of that anger and you try to wrap it around you like a cloak, but it isn’t doesn’t work anymore. There isn’t enough anger left to shield you, which just leaves you open. Raw. Vulnerable to your emotions. 

The emotions telling you to listen to him this time, instead of just sending him away. 

You stare at your hands. You know that Beomgyu wouldn’t hold it against you if you told him to leave. He wouldn’t argue. He would give you space. And you really, really hate that. If he wasn’t so honorable, it would be so much easier to hate him. You would never have fallen in love with him in the first place. 

Life would be so much easier, then. 

But he is honorable. You may still be angry at what he did at the Haynesworth ball, but you also have the grudging grace (or maybe the idiocy) to understand that one mistake does not dictate a person’s entire character. You remember Beomgyu holding you as you shook so badly in his arms just moments after Lord Cho had tried to lay his hands on you, and you can’t help but recall how safe you felt in his hold. Not completely so—Lord Cho was right there, obviously you wouldn’t feel completely fine—but Beomgyu lent a steadiness to the moment that you needed, desperately. You trusted him without thinking. Without even feeling. 

Maybe that says something. Maybe that says a lot of things. 

You swallow hard. He’s already in your house. He’s come by every day, even though he’s been turned away each time—not by your choice, but by your stepmother’s. This might be the only chance you get to hear him out. 

You’d be a fool not to take it.

“Do you know when my stepmother will be back?” you ask quietly. 

“She left not long ago,” Brighton replies. “I do not know for certain, but I would estimate you have at least two hours before she returns.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Two hours is likely enough time to talk. Sabine is taking care of the children in the nursery, which leaves Soyoung or Brighton to chaperone. You don’t have time to change or to cover up the marks on your cheek, but you don’t really want to. Part of you wants to approach Beomgyu with this part of yourself on display. To let him see you as you are. 

You stand up and take a deep breath. “Then bring him in.”

. . . . .

When your butler bids him to come inside, Beomgyu has to bite his tongue to stifle his shock. It’s been a week since the Jung ball and though he’s called every morning since then, the response has always been the same—that you aren’t taking visitors, and won’t be for the near future. The setup feels eerily familiar to when he tried to see you after the Haynesworth ball, though he supposes that is just what comes with scandal. The ton’s memory is like that of a goldfish. Once something else happens, they move on quickly. 

In theory, at least. In practice, the memories stick around for a bit longer than gossip suggests. 

Today, though, the butler—Brighton, he thinks—allows him inside. Before shutting the door, Beomgyu sees him cast a furtive glance towards the street, which leads Beomgyu to believe he might not actually be allowed to be here. Still, he appreciates being let in so he doesn’t comment as the butler leads him through the short hallway and into the drawing room. He then disappears to find you.

It seems to take forever for the butler to return, or at least for Beomgyu to hear any sounds indicating you might actually see him. He half expects to be told to leave and honestly, he wouldn’t blame you for it. He can’t really think of a reason why you would want to see him in the first place, but he just wants to make sure you are all right. Or as all right you can be after what happened. 

God, he really wishes he had done Lord Cho’s face in. The man would have deserved it—just one quick punch to break his nose. But then Beomgyu wouldn’t have been there to catch you when the shock set in and you nearly fell, your entire body trembling as you sank into his arms. Anyway, you already hit Lord Cho over the head with that silver candlestick, and that gave Beomgyu more than enough satisfaction to witness. 

Footsteps sound down the hall—more than one pair, it seems. Beomgyu straightens where he stands and his heart begins to race as you step into the room. 

He almost gasps but bites his tongue just in time. In all the times he’s seen you, you’ve never not been dressed for society—fine gowns, light jewelry, pretty smiles. Now, though, Beomgyu almost doesn’t recognize you. 

Dressed in a plain servant’s garb, apron still damp and slightly stained, you stare back at him, expressionless. Your hands are bare, cracked and raw, and a bruise swells dark on your cheek. Anger twists in Beomgyu’s stomach when he realizes it looks very much like the mark left if someone had hit you. There’s no doubt it was your stepmother. 

You seem to track his gaze, unsurprised at whatever you find in his expression. Something hard glints in your eyes and Beomgyu recognizes it as a test. You could have made him wait for you to change, to get ready for a typical call, but you didn’t. You chose to show yourself like this, rags and calluses and all, for a reason.

Well, if this is a test, then he will do all he can to pass it. Beomgyu holds himself tall and bows just as he always has even though the bruise on your cheek makes him want to throttle something. “Miss L/N,” he says in greeting. 

You look back at him steadily for a moment. Then suddenly your shoulders slump, as though you can’t hold yourself up anymore. “Mr. Choi,” you say wearily. “Why are you here?”

Your refusal to call him by his given name hurts more than it should, but Beomgyu forces the pain to pass. It’s no less than he deserves. “I wanted to see if you were all right,” he replies quietly. 

As the words come out of his mouth, he realizes how stupid they are. Obviously you aren’t fine. After what happened, no one in your situation would have been fine. The evidence is staring him right in the face—even if it weren’t for the bruise, the weariness on your face speaks volumes. 

“Well, you have seen me.” The corners of your lips lift slightly, though there is no mirth in the movement. “If that is all, I will be going now.” You turn around as though to leave. 

Beomgyu moves before he even realizes it. You flinch when he catches your wrist, but to his surprise, you don’t pull away. Not immediately. “Y/N,” he says, and you seem to shudder in his hold like when he held you that night. “Please.”

You remain silent for a moment. “Please, what, Mr. Choi?” you ask harshly. “You got what you wanted. You saw me. What else could you need?” You laugh. The sound scratches at Beomgyu’s ears. “Do you want to gloat? Over the fact that you were right about Lord Cho, and I wasn’t? Because that’s low, low even for you—”

Beomgyu takes a small step forward and you cut yourself off. He lets your words pass over him—you’re angry. Maybe even frightened. You’ve spat insults at him before that you actually meant, so Beomgyu knows the difference between that and you simply lashing out from your pain. “I didn’t come to gloat,” he says quietly. 

Your expression crumples. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to apologize.” His next words come unbidden. “And I wanted to ask if you would marry me.”

A long pause follows his unplanned declaration. Beomgyu doesn’t panic, though. Because even though he hadn’t intended to give his proposal right then and there, he still meant the words. They just came out a little early. 

“Why?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu’s heart nearly breaks at your shattered expression, the obvious exhaustion written all over your face. You didn’t deserve this—none of it. If only he hadn’t been such an idiot, if only he hadn’t run away instead of facing his feelings earlier… “Because I love you,” he says, voice trembling. “And if you will allow me, I should like to explain.”

He watches you swallow, throat bobbing as you look down at where his hand still clasps your wrist. You keep looking there for a very long time. “Then explain,” you finally allow, but you don’t look back up at him. 

Beomgyu tries to hide how much that hurts him. It isn’t as though he has a right to feel hurt, anyway. “I am…incredibly sorry for what I did. Or what I didn’t do, I suppose.” He swallows. “I am well aware that no verbal apology of mine could ever make up for leaving you at the Haynesworth ball and I do not intend to make excuses.”

Your eyes finally shift up to his. There’s nothing in your gaze, nothing to give any indication that what he’s saying is right, but Beomgyu has been a coward long enough and he won’t continue that streak now. “I should not have asked you to waltz.” 

Your gaze shutters immediately and you go to pull away. Beomgyu almost panics and tugs your wrist back. “I did not mean it that way,” he says quickly. “I only meant…I was not proper. I should have asked if you had permission first. I should have asked if you were fine with it. I should have remembered the social repercussions of asking you to share such a dance.”

You jerk your wrist out of his hand, but you don’t leave. “Then why didn’t you?” you ask sharply. 

Beomgyu winces. There’s really no way to make “Lord Cho smirked at me which made me extremely upset” sound any better than that, but he has to try. “I was already upset that Lord Cho had been keeping your attentions the entire evening,” he says. Embarrassment creeps its way up his neck. “I was jealous. And at some point, when I was about to just leave the whole affair all together, he…gave me a look, that made me believe he was doing this on purpose. That he had been keeping you engaged the entire evening to avoid me.” The words, once they leave his lips, sound entirely self-serving and rather egotistic. But he swore to himself he would honest and, well, this is what he felt. “I probably sound rather self-centered,” he admits. “But it seemed that way to me.”

You don’t say anything. You hardly react, even. Beomgyu supposes this is at least better than if you were to scoff at him immediately. “I wanted to dance with you,” he says quietly. “I had waited several hours that night just for the hope of speaking to you. I did not realize it was a waltz before we took to the ballroom floor, but even then, at first, I truly did not care. In fact, I was enjoying it. You…you were so beautiful. You always have been.” He swallows. “But there was a moment where we met eyes and I…it hit me then. That I was in love with you.”

You’ve gone as still as a statue. Only your eyes move, warily tracking his every movement. 

“I was scared. Terrified.” Beomgyu clenches his hands at his sides and feels his nails biting sharply into his palms. “I suppose I had some inkling of it before, but I refused to think of it. I was too scared to—I had hated you for so long and we’d only been civil for a few months. I thought, surely, it could not be so. I could not love you in such a short time. But as we were dancing, and as I held you so…” Against his will, his eyes drift to your lips. “I remembered our kiss,” he says quietly. “And I knew, then, that I loved you.”

This time, you do scoff. “You have a funny way of showing it,” you say, bitterness coating every word. 

Beomgyu flinches, but it isn’t as if your words aren’t deserved. “I was a coward,” he admits. “An incredible coward. I realized it then and I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t think with everyone around us and I was so confused and terrified by the prospect of loving you that I just…ran.” He drops his head, finally. 

“You were so scared of loving me.” You snort. “Me. Yes. Because I’m just another one of the dowry-less crowd, full of scandal and Lady Whistledown mentions. Who in their right mind would ever fall in love with me?”

“It wasn’t because of that!” Beomgyu looks up at you, stricken. “Y/N—Miss L/N—do you have any idea how impressive you are?”

For the first time today, you look shocked into speechlessness. Beomgyu’s own face is starting to redden but he forges on. “You—I was terrified of how quickly I had fallen in love with you,” he gets out. “For weeks after we kissed, I couldn’t stop dreaming of it. I wanted to kiss you again. So badly. And it was—terrible. I wanted to be around you and only you. I was jealous of Lord Cho and anyone who seemed to be interested in asking for your hand. But I just could not believe I was in love with you, because you are…well, you.” He gestures vaguely. “Sweet, kind, intelligent, witty…”

God, the more he talks, the stupider he feels for not having realized his feelings sooner. 

“You are you, Miss L/N,” Beomgyu says. “Incredibly lovely and impressive, extraordinarily strong and brave.” A wave of shame washes over him at the truth of his words. You apologized first. You asked to be friends first. Every step of your relationship beyond the first fake deal was initiated by you, and the moment he realized his feelings, all he did was run. “I was terrified of how deeply I had fallen for you,” he says quietly. “Terrified of how much I felt for you in such a short time. It was cowardly of me to run. I should have stayed with you, and I will forever regret that. In the moment, though…it was too much for me to process all at once” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for it. But that is my explanation, in the end. As idiotic as it sounds.”

You look away for a moment. Your cheek turns to him, and again Beomgyu sees the bruise your stepmother left on your skin. The momentary anger bolsters him enough to meet your gaze when you turn back to him. “I trusted you, you know.” More than your words, the exhaustion in your voice strikes Beomgyu to the core. “I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.” You laugh slightly, but there is no humor in the sound. “I thought you might propose to me then.”

Beomgyu bows his head. “I am incredibly sorry,” he says quietly. “Nothing can excuse what I did.”

“It can’t,” you agree. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. It has already happened, and anyway, it’s not the worst thing a man has done to me this season.”

He stares at you. Did you just joke about Lord Cho’s assault? 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, hunching into yourself. “It’s true.”

Beomgyu swallows. “I…suppose it is,” he mumbles. 

For a long moment, you two remain silent. “Nothing may excuse what you did,” you finally say, “but at least I can understand it.” And as Beomgyu is reeling from your response, trying to make sense of it, you step back. “I accept your apology,” you say. “And I appreciate it. But I think it is best that you go now, Mr. Choi.” You start to walk away. “Brighton will see you out.”

Beomgyu gapes, even as the butler comes back into the room. You said you understood. Understood feeling so strongly that it terrified you, understood the urge to run away that he gave in to—

Brighton steps toward him but Beomgyu ignores him, catching your wrist again. “Y/N!”

You stop, but you don’t look back. “What?”

Beomgyu senses that he only has one chance for this. Just one chance to say the right thing, or you’ll walk away and leave him forever. “What did you mean,” he asks, voice ragged, “when you said you understood?”

You turn to him, derision scrawled across your face. “You are a true idiot,” you snap, “if you believe you were the only one who dreamed of the kiss for days afterward.” Then you turn again and try to walk away, but Beomgyu keeps his grip on your wrist. “What is it now?” you snarl, whirling back around.

Everything is hitting him too hard, too fast, but this time, instead of running, Beomgyu stays put. You dreamed of the kiss. You thought of it for days on end just as he did, your eyes drifting to his lips the way his drifted to yours. Suddenly Beomgyu remembers moments when he saw your gaze fixated on his mouth for mere fractions of a second before you returned to the conversation, moments when you smiled at him and there was a shyness in your expression that he had never seen before…

He remembers the waltz and how you settled so comfortably into his hold, eyes sparkling, lips parted as he lowered you into the crook of his arm. You were so warm. So trusting. So full of a joy and hope that made his heart race. 

“I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.” 

What it would mean to me. 

Beomgyu is an idiot. An absolute idiot. “Miss L/N,” he says slowly, “do you love me?”

Your eyes shutter. “It doesn’t matter.” 

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you grit out. You try to tug yourself away but he won’t let go. “Let go of me!”

He releases you immediately, memories of your cries a week ago forcing his hand open as soon as the words leave your mouth. But he doesn’t let you run away. “Answer my question,” he says. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you hiss. Beomgyu hears panic rising in your voice, some sort of fear pushing anger into your tone that he knows isn’t real. “What about that doesn’t make sense to you?”

“It does matter,” he says, cutting through your panic. “Because I asked you a question before that you still haven’t answered.”

You fall silent. 

“I asked you to marry me,” he says quietly, each word like a gunshot in the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brighton slip out of the room again. 

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. It should discourage Beomgyu, but strangely, in the face of your silence, he feels more hopeful. “So I ask you again, Miss L/N,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “do you love me?”

“Why do you need to know?” you ask, voice less sharp, more pleading. “It doesn’t matter, Beomgyu!”

“If you can say no, then I’ll leave.” He puts his hands up in surrender, but privately he feels even more hope with the sound of his name from your lips. “I swear it. But you must answer me.” His voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “Do you love me?”

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

Beomgyu takes a leap of faith. “If you do…” He swallows. “Then marry me, Y/N.” 

You stay quiet for a long time. A clock ticks nearby, slowly marking every second that passes. Beomgyu feels as wound up as a spring, his muscles so tense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t move. He won’t move. Not until you speak.

And eventually, you do. 

“My father is dead.” 

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. Your lips curve a little, but the movement holds no humor. “We received the letter a few days ago.” 

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

“I’m not.” Your words are callous but you shrug like they mean nothing—and perhaps, after all these years, they don’t. “I hardly knew him and he hardly knew any of us. All these years, we thought he was trying to make money overseas, but he had actually gambled it all away.” You shrug again. “He died over a year ago. It took that long for anyone to try and track us down. The country home will need to be sold to pay off his debts. This house is all we really have left and we might be on the verge of losing that too, so I don’t care for him at all.”

Beomgyu stays silent against the rolling tide of your fury. He has no right to judge the situation, and nothing he could say would soothe your anger anyway. He had two loving parents, a rarity in this ton—he can hardly imagine how you feel now, both biological parents dead, one having betrayed you without your knowing for years on end. 

“I didn’t tell you this for pity.” You take a deep breath, and some of the anger dissipates, replaced by your previous weariness. “But, Beomgyu…you won’t gain anything from marrying me. Nothing at all. I’m just another girl with nothing to my name except a heap of scandal. I don’t have a title. I don’t have money. I do chores in the household where I am supposed to be a lady and while I don’t care, if this were to spread to the rest of the ton, you would be ruined, too.” Beomgyu follows your gaze down to your bare hands, your palms rough and weathered, your fingertips raw and pricked. “There’s nothing for you to gain from this,” you say quietly. “Nothing at all.”

Beomgyu reaches out. When you don’t flinch away, he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the skin of your palm, skimming over the lines, the cracks, the scars. “I notice,” he says slowly, “that you have still not said no.”

You scoff. “Retract your proposal, and I won’t have to.”

“What if I don’t retract it?” he challenges. “Will you say no, then?”

“You’re an idiot not to!” you snap. You try to pull your hand away but this time Beomgyu doesn’t let go. You glare at him. “Did you not hear a single thing I just said? I can’t bring you anything but burden!”

“I love you.” 

With those three words, the fight drains out of you almost immediately. Your head slumps over your joined hands and when you finally look back at him, tears sparkle, unshed, in your eyes. “I love you,” Beomgyu says again and even though it feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, the words still feel so right, leaving his lips. “I love you, and I want to be with you. To be with you could never be a burden to me because I love you and everything that comes with you.” You open your mouth to say something but he barrels on. “I don’t care if you have no dowry. I’ve already told you it’s an outdated notion and I care nothing for it, and besides, my family has more than enough money. I don’t need more.” He takes a breath. “I don’t care that your hands will never be smooth. Your scars carry the weight of the care you have for those you love, and they have no bearing on the goodness of your heart. And as for your scandals…” Beomgyu smiles a little, surprised to find some genuine humor in what he is about to say. “I will not have you bear all the burden when the fault is also mine. I am at least half as responsible for all of those scandals as you are.”

You stay quiet. Beomgyu gives up tracing your palm, instead clasping both of his hands over yours. “I love you, Y/N,” he says softly. “None of these things change that, and they never will.”

“You’re an idiot,” you say. Your voice is surprisingly steady, but the last syllable trembles just as the first tear slips out of your eye. “You’re an incredible idiot, Beomgyu. You know all of this—you know what sort of new scandal it would create if we married—”

“What does it say about you, then, that you have still not given me a reply?”

“I’m also an idiot!” you yell. “A bloody fucking stupid idiot who loves you against all of her better judgement. I loved you when you waltzed with me, I loved you when you left me, I loved you when you gave me those gloves—even though I didn’t even it know it then. I thought about you kissing me for days on end and I asked you to be my friend just so you wouldn’t stop speaking to me, looking at me, because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you everywhere and not being able to talk to you. I loved you and I still love you because I’m an idiot. A bloody, stupid idiot—” You cut yourself off as tears begin to spill down your face. You harshly wipe them off. “I don’t want to say no because I love you, you stupid fool. Despite everything I still love you and I always will, and I need you to realize that this is a terrible idea because—because this will be a mistake, it will be a huge mistake for you if you marry me, but I—I don’t know if I can say no.”

Beomgyu lets go of your hand. You flinch, no doubt expecting him to step away, but he instead comes closer. This is hugely improper but Beomgyu doesn’t care as he lifts his hand to your cheek to brush away the tears as they come. “Then say yes,” he whispers.

You shake your head wildly. “This is a mistake, Beomgyu. You’re making a huge mistake.”

“You have never been a mistake,” he says quietly. “Not once. Not ever. It was only my mistakes that got us to this point. If I hadn’t been so terrified and unable to cope with my own feelings…” He swallows around the shame that rises bitterly on his tongue. “I am the one who left you at the ball. That was my mistake. But if you can still trust me, Y/N, trust me when I say that loving you was never a mistake for me.”

“I can’t do anything good for you,” you say miserably. “Society will talk about this forever.”

“They’ll talk about it forever anyway,” Beomgyu points out. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m somewhat past caring about what they think of you and me. They’ll never get the facts right, and I can’t control that, but…I know that I love you.” His thumb sweeps another tear from your cheek. “And if you love me too…”

“I do.” Your voice is hardly a whisper but the two words embed themselves in Beomgyu’s heart, warmth slowly filling his blood. “I do love you.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Beomgyu gently presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t care what the ton will say. I want you to be with me, forever. You say you can do no good for me but just having you near me…Y/N, I have never felt this way for another in my life.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer gently, gently. “You are the best thing that has happened to me. I should be honored to have you with me wherever I go. I don’t care what you can and can’t do for me. Being around you, being with you…that is all I want. All I need.”

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

“I’ll take you everywhere, Y/N. We’ll travel far away, go wherever and see whatever you want. We don’t need to stay here. We can deal with the ton as much or as little as you want to.” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “Don’t worry about your servants or your family. I will provide a dowry for Delia. I will buy the house for your brother. Your servants can travel with us or stay in the home, and I will double their wages.” He takes a deep breath. “So say yes, Y/N.”

You swallow hard.

“Say yes,” he whispers again. “Please.”

You close your eyes. Tears wet your eyelashes, and Beomgyu fights the urge to brush them away, for that would break the two of you apart. You open your eyes and they’re red from crying but in this moment, Beomgyu knows he could never tire of this. Of having you close, of seeing you close, of being able to love you like this—freely, without regrets. 

“Yes.” The word ghosts over his lips, your breath soft like the wind against his skin. “Yes, Beomgyu.” You swallow hard, and though another tear rolls down your face, Beomgyu dares to believe it isn’t from sadness—that there could be some happiness joining the myriad of emotions on your face. “I will marry you.”

. . . . .

The next morning dawns uneventfully, which almost tricks you into thinking the previous day was just a dream. There’s no proof that anything happened beyond your memories, and even then, the idea that Beomgyu proposed to you seems almost too fantastical to be true. 

But it did happen. You can still feel Beomgyu’s hands encasing yours, his thumb smoothing over the cracks and lines on your palm like his touch could take away the pain. You can feel his forehead pressed to yours, his arm around your waist, pulling you to him. You can feel him, his presence—feel the memories of him wrapped around you like a shield against the world. 

You have him, and you have his promise—the promise that he would return the next day, today, with a betrothal ring. The promise that he would marry you and take you far from this place. The promise that he would love you forever. 

“I will leave now, before your stepmother returns,” he had said, holding your hand. “But tomorrow I will come. I don’t care if your stepmother refuses callers—I will come. And I will have a betrothal ring, and we will be married as soon as we can.” And you had agreed, and he had kissed your hand like you were dressed in the finest silks and jewels rather than your dirty servant’s apron, and he left, and you believed him.

Maybe you are a fool for trusting him so after he left you once. But even knowing that…you still believe him. You still believe in the man who held Delia like a little princess. You still believe in the man who defended you from Lady Trombley. You still believe in the man who gave you the gloves. And when you hear people talking in the hallway just after the clock strikes ten, your heart lifts, setting several butterflies alight in your stomach. 

You were right to trust him. 

Unfortunately, as the minutes tick on, you start to suspect there might be some trouble. While you can’t quite hear what your stepmother is saying, the sound of her cold voice permeates through the walls enough that you can tell she doesn’t plan on letting Beomgyu in. You abandon your chores in the kitchen and follow the sound of her voice towards the hall. 

You run into Brighton first, thankfully. “What’s happening?” you ask, even though you’re almost certain you know what is going on. 

“You have a caller, Miss L/N,” he says. It’s all he gets out before your stepmother rounds the corner and interrupts. 

“We are not taking callers,” she snaps, face even more pinched than usual. “Get back into the house.”

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

Nervous warmth begins to tingle in your fingertips, which almost makes you groan—this is not the time to be feeling any sort of fluttery butterfly-ness, not when your stepmother is right there. “Let him in.”

Your stepmother snarls. “You are taking no callers—”

“He wasn’t asking for you, Stepmother,” you retort coldly. “Brighton, please bring him in.”

Brighton, smart man that he is, immediately departs. You brace yourself for your stepmother’s inevitable incoming tirade. There isn’t much in this hallway to put between you and her, so you can only hope Brighton comes back quickly. 

“You are not the head of this household.”

You glance at the end of the hallway. You really hope Brighton comes back soon. 

“You technically aren’t, either.” You take a step back but your stepmother advances faster, her eyes narrowed and sharp. “Henry is. But I don’t suppose you want to take orders from a four year old.”

There’s a flash of skin, a loud cracking sound, and then pain blooms across your left cheek. You cradle it instinctively, biting your lip against the pain. Well, at least the left side of your face will now be matching the right. 

Your sharp tongue never fails to get you into trouble these days. 

“Go back to the kitchen,” your stepmother snarls, her hands folded deceptively calmly at her waist. What a witch. “I will deal with you after I deal with Mr. Choi.”

“What, are you going to slap him too?” you snap. “He is my caller. I will receive him. You have no right—”

She laughs, high and sharp. “You wish for him to call on you now, when you look like this? Even if you weren’t buried in scandal, I would never let another see you in this dirty garb.”

“And whose fault is that?” You snort. “I wouldn’t be in this dirty garb if it weren’t for you. And for the record, Stepmother…” A smirk creeps across your lips. “He has already seen me like this.”

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

“I did.” You let your smirk widen. “He knows.”

You hear the slap before you feel it. The force of her hand against your cheek nearly knocks you against the wall and you don’t manage to stifle your cry, pressing your palm to your cheek in a futile effort to relieve some of the pain. A sharp sting rushes up your face, though, and when you pull your palm away, there’s a thin streak of blood. Her ring must have cut you again. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say as calmly as you can. “Mr. Choi is here. In this house. Brighton will be back with him in moments. Do you think it will benefit you at all for him to see me like this? To see you like this?”

She blanches. You keep talking, years of rage boiling over. “What, lost your tongue?” You laugh humorlessly. “All these years you’ve kept me pent up like this, one of your worst secrets—cleaning for you, washing for you, sewing your clothes and mine—you’re lucky I cared enough about Delia and Henry not to say anything.” A sneer curls your lips. “You hit me and you slap me and you know it’s wrong, you know it’s bloody wrong because you never do it in front of the children! Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve—”

You see it coming—the hand rising, the palm flashing. Instinctively you flinch. Your eyes slam shut and you cringe away from the hand, covering your cheek as some small protection against the impact. 

But it never comes. 

You open your eyes. Beomgyu stands beside your stepmother, fingers wrapped tightly around her still-raised wrist. If you weren’t almost hyperventilating, you might laugh at how comically wide her eyes are, but only a slight wheeze manages to press past your lips. 

“Miss L/N.” Brighton’s voice sounds next to your ear. You hadn’t registered his presence, but it calms you. “Are you all right?”

“Not—not really.” You look at Brighton, whose usually calm expression has twisted with anger, then at Beomgyu, whose face can only be described as the pure embodiment of cold rage. “But I’m fine.” You don’t take your hand away from your bleeding cheek as you meet Beomgyu’s eyes. “Beomgyu, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Beomgyu drops your stepmother’s wrist and shoves past her, coming to  a stop right in front of you. For all the anger in his movements, his hand is surprisingly gentle as he pries your fingers away from your face, revealing whatever marks she left moments ago. You hiss as open air hits the cut, but Beomgyu’s thumb soothes it slightly. “Is there anything we can use to clean this?” he asks Brighton with deceptive calm. 

“I will bring something shortly.” The butler bows, then quickly leaves. 

Silence falls in the hallway, though Beomgyu’s anger clearly sizzles in the air. His dark eyes search yours for something, and only when his gaze falls to your cheek do you understand what he’s asking. 

“I’m fine,” you say quietly. “Or, I will be.”

It’s clear Beomgyu isn’t happy with your response, but he does seem to realize you don’t want to speak about this—at least not now. He nods almost imperceptibly, then turns to your stepmother. “Leave,” he snaps. He barely gives her a glance.

She gapes, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. If the situation weren’t so charged, you might laugh. “I will not be ordered about in my own home!” she finally manages, her cheeks turning blotchy with embarrassment.

“Good God.” You sigh. “With all due respect, Stepmother, isn’t this exactly what you wanted? For me to be married to a wealthy husband and out of your hair?” You sneer. “If you don’t leave, that fantasy will never come true.”

Her eyes widen more, if that was possible. “You—” She glances between you and Beomgyu wildly. “You want to marry her?”

“I don’t answer to abusers,” Beomgyu says coldly. 

“But—”

God, she is the absolute worst. “I don’t suggest you make Mr. Choi any angrier than he already is,” you snap. 

With a last incredulous glance, your stepmother hurries out of the hallway. You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

Beomgyu’s gaze immediately softens, though concern still burns in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says quietly. 

“You didn’t know.” You shrug. “It’s fine, Beomgyu. I’ll heal.”

“It’s not that,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s the fact that this has clearly been going on for a very long time—”

“That is true,” you interrupt. “But I couldn’t say anything then. And anyone who knew didn’t have the power to do anything about it. I am only glad now that I have someone who knows, and who might help protect me.” You take the hand still pressed to your cheek and squeeze it. “I will be fine.”

Beomgyu searches your expression for a long moment. Whatever he is looking for, he seems to find it, because he seems to relax slightly. “If you say so.”

“I do.” You smile, wincing when the movement hurts your cheek. Beomgyu clearly notices but he also clearly sees that you don’t want him to remark on it, so you’re very grateful when he says nothing. You let your voice take on a more playful tone. “Now, what are you here for?”

“Well, I came as I promised yesterday.” His voice takes on somewhat of an edge and you realize he seems almost nervous. It’s very endearing, and your smile widens. “I brought you a ring,” he continues, producing a small box from his pocket. “If you will still accept my suit.” He opens the box.

You gasp. A bright emerald decorates the simple gold band, flanked on each side by small diamonds. There isn’t much light in the hallway but the gems catch what light there is, sparkling cheerfully in the box. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper. 

Beomgyu lifts the ring from the box and takes your hand. “It is yours,” he says, voice clearly shaking a little, “if you should like to have it.”

“Of course I would.” To your surprise, you can feel tears coming to your eyes that aren’t just from pain. “My answer hasn’t changed, Beomgyu.”

Relief floods across his expression, a tension disappearing from his shoulders that you hadn’t noticed before. “Oh. That’s good,” he says, smiling slightly. “Good for me, I mean. I just…I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”

You keep quiet for a moment, choosing your next words carefully. “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt by what you did, Beomgyu,” you finally say. “I was.”

He nods, looking terribly guilty. 

“But I also know that you are not characterized only by your mistakes then.” You smile softly, folding your hands over his. “You are still the man who defended me from Lady Trombley. The man who helped me after Lord Cho. The man who gave me gloves.”

Beomgyu peers at you with his dark eyes, so soft, so kind. 

“Maybe it will take us time to work past this.” You shrug. “That’s fine. Everything takes time. But…I know, at least, that I want to work past this with you. I want to be with you.” Your smile grows, trembling on your lips. “We were idiots for so long. I’m just…I’m just glad we were able to get to this point, at least, without it being too late.”

“Well, we only have you to thank for that.” Beomgyu smiles softly, most of the awful guilt slipping off his face. “You were the one who apologized first.”

You make a face. “Desperation can do strange things to a person.”

“Desperation?”

Your cheeks feel warm. “After you kissed me, I couldn’t stop thinking of it.” You turn away, embarrassed. “I couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you again either. I was desperate. So I apologized, because I at least wanted to be friends.”

Beomgyu’s fingers light on your chin, turning you back to him. “Well, you are far braver than I,” he says sheepishly. “I was too scared to say anything, for fear that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

You smile teasingly. “That just means you have the rest of our lives to make up for it.” 

“Trust me, I will be.” And with that, he slides the ring onto your finger, the gold band comfortingly cool against your skin. 

You hold up the hand, admiring the sparkle of the gems even in the dim light of the hall. “It really is lovely,” you murmur.

“It’s one of the betrothal rings that has been in the family for a long time,” Beomgyu says. “Soobin had our mother’s, of course, because he is the first born, but I think this one suits you better anyway.”

The emerald glints against your finger, cheerful and bright. You haven’t seen the other rings in Beomgyu’s family collection, but you’re inclined to agree with him. The longer you look at it, the giddier you feel, even remembering everything that happened just minutes ago. It’s almost unbelievable. You’re going to be married. Married. And to someone you love, even. Your smile widens. 

“I can’t really believe this is happening,” you admit, almost in a whisper. It’s more to yourself than to Beomgyu, but he hears you anyway. 

“Me neither.” The society version of him is gone now, replaced by a shyer, almost boyish version of him that endears you far more than is good for the butterflies in your chest. “I mean, less than a few months ago we were still at each other’s throats.”

“I suppose you can claim all the credit for this, then.” You laugh. “You’re the one who suggested that ridiculous deal in the first place.”

“I may have suggested it, but you’re the one who took it to the next step.” Beomgyu grins. “Out of desperation.”

You hit him lightly as heat floods your cheeks. “Hey, you felt the same way!”

“I did, and I was an idiot for not acting on it sooner.” Beomgyu steps forward, taking your hands, and suddenly you’re so close you swear he could hear your heart beating right now. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Stop apologizing. I have already forgiven you.” A rush of boldness course through you and you lean your head against Beomgyu’s shoulder. He stiffens for a moment but relaxes so suddenly you almost flinch, and then his arms come to wrap around your waist. It reminds you of how he held you when you kissed and with that memory, you only sink deeper into his hold. “Anyway, what is that thing they say?” you mumble. “Something about there being a line in between love and hate?”

Beomgyu smiles and pushes you away, but just so he can look into your eyes. “There is a fine line,” he murmurs against your ear, his gaze drifting down to your lips, “between hatred and love.”

You laugh as he kisses you, his mouth soft and sweet against yours. “Yes,” you whisper when you pull away. “A very fine line, indeed.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

“Beomgyu!” You run down the stairs, nearly tripping over your skirts in the process. “Where are you? We’re going to be late—”

A hand catches your wrist as you fly down the last few steps. Beomgyu’s laugh rings out when you screech, his arm pulling you flush against him. “I’m right here,” he says into your ear. You hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t see it, pressed to his chest as you are. 

“I couldn’t find you!” You pull away, hoping your makeup hasn’t rubbed off onto his outfit. “Where were you hiding?”

“Nowhere.” He sneaks a kiss in between your flailing and you yelp again. “You just weren’t looking hard enough.”

You scowl, but both of you know there’s no real annoyance behind it. “You are incredibly annoying,” you inform him, only to be met with another chuckle. 

It’s been a year since the last season, and six months since you married. If you had had it your way, you would have married as soon as he proposed—called the banns in a week, married in a matter of days after that. With your father dead, however, your entire family was sent into mourning. Never mind that you had never cared for the man. 

You hated those six months. It wasn’t the seclusion from society, which you honestly didn’t mind—but just…mourning your father. A man who was barely present in your life. A man whose face you wouldn’t have remembered if not for the portrait still stuck up in the drawing room, a man who lied to you for years until he died so far away from home. You almost considered eloping to Gretna Green to escape the months of forced darkness—you’re fairly certain Beomgyu would have agreed—but ultimately decided against it. You had participated in enough scandal during the season to last you a lifetime. You didn’t need any more of it.

It helped when the three month mark came around and you could change out of the void black gowns and into the lighter colors of half-mourning. Not so much because of the clothes, but because you could slowly begin to accept social engagements again. It isn’t that you particularly wanted to see anyone—the season was over by then and you were incredibly glad for that—but Beomgyu could visit, then. It wasn’t as often as you or he would have liked since his family had moved to the country while you stayed in town, but it helped the time pass more quickly, especially when your little half-siblings freed themselves from the clutches of the staff and managed to tumble into the drawing room to join you two. You’re almost certain Delia has a little child-crush on Beomgyu, and Henry looks at him like a role model.

It's adorable. 

Still, sometimes those three months seemed interminable. You barely spoke to your stepmother but after so many years of living under her iron fist, you could never feel at ease in the same house as her. When the wedding came around, you didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask to come. It was a lovely day to celebrate your escape from a life you never wished to live. 

And here you are, now. Bickering with your husband whom you love in a home you can call your own, free from the back-breaking secret of your previous life and able to live, really live, in a way you haven’t been able to in years. You can even go about in society with your head held high, just like you will tonight. 

That is, if Beomgyu decides to stop stalling anytime soon. 

He leans in for another kiss but you jerk away before his lips can land on yours. “We’re going to be late, Beomgyu,” you repeat, forcibly pushing his face away. 

He looks at you, face mushed still mushed against your hand. You fight the urge to laugh but a smile makes its way onto your lips anyway. “Be honest with me, Y/N,” he says, pulling away with that little twinkle in his eye. “Do you really want to go tonight?”

You open your mouth, ready to respond affirmatively. But then Beomgyu catches you with those very sweet, very alluring eyes, and you pinch your lips together. He’s already won, you both know, but you have to fight him a little bit. Just a little bit. 

“You’re telling me we should skip our first public event since coming back from our very extended honeymoon?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Why not?” he asks, sneaking a quick kiss onto your neck. You yelp, squirming away, but he maintains his hold on your waist all the while. “We’d have more fun at home anyway.”

You do your very best to ignore the way he’s smiling against your skin. “We already said that we would go.”

“Something came up. A terrible emergency that required us to return to the country for another month.” Beomgyu decides that whatever he’s doing right now is no longer enough and begins to lay kisses down your neck, trailing them towards your shoulder even though he knows you are incredibly ticklish over there. “You can’t tell me you’re so eager to return to society.”

You sigh. Beomgyu made good on all of his promises—he bought the house for your brother, he set aside money for your sister’s dowry, and he doubled the wages of all your staff in service. Several of them have followed you to your new home, too. And after your wedding, he whisked you away from London and the upcoming season to show you everything he knew in the continent. It was wonderful to leave England and even more wonderful to see the world, but by the end, you had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t just leaving London that gave you this joy. It was the fact that you had someone you loved by your side. 

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

It sounds terribly cliché, and you had said about as much to Beomgyu when you admitted it the night you returned to London, confessions whispered under the starlit sky. He had asked you if you really felt all right returning to society after the scandals and gossip of the last season and after a moment, you nodded. It would be difficult, but you didn’t want to hide forever. And with someone really and truly on your side, you could believe things would turn out fine. 

You thought he’d laugh at you, and he did—a little bit. But that laugh was accompanied by a surprising shyness and warmth in his touch as he pulled you closer under the bedsheets, your head coming to rest against his chest, just under his chin. “That is somewhat cliché,” he had said, words ghosting softly past your skin. “But I am very glad you feel that way.”

Now here you are, ready to attend your first public event of the season, and he’s trying to convince you to stay home. 

“I’m not not eager,” you protest. 

“But you aren’t exactly saying you’re eager either,” he retorts easily.

You sigh. “We promised we would go,” you say emphatically, but even you can tell that you’re losing ground for your argument here. 

Beomgyu hums into your shoulder, his arms sliding down to wrap around your waist from behind. “I’m sure Lady Park will understand,” he murmurs. 

That draws you up short. You’d nearly forgotten who was hosting tonight. “We are not skipping out on Lady Park’s ball,” you say, twisting around to look at him fully. “She is probably one of my only supporters in society right now!”

He makes an affronted noise. “What, is my family just chopped liver?”

“They are family,” you retort. “It isn’t the same. If they didn’t support me, we would be in far greater trouble by now.”

Beomgyu falls silent, which means he’s conceding defeat—at least on this front. “Fine, we’ll go,” he eventually groans. “But no one said we have to stay the entire night.” He whirls you around so that you’re facing him directly, and his grin becomes something distinctly inviting. Sensual. Your heart begins to beat uncomfortably quickly. “In fact, no one said we had to arrive on time, either.”

Your mouth suddenly feels very dry. You fight hard to keep your eyes meeting his, and not floating downwards to fixate on his lips. “Beomgyu…”

He grins. He knows he’s winning. “Twenty minutes,” he proposes.

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Twelve and a half.” You laugh, and Beomgyu takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his lips to yours again. “Twelve and a half,” he repeats when he pulls away, eyes sparkling. “And by the way, did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?”

You laugh again, despite yourself. “You are absolutely incorrigible,” you inform him. 

“And yet you still love me,” he points out, infuriatingly correct as usual. “Twelve and a half minutes.”

“…Fine.”

He has his lips against yours in less than a second, an arm around your waist pulling you protectively close as your own hands wrap instinctively around his neck. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers against your lips. “I promise, every minute will be worth it.”

Sometimes it just suddenly hits you how lucky you are—how less than two years ago, you believed you would never find a husband, that you would never find love, that you would be forced to run away to avoid a life slated for a miserable end in your old household. Just a year past you believed this man to be your mortal enemy. When you think about it too much, you start to panic. Now that you have everything, a life that months ago you could only have dreamed of, it all feels like it could be taken away so easily. 

So as Beomgyu’s lips capture yours again, pressing you against the staircase as his hand rises to caress your cheek, you decide not to think about it. You push your doubt and panic away and focus on here, on now—on the warmth of his hands and his lips, on the love he manages to convey with every miniscule touch. This life is yours, this life filled with so much devotion and warmth, yours to build, yours to love. And if you know yourself, you will never willingly let it go.

When you break away for air, you don’t let Beomgyu pull away too far. You tangle your fingers through his dark hair, grinning all the while. If he notices a few tears of joy threatening to spill down your cheek, he says nothing, just looks at you with his doting smile.

“That was never in doubt,” you reply, staring into loving eyes. “Because every moment with you has always been worth it.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[osarina]

I CAME SCREAMING AND RUNNING WHEN I HEARD YANDERE DAZAI OMLL HOW DO YOU PERSONALLY SEE YAN!DAZAI??? cause theres so many ways to characterize him if he becomes Yandere especially if you compare and contrast his PM and ADA self

... here we go. yanzai my beloved - i dont think u guys understand how insane i am over him. anyway, i'm not making this one as long as i planned to because (surprise) i've planned out a two-part fic for this that i want to write when i'm done with civilian!dazai, and i dont want to spoil it. hehe.

but. in general, i think even non-yanzai would be veryyyyy possessive over his lover. yanzai is on an entirely different level though - and even WITHIN yanzai, i think pm yanzai and ada yanzai are entirely different monsters and i mean that so literally. but first, in general, possessive, very manipulative. yanzai has likely found his reason to live in his lover and he's NAWT about to let that go.

yanzai in general would tend to lead toward manipulation through guilt and isolation, i think. i don’t think any version of yanzai would ever get violent with his partner and i stay heavy on that belief. he’s got more of a tendency to treat you like you’re something fragile that could break at any given moment.

also i'm going to split pmzai into two - canon pmzai (ages 15-18) and then pmzai in an au where he never left the pm. so the order i'm gonna talk about is canon pmzai, canon adazai (as a direct follow up to canon pmzai), and then im gonna talk about pmzai au where he never left the pm.

for the purposes of this, assume that reader joined the pm when they were young

canon pmzai

so first i want to talk about how it probably starts, because i could sooooo very much see this starting while he & his lover are young. since this is canon, i imagine they meet at around 15/16 like i have dazai & pmreader meeting. dazai's clearly a lot more unstable during his early pm years and i think his obsession with his lover could start with something really minimal tbh. maybe they shoot an offhand compliment to him, or stop to pick something up that he dropped, and dazai is just so alone & isolated by mori atp that he just completely fixates on this person because they’re the first one to ever say/do something kind for him, as small as it may have been.

i think it would even start out harmless, spends a lot of time thinking about you, daydreaming. maybe he even steps in on missions for you - which he notably doesn't do for anyone because he doesn't want to do more work than he has to. but something would happen that eventually triggers the shift from harmless to a veryyyy dangerous obsession. maybe you got critically wounded on a mission, or maybe you start spending time with other people—whatever it is, it just flips a switch in him because he realizes that he is not about to loose you and he doesn't care what he has to do to make sure of it.

on this topic ^^ maybe this is a hot take, but i think canon pm yanzai would be entirely more dependent on his lover compared to adazai. adazai is still dependent, but not to the extent pmzai is. i know people hc him as hyper independent, which i also mostly hc for him, but i think if he's found someone that he's attached himself to like this, he’s young enough that he'll quickly become codependent on them, and that obviously scares him which makes him even more intense with his yan tendencies.

that being said, i still think that he would be careful to not alert you to any shift of his mentality. he'd be very hyperaware of keeping a good image in your eyes, so everything he does do is going to be behind the scenes. he'd probably work a lot with isolation and trying to make you as dependent on him as he is on you—justifies it by telling himself that it's not fair that he can't live without you but you can live without him LOL, won't be satisfied until he's inclined enough to believe that if he was gone you would be ruined without him (which comes into play when he leaves the mafia). he also makes sure that the missions you go on - if he even has you going on any - are all easy AND he makes sure he's overseeing them. probably phrases it as just a shift in command, assuming you were someone else's subordinate first, and you don't really have any reason to think anything of it.

i think he'd keep a really tight hold on his image up until the events of dark era, that whole ... week ? i assume its about a week, of everything going down with ango and oda just tosses him into a mental spiral and he'd probably let the mask slip a few times in front of you. i still don’t think it’s enough for you to really question anything—not until he leaves, that is.

now moving on to adazai - but first, the underground years:

we're gonna assume that you stay with the pm when he leaves. i think he'd spend a lot of his underground years honestly just keeping an eye on you from a distance. i think he'd be like very back and forth with how he feels, like a part of him is soooo satisfied that you're so broken about him leaving but then the other part of him has him wanting rip out his own throat for being the reason for your distress. he'd be rlly hyperaware of you "moving on" from him. his go to would be driving people away from you, like it was while he was with the pm but it's a lot harder now that he has to be a "ghost" so to speak, so i think he would target you yourself more often. and it would be little things, like whenever he sees you start talking to someone new, he'd leave little things around your apartment to remind you of him. maybe pictures you'd taken together, or small trinkets, anything to make you remember him and trigger you back into that spiral of missing him. BUT that being said, i think he would be very careful to ensure that you don't realize it's him leaving these things around, so he'd go through your apartment and look for stuff and would lay it out carefully to make you think that you just happened to leave it out.

i think over the course of his underground years, you start to realize that whatever you had with dazai was not healthy and how he acted with you was not healthy, and dazai does take note of this in his 💀 long hours observing you, which is why he’s so careful to keep up his new mask with you when he inevitably meets you again (read below).

OK now adazai

adazai is interesting. i went back and forth with this a lot, but i think adazai would really utilize his new job & demeanor as a tool to make you come back to him/fall for him again, especially if you’d started to put things together during the years he was gone. he frames his leaving it as how it was just something he had to do, look how much better he is now, he’s healed & hes good now, and he didn’t know what else to do because he knew his mental state wasn’t healthy back in the mafia. <- i think this would be important specifically because you would take note of how he acknowledges how incredibly possessive and weird he was with you, and in your mind, someone who acts like that probably wouldn’t see anything wrong with it, so the fact that he acknowledges it would be a green flag in your mind because maybe he has grown.

he also would probably hit you with a few guilt trips like he didn’t even know he meant enough to you to make you care about whether or not he was there. he’d be veryyyyyy sweet and honeyed with his apologies and pleas for forgiveness, and he’d be patient too. if you weren’t open to listening to him the first time you run into him, he’d orchestrate several other “run ins” over the next few weeks, whittle down your guard until he can finally claw his way back into your skin.

once that whole first stage of “winning you back” is over, dazai would quickly return to old habits although, however careful he was while in the pm to keep a good image in your eyes, he’s 100000x more careful now. because now it’s beyond just not letting you see the “demon prodigy”, he’s been advertising himself to you as a good, changed man and he has every intention of maintaining that image in your eyes. so yeah, he might be using access to cctv cameras to stalk your every move and yes, he’s slowly but surely driving everyone away from you, but in your eyes, he’s a detective who spends the saving people and that should never waver in anyway.

i think one notable difference is that adazai’s first big goal is going to be to drag you from the mafia, so while he is isolating you from people in the pm, i think he wouldn’t be so quick to isolate you from the members of the agency. in fact he would even encourage it to an extent - as long as they know their place 💀 - until he gets you to leave the pm, that is, then he might start to isolate you altogether again.

adazai likes to fashion himself as a bit of a savior to you i think. he saw how you spiraled without him, and came back to you, promising to never leave you again, apologizing for ever having have. gets in your head by making comments about how he didn’t even know you rlly cared about him like that.

^^ he’ll drag u from the dark shadow of the port mafia and tuck you right into his own shadow instead. and yeah, it might be just as dark, but at least he’ll be there to to make sure some light is peeking through cell bars of his “love”.

nowwww pmzai who never left the mafia.

i think i’ll keep this one short because imo i feel like this would just be canon pmzai without bothering to keep the whole front up in front of you. he doesn’t really care to hide his obsession over you - what are you going to do about it? run? he’s not going to let you do that, and he knows you don’t want to do that anyway. this pmzai is even more unstable than canon pmzai - i imagine he still lost oda, but then failed to even fulfill his last request by leaving the mafia and going to the light, so instead he focuses all of his energy onto the one person he has left: you.

forget missions. you’ll be lucky if he ever lets you leave the pm hq again. people die for looking at you the wrong way - whether it be pity, concern, or “envy” (because dazai is paranoid and thinks everyone is trying to stealing what’s his). sometimes you make comments about it to him, wanting to go on missions & talk to people again, and it triggers breakdowns in dazai that you can never tell if they’re real or fake - panic attacks over losing you like odasaku, begging you not to leave him too, etc. you don’t know if these are real, but he’s got you so tight around his finger already that the off chance that these aren’t manufactured to guilt you into dropping the subject is enough to make you give in.

[canonizzyhours]

i'm so glad this blog is back! so as one of our fandom's few, proud canon-flavor blackhands shippers (there are dozens of us! well, maybe one dozen. if i'm lucky) i want to celebrate by venting about something that bugs me in fic about the edizzy relationship.

in fic with sympathetic takes on izzy (and not just canyon ones, i see it pretty frequently from even anti-canyon people who are trying hard to be fair to the character) authors will have izzy, in the throes of unrequited love, thinking about all the good times he and ed used to have together pre-stede, how they used to laugh and have so much fun together. i understand where this is coming from but it is completely losing the core dynamic of the relationship! the key thing about edizzy, the thing that defines their dynamic and that makes the relationship so compelling, is that they both deeply (albeit in fucked up ways) love each other but despite that at the same time THEY DO NOT LIKE EACH OTHER, not even a little bit, and they never have.

you'll see canyon meta sometimes try to establish otherwise, but it's always sort of goofy like a lot of canyon arguments, usually the evidence will be, like, an isolated screencap where con smiles for a brief moment while ed does something in the foreground (often if you actually watch the scene it turns out he's reacting to something unrelated). or people will say ed trying to show izzy all stede's stuff must show that izzy used to respond positively to that sort of thing, instead of what's obviously going on in the scene which is that ed is desperately lonely and doesn't have anyone to talk to EXCEPT izzy.

but look at what we know about them. the parts of ed's personality that show the most when he's actually having a good time are the parts of him izzy likes the least. when ed's having fun he gets silly and playful. izzy disapproves of play and silliness on principle, and he especially hates it in ed, because he sees it as ed rejecting the blackbeard persona and therefore rejecting izzy himself. it's oil and water. this is reinforced by the parallels between izzy and mary: it's not like stede and mary used to like each other before their marriage decayed. they were miserable together from the moment they met; they don't have any shared interests and neither understands the other's creativity; and they don't really start to become friends until they give up on trying to make their relationship something it never could have been and try being honest with themselves and each other. in the same way it's not till around s2e6, after ed and izzy have both stopped lying to themselves and izzy has gotten over most of his hangups, that they even really get to a place where they might have been capable of starting to build an actual friendship. this is also part of why djenks ended up framing the relationship as family: a lot of familial relationships are people who've been through lots of huge life-defining events together and love each other deeply because of it but that doesn't mean they actually like being around each other.

if you want two guys who actually like each other, gentlebeard is great for that, in addition to being in love they also just like each other so much. if you want two guys who USED to like each other but don't really anymore and haven't fully realized that yet, you want ed & jack. ed and izzy work well together, they've been through all sorts of adventures together, they've probably saved each other's lives a dozen times over, izzy worships ed for his piracy prowess and general hypermasculinity, ed values izzy's performance as his first mate and also secretly craves his fatherly approval. they care deeply for each other for all those reasons. but there is no way there have ever once in their whole relationship just enjoyed hanging out with each other. they simply do not enjoy each other's company! they have all this deep emotion tied up in each other but on the most basic level they just don't like each other at all and i'm not sure either of them even fully realizes it! and that core tension is THE ENTIRE KEY to what makes their relationship like it is.

#441.

[halowishes]

my fav fics of 2024!!

i wanted to share my other recs that i read before i started my lists and ones that just deserve MORE recognition/ changed me/ inspire me to live my life.

(not ranked, just jumbled together)

fandoms: mostly haikyuu & some demon slayer

(skts if the ship is unspecified)

red dahlia

e. 103k+. ongoing. handmaiden au.

guys. this was probably the fic that made me fall in love with sakuatsu. fairycake always does impeccable world building and splendid writing. this fic has such flair and style— it’s in both povs so you can feel all the nuance. and the PLOT. the DIALOGUE. the IMAGERY. god this is really such a wonderful fic and i’m dying to find out what happens next!!

play among the stars

e. 105k. sci-fi/ rom-com/ drama?

ok so there’s a jail on the moon. kiyoomi is a guard and atsumu is a prisoner! i had so much fun reading this. i’ve never read anything like it. it was intense but well-paced, dramatic yet comedic, serious and silly! kiyoomi had some really beautiful development, and atsumu’s character was a treasure. every chapter was gorgeous but i ESPECIALLY love the last few.

in transit — kageyama x hinata

t. 4.7k. canon universe.

one of the first hq fics i read. so sweet and felt very loyal to the anime. i also just thought the image of kageyama playing basketball was so funny. this fic introduced me to the world of hq fanfic so i’ll always be thankful for it.

in another life — bokuto x akaashi

t. 23k. mcd/ hospital au.

honestly? heartbreaking. soul crushing. i’ll randomly remember parts of it and just sit in silence for a bit. this fic is probably why i actually haven’t really sought out any other bokuaka… i just end up thinking about this😭 AND ITS SO WELL WRITTEN. the storyline is so precise and clean, but it packs a punch (that ends in tears). i wondered how the hell it had so many hits but i get it. i really do. and i’m a changed person because of it.

three sheets to the wind

m. 117k. pirate au.

i am actually very obsessed with atsumu teaching kiyoomi how to let loose and feel the sun on your skin and be honest and real. also such a fan of atsumu’s casual poetry because when you’re obsessed with someone, words can just roll off the tongue. very big believer of love inspiring courage and bravery.

insert coin to play

e. 178k. cyberpunk au.

we all know how much i love this but what does it for me is how it understands kiyoomi’s characteristics: he’s blunt, strong, determined, and a bit irrational. i love loud and proud fighter atsumu, but kiyoomi is no less weaker just because he’s quiet. and i will always always always remember that scene in the club where they talked about a world if they were ordinary. anyways. i can always talk about this fic.

heirs

e. 237k. corporate & soulmate au.

this was the slow burn of the year. yes the fic was about love and choice and agency, but also duty, piety, and power. it was provoking and thoughtful and dramatic (in a good way). i actually felt the anger, betrayal, and shame of those characters because the plot is just that intense.

again, like this

e. 55k. mid time skip.

this really is my comfort fic. i’ve read it so often i can probably tell you verbatim every plot point. but i can’t help it because they are so tender. so innocent and raw and real. they make each other better and it’s such a pleasure to read. and (you got me) the smut was really really good ok?😭😭

the tide will turn

e. 80.8k. titanic au.

there’s not much i can say because of spoilers but GOD. this fic is so luxurious and unreal. i was obsessed with the characters and finding out what came next. it was a thrilling and emotional read (definitely cried). the fic was so immersive and the last few chapters stuck with me.

afflictions for below-average asian-americans

t. 7.5k. american suburbia au.

genuine, embarrassing, overwhelming, inexplicable. the character development is so special and subtle, yet inspiring. although the premise comes off as niche, i think anyone can relate to feelings of envy and insecurity. this seriously made me appreciate my younger self more <3.

do i dare disturb the universe?

t. 14.9k. parallel timeline.

*screams*. i need more second chance fics. i have a deep rooted aversion to failure and making mistakes so stories like these help me unlearn that. generally, there’s no right or wrong in how to live your life so why aren’t we just doing what we can to be fulfilled and loved? very important fic about listening to your heart!! also: highlights the painfully beautiful mundane aspects of domestic life.

it drives you crazy getting old

m. 45.9k. 13 going on 30-ish au.

there is something so comforting about reading a young skts in their 32 year old selves. the fic is about learning how to be patient, to be vulnerable, to love. growing up can be so scary but this fic is a gentle reminder that everything will work itself out and you never have to do it alone. you may not end up where you thought, and that’s okay.

bound

e. 68.1k. actors au.

what i admire about this fic is how generous it is. the characters make mistakes, they say and do things they don’t mean, they can be unhealthy and miscommunicate. but at the end of the day, they’re so patient and loving that the stars align for them because they deserved that happy ending. (and that speech at the end was just too good not to include. it makes me cry every time.)

rain on your wedding day

g. 4.6k. skts wedding.

the joys of celebrating love. the joys of having a community who supports you and will do anything to see you happy. the joys of spending the rest of your life with Your Person. i don’t care if it’s a fanfic, it’s canon TO ME.

how to NOT fall in love with your flatmate’s twin

m. 46.7k. mid-time skip.

while atsumu and kiyoomi’s budding relationship is delightful and the twins’ characters are superb, i will always remember this fic for the side plot of kiyoomi learning to reconnect with his mother. it’s simple yet so powerful. this fic makes me appreciate my parents, siblings, and everything university gave me :’).

burden of blame

e. 91.2k. yakuza au.

if there’s anything to know about me it is that i LOVE a thriller. the plot of this fic is so buzzing with life and mystery. also i’m a SUCKER for bossy ass kiyoomi x nonstop yapper atsumu. it just amplifies the banter and tension by a mile. and selfless, impulsive atsumu will always have a place in my heart <3.

constellations we called home

e. 53.5k. end of the world au.

i read this fic over a month ago but i still can’t be normal about it. it’s extravagant, emotional, and honestly punched a hole through my heart that i might never recover from (like all apocalypse aus). this fic reminds me of the “would you rather have a good thing and or never have it at all” debate. (i will always choose to have a good thing).

sketches of a firefly

e. 88.7k. magic realism/ returning to a small town au.

recently featured in my monthly recs but i don’t care! this fic made me want to be a kid again. it’s literally and figuratively magical. the storytelling amazed me and the tension was soooo vivid. this is a very worthy read but READ THE TAGS.

stockholm syndrome isn’t real

e. 50.2k. heist au.

also mentioned in my dec recs! i just love how this fic read like an action comedy movie. the punchy humor and the well paced scenes made it go by like my dream sakuatsu film. i’m still wrapping my head around how intricate the dynamics and plot of this fic are!

terminal curiosity

e. 9 works, each 10k+. canon universe.

we all read it, we all know it’s good. there’s nothing new i can say about it but i do go back and read it every couple months. (laid bare & thunder in a bottle are my favs <3).

demon slayer

blue — giyuu x sabito

t. 17.2k. canon divergence.

giyuu wakes up in an au where sabito lives. the fic was so gentle and loving and careful. giyuu’s disbelief and the absurdity of it all— you feel all of that with this fic. the story was just so wholesome and made me love giyuu.

uh huh, honey — giyuu x sanemi

e. 151k. pornstar au😭😭

ok i realize the premise is bonkers but the plot is actually pretty deep😭 this fic was prime “opposites attract” in that the characters complement each other perfectly. really beautiful imagery, hilarious dialogue, and such a silly premise but full of admiration and thought.

and that’s my year of fanfic! i almost called this my top 24 fics of 2024 but then i thought “there’s no way i have 24 favs” and here i am… only two short.

but yeah! i’m glad to be back in fandom culture because it really is what got me through tough times. i hope you give these fics a chance or (most likely) if you’ve already read them, let me know what you thought about them!! (if you want more recs check my halo reads tag).

i’m not sure how long these monthly recs will last as i move onto a new part of my life, but i do hope you all find some community in these posts <3

lots of love ALWAYS,

halo <3

[tojiscrack]

on my weekly re-read of liar liar, and i was GOING TO pull an all nighter and finish it all, but i feel asleep before i could 😞😞

ANYWAYS!! i find it so funny that throughout the first chapter (and even later chapters, but not as much) its mentioned (and made very obvious) that y/n is a little devil child, that can be too much to handle, but never w megumi. like, idk how to explain it, but hes never thought shes “too much”, and lets her do what she wants, just puts his input in (like when she switched classes, he didnt feel overly annoyed by it, just told her that she was gonna get in trouble) (i might be wrong about this LMAO) youve written them in a way that they balance each other PERFECTLY, like they are genuinely soulmates.

the end scene of the first chapter is oddly one of my favourite parts of the fic, because we get other characters (albeit, minor characters, but wtv) opinions on them, and youve written them exactly like how they describe it. they keep each other in line, and thats why they work so well together.

anyways!!! i love this fanfic so sosososooos much!!! i dont understand how this isnt more popular because???? ITS SO GOOD???? literally how arent people falling in love with your writing within the first 1k words??

(also i meant to include this in a previous ask, but i forgot lol, BUT ONE OF MY FAV DUOS IN THE FIC (and in canon lfmao) is megumi and nobara?? everytime they’re together i genuinely laugh, you nailed their characters and character dynamic)

liar, liar masterlist here:

INCOMING YAP SESSION CUZ THIS ASK GOT ME SUPER DUPER EXCITED KSJSJDIWJ

WEEKLY reread? girl, stop, you’re gonna notice all the typos i cba to get rid of 🫣

HAHAHA, NO STOP, I HAVEN’T HAD ANYONE MENTION THE WHOLE ‘DEVIL CHILD’ THING SINCE THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS WERE RELEASED 😭 and that, my friend, was months ago 🌝

so i’m so excited to just talk about this omggg!!! 😫💘

yes indeed 😤 megumi would most likely say she’s sm to handle, but really, he lowkey enjoys it. it’s the only time he can be an accomplice witness to such foolish behaviour, and not be reprimanded for it as much ‘cause he just has her to fall back on and blame. he won’t ever stop her, per se, but he’ll tell her once or twice ‘whatever you’re doing, it’s not gonna work’ or ‘don’t be dumb’, and think he’s done his part before being influenced by her 💀

‘i might be wro-’ stfu you’re right and you know it 🙄❤️

and you’re also right in it not being mentioned as much when they’re older. no, i did not forget to add it, that was done intentionally for two reasons:

they’re older now, so as much as she does what she wants with him, she’s a lot more tame than she was as a child. that doesn’t mean she ever regrets the stupid things she’s done (except for the whole mermaid thing, that is a lifelong regret she’ll always have 😭)

the idea that she’s such a menace has been established enough over the years to the point where no one feels the need to voice it. new characters probably would — someone like miss b who was introduced in the middle school chapter — but even then, she was exposed to the more tame versions of the chaotic duo. so everyone kinda silently acknowledges it, and only during crazy moments (like the tragic helicopter incident of 2016, rip satoru/suguru’s will to live 😔) will it actually be voiced (like ogi mistakenly believing that y/n didn’t start any of the nonsense that occurred during the incident, and that was mentioned cuz of the fact that she’s famously known to be so incredibly out of control).

the bonus scene for the first chapter was my fav to write as wellll (tho arguably, i say that about so many scenes, so the value of this statement is probably worth nothing 💀). bonus scenes were initially meant to be ONLY from other people’s pov, but i noticed how so many things from y/n and megumi’s childhood tgth are littered around the story, and that the only way you could ever get any insight of them is through the bonus scene since the chapters are too long to add flashbacks AND bonus scenes. i could always do a separate set of oneshots for them, but i don’t have the time for that (yk this through my horrid updating schedule) 😟

but i am so glad you’re telling me what you enjoyed — and more importantly, being specific about it. it lets me put into perspective how the later chapters (tho already planned) should be set out. your feedback means the world to me, and you deserve a million set of kisses every night for them <3333

‘i love this fanfic sosososo much!!! i don’t understand how this isn’t more popular because??? IT’S SO GOOD???’

okay brb, gonna go and find my right to exist and have the perfect life when cutie pies like you grace this earth 😖💞💓💗💞

maybe one day it’ll get bigger 😊 if that day ever comes, i’ll remember my og readers. i’ll remember the support i was given from them. i’ll remember people like you, who continuously flood my inbox with enough love to pull yank me out of writer’s block and squeeze out another chapter, how because of your long and juicy asks/messages/dms, the cycle of writing i have going on here continues, and i feel more and more proud that i even developed such a fic to begin with ❤️

‘literally how aren’t people falling in love with your writing after the first 1k words’ — errr probably ‘cause the first 1k words were just y/n trying (and failing) to explain what happens in her horror stories without stuttering 💀 LMFAO, SORRY 😭 i’d fall asleep on that carpet if i were the kids surrounding her, and they went to listen willingly.

but ugh, that’s so nice of you, i’m gonna siwjosnwidjwjd

AND OMG YOU’RE SO RIGHT

like everyone talks about yuji/nobara, or yuji/megumi, bUT WHAT ABOUT MY BEANS NOBARA/MEGUMI? they have a level of deep understanding with each other in canon (and in my fic, which will be addressed CHAPTERSSSS later) that i’d love to yap about, but i’ve already yapped enough, like you’re probably cringing rn i’m sorry 😭 another time, maybe 😔