#if I was having only one of Bad At Do Assignment and Bad At Writing and Bad At Whatever This Is then I think I could take it.

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

-------------------------

masterlist

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Emotions Pt 2 | Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI 18+ ONLY!!!, cunnilingus, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), discussions of grief

Word Count: 3110

A/N: Hi! Trying to work on my requests to give myself a bit of an escape from what’s going on in my personal life right now. I am combining requests I was getting for a part 2 to my Sam x Angel!Reader fic with another request from much later in the queue, so I did have to jump around in the order of my fic requests! I hope that’s okay! 

General Writings Masterlist

Pt 1

If you thought humans were strange and intriguing before, being human was even stranger. Your existence had been predictable before you met Sam Winchester. And now, you were feeling and experiencing multitudes you hadn’t known to be possible. Navigating the full scape of human emotion was incredibly difficult and draining at times. Thoughts you’d never had emotion assigned to would cross your mind at random times of the day. And suddenly, you’d be sniffling and trying to control the tears forming in your eyes. 

Sam had gotten good at navigating these moments with you. He would talk about your feelings with you very openly and share some of his own. 

The first time you realized that Sam would one day die, possibly leaving you on earth alone, you were horrified. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, seeing you trying to hold back tears while staring at the ground. 

“You’re gonna die one day,” you said plainly. 

“Uh, yeah,” he snorted. “Yeah, I am.”

“It’s not funny,” you snapped, eyes flashing to his. 

He shook his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He sat down on the chair across from you. “Just caught me off-guard, ‘s all,” Sam replied. “What brought that on?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… came over me all of a sudden. Does that not scare you?”

He considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” you asked. 

“ ‘Cause somebody told me Heaven’s real—” he nudged your knee with his, making you huff out a small laugh— “and maybe I’ll get to see my mom. Actually meet her.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” you asked.

Sam stared at you for a moment. 

“You’re my best friend, Sam. What am I supposed to do if you die first?” you asked, eyes becoming glassy again.

“What you did before me,” he replied simply. “You just gotta keep going.”

“No offense, Sam, but you’ve been a complete mess without Dean.”

“That’s different. He’s my brother,” Sam said. 

Your gaze was soft, but it held intensity. So much so that it made Sam squirm beneath it. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I don’t think it’s different,” you sniffed. “I just think it’s— oh, what’s that word— grief.”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at you. 

“And I think that because you know what you know, you’re convinced that there’s some way to bring him back. And because you can’t do it, you’re not allowing yourself to accept the grief. You’re just… kinda… stuck,” you finished. 

A heavy silence blanketed the air. 

“Y’know, for an angel with zero understanding of human emotion, that was pretty good,” the young man chuckled.

A genuine smile spread across your face.

****

Even with Dean gone, you could see Sam starting to heal. You hoped you played a large part in that. However, you were growing curious as to why you hadn’t heard the angels talking about Castiel retrieving Dean. What were they waiting on?

Ruby hadn’t shown her face, either, much to your surprise. You assumed she could feel that you were here and decided to make herself scarce. A wise choice on her part, if you did say so yourself. 

Sam’s demon blood addiction would sometimes cripple him. On those days where his withdrawals or cravings would get bad, you would sit on the couch or the kitchen floor with his head in your lap and allow him to cry or sleep until the pain subsided. Sometimes, he’d get angry with himself for not being strong enough to push through the affliction on his own, to which you’d remind him that not many humans survive demon blood addiction as well as he had.

“It fucking hurts, (Y/N),” Sam told you, shivering beside you. Sweat beaded at every pore, and his face was flushed. 

You held a wet rag to the back of his neck while he clutched at your knee.

“I know, Sammy—”

“Why didn’t you just let me have it? Maybe I could find Lilith if you’d just—”

You cut him off, trying not to get angry with him. “Sam, no.”

“—But (Y/N)—”

“No.” You pushed yourself off the couch and turned to sit on the ground so that you were eyelevel with him. “I will not let you do that to yourself again. Do you hear me?”

Sam grimaced with watery eyes, but he nodded. 

“I— I can’t watch that happen to you,” you said, tears catching in your throat. It was surprising to find yourself unable to express yourself evenly and coherently as you always had, but your emotion seemed to help you get through to Sam more. 

The other angels had no idea what they were missing. 

***

When you were an angel, you truly didn’t have an internal dialogue. And now, your mind was flooded with constant thought. Occasionally, it was burdensome, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Before, all you had was experience and memory. It was as if you were entirely continuous with your environment, and you took everything around you at surface value. There was no internal reflection. 

“That’s called ‘sonder’,” Sam explained to you. 

“What is?” you asked, temporarily looking away from the river below you. 

You’d discovered a creaky, wooden bridge over a rushing stream on a walk through the forest with Sam. 

“What you just said. Realizing that everybody has their own experiences, and thoughts, and lives entirely separate from yours,” he continued.

You gently kicked your feet back and forth over the edge of the bridge with your arms crossed over the railing in front of you. Sam sat beside you, watching you. “Does it ever get overwhelming?” you asked him, thinking maybe you were the only one feeling so burdened by thought as a result of your new status as a human. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Feeling. Thinking,” you elaborated, unable to look at him out of fear that he may judge you.

“Yeah, frequently.” He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “But, uh, certain things make it better.”

That caught your attention, as his tone sounded a bit loaded. “What things?”

He kept his gaze down but nudged your shoulder with his. “Certain angels.”

A wide smile spread across your face. “Certain Sam Winchesters make it better for me, too.”

He returned your expression. 

***

The fall months were upon you. The cabin you stayed in with Sam was where you first discovered what “warmth” was as you sat by the fire. Now, though, a different feeling encompassed you. 

It started slowly; ignorable, almost. First, small little bumps formed on your arms while you brought the trash out to the dumpster about a mile away from the cabin. Then, you felt like the wind was blowing through your body. You tried your hardest to ignore the feeling, but soon, it felt like your insides were shaking. 

It freaked you out, to say the least. And when you lifted the lid of the dumpster to put your trash inside, your fingers were blue. In fact, you almost couldn’t feel them at all. 

“What the fuck,” you muttered. 

Afraid of what was happening to you, you began running all the way back to the cabin. When you nearly broke the door down with your entry, Sam jumped to his feet. “Whoa, (Y/N), what the hell?”

You were panting, hunched over, and panicking. “Something— is happening…” you swallowed thickly, “to me.”

Sam rushed over to you, bending down to your level and tucking your hair behind your ear. “What? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” you breathed out. You looked down at your fingertips and realized they weren’t blue anymore. “Wait, where’d it go?”

You and Sam both straightened up, and you continued to search your fingers for the discoloration. 

“Where’d what go?” Sam questioned. 

“My— My fingers were blue just a minute ago,” you explained. 

“Blue?” he repeated.

You nodded. “And my insides were shaking.”

A small smile began to pull at the ends of Sam’s lips. “Did you also have little bumps on your arms?”

Your eyes snapped to his. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re a seraph. You’ve been around for forever, and you got scared of the wind?” Sam asked. 

“The wind didn’t do that to me,” you said pitifully, “it’s never done that before.”

Sam laughed. 

“It’s not funny,” you pouted grouchily. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam continued. “You just got cold, (Y/N).”

You furrowed your brow. 

“Here,” the brunet continued. He opened the door for you, and you walked out of it hesitantly. The first of the Autumn leaves had fallen to the ground and crunched under your feet as you made your way out. 

Sam followed behind, and the two of you stood beside each other silently. You looked up at the trees rustling in the wind, and small wisps of your hair began to lift away from your face. And then, you felt the little bumps forming on your arms again. You looked down, a little less afraid this time. 

“See? Just the wind,” Sam explained. 

Then, a shiver ripped down your spine, and your body began to shake from the feeling. 

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he said. Once you were, Sam offered you the jacket that was laying on the back of a chair in the kitchen. You wrapped yourself in it while he continued to tend the fire. 

“It’s probably gonna get cooler tonight, too,” he explained, dusting his hands off and standing from the ground. “This room’s the only one with heat in it.” 

Your eyes widened in worry, as your shivering hadn’t stopped even with the jacket wrapped around you. 

Sam chuckled with fondness at your expression. “You can take my bed.”

“But won’t you be cold, too?” you asked through your clattering teeth. 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” Off your look, he continued. “Seriously. I’m kinda a human furnace.”

“C’mere, then,” you asserted. 

The brunet seemed caught off-guard. 

“Please?” you begged. “I’m still cold.”

Hesitantly, he sat on the couch beside you and opened his arms to you. You shuffled across the couch to where you were curled into his chest between his outstretched legs. Sam relaxed against the arm of the couch and wrapped his strong arms around you.

With a look that almost bordered on pleading, you pulled back from his chest and stared up at him. His eyes seemed to almost search your face before he began to lean down toward you. Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, you leaned up to press your lips to his. 

Sam immediately groaned at the contact, and you threaded your fingers through his hair while his hands explored the curves of your waist. When his hand grazed the underside of your breast, you took in a sharp breath. 

Immediately, Sam broke the kiss. “Is this okay?”

Without breaking eye contact, you grabbed his hand and brought it to your breast. An intense lust clouded his eyes, and Sam pulled your head back toward his while he kneaded your breast in his hand. 

Heat flooded your thighs, and you were a bit overwhelmed by the feeling. Your breath quickened as you allowed Sam to push your shirt up over your head. 

He broke the kiss again only to say, “Bed, now.”

You nodded eagerly, pressing your lips back against his. He took your legs and wrapped them around his waist. With you pressed so closely to him, you subconsciously began to grind against him as he carried you over to his bed in the corner of the room. He gently laid you on the bed and pressed his forehead to yours, panting. “You can’t— You can’t do that.”

“What?” you asked timidly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Sam shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “No, no, you’re fine. But I’m not gonna be able to hold back if you keep doing that.”

Hesitantly, you planted your feet on the bed on either side of his hips and began to grind up into him. 

A challenge in Sam’s eyes, he leaned back down to kiss you with an unrivaled passion. His hands roamed your torso, careful to avoid the band of your sweatpants. Gently, he ran his hands along the band of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

You nodded feverishly, breath quickening. As soon as he’d gotten it off, Sam began to kiss down your chest while kneading your breasts in his hands. He continued to kiss down your stomach, nipping at the soft flesh every once in a while. When he was eye-level with your clothed pussy, he asked, “Can I take these off?” running his hands over your clothed hips. 

You nodded, but Sam could tell something was wrong. “What is it?” He straightened up. 

“I’ve just never done this before,” you said honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Sam told you. “If you wanna stop, we can stop.”

You quickly shook your head “no.” “Don’t stop, please.”

He chuckled and began to take your sweatpants and underwear down your hips slowly, teasingly. 

“Please, Sam,” you said. “I don’t know what this feeling is, but I need you here.” You took his hand and brought it near your throbbing cunt. 

He took in a sharp breath, almost seeming unable to contain himself. “Can I touch you?” he asked. 

You nodded eagerly, and he pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed before dragging his fingers through your folds. You keened while his long, thick fingers circled your clit. He then pulled your thighs toward his face and dove between them, lapping at your clit like a man starved. Your hands flew to his head, and he grabbed them, lacing your fingers together. Sam held your hands on either side of your body, gently stroking them with his thumbs in contrast to the fierceness he was eating you out with. 

“God, Sam!” you cried, grinding your hips into his face. That simply spurred him on more. 

Suddenly, what felt like a knot began to form in your lower stomach. “Wait, Sam,” you said, as the knot began to tighten. 

He pulled away from you, bringing his fingers back to your clit while he crawled over the top of you. “Uh-huh?” he asked. 

You continued to grind down onto his fingers, closing your eyes at the pleasurable feeling. “Something—” you bit your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out, “Something’s happening.”

Sam smiled. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s normal.”

You nodded breathlessly. “Okay.” 

Then, he started to insert his middle finger into you, pulling a sharp breath out of you. 

“I know,” he coaxed you. “But I gotta get you ready for me, okay?”

You nodded. 

“Words, (Y/N/N),” he asserted. 

“Okay,” you said shakily. 

Sam inserted one finger, and then, another. He began to move them in and out of you while putting pressure on your clit with the heel of his hand. The feeling was overwhelming, and you tried to close your legs around his hand. However, you were stopped by his body between your legs. 

The feeling continued to build and build, and you couldn’t hold back your cries anymore. A string of moans and curses left your mouth. 

“Just let it happen, okay? I’ve got you,” Sam told you. 

You nodded. 

“Words,” he demanded. 

“Yes, god, yes,” you replied. “Don’t stop,” you begged. 

He scissored his fingers inside of you, pushing you over the edge. The knot in your stomach snapped, and your core began to throb around his fingers. 

“God, Sam!” you cried out. “Fuck!” 

As your breathing began to slow, he asked, “You okay?” You nodded. “Yeah,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smirked lopsidedly. 

You looked down at the bulge in jeans, and you looked up at him wantonly. 

“No, no, this isn’t about me,” he told you. 

“But I wanna make you feel good,” you whined. 

“You already are,” Sam told you. 

You leaned up to pull his face down to yours, kissing him again to convey everything you felt for him in that moment. You helped him out of his jeans, and once he had a condom on, he began to line himself up at your entrance. 

“You sure you want this?” Sam asked. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Please, I need it.”

Slowly but surely, he began to push into you. He put his elbows on either side of your head, allowing you to curl your nails into his back with the pressure you were feeling inside of you. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s uncomfortable,” he told you.

You shook your head, bringing your hands to either side of his face and kissing him deeply. Sam used that opportunity of distraction to push himself all the way inside, causing both of you to moan into each other’s mouths. 

Once he’d ensured you adjusted, he began to thrust into you. Sam’s movements were slow and deep, allowing you to feel every inch and ridge of his cock. You closed your eyes and dropped your head back in pure euphoria as he began to pick up his pace, bringing both of you closer to your climaxes. 

When you felt the knot beginning to form in your stomach again, you brought your hand to your clit and rubbed circles over it. Sam, having none of it, pushed your hand aside and mimicked the motion himself, allowing you to rake your nails up and down his back. Between the feeling of him thrusting inside of you and the pressure on your clit, the knot inside you snapped. 

With a keening cry, you moved your hips in time with histo ride out your high while Sam rode out his. The two of you breathed heaving breaths, allowing time for both of you to come down.

When the both of you were cleaned up and thoroughly spent, Sam held you against his chest while you drew invisible patterns on his upper chest. 

With a smile tugging on the ends of his lips, Sam asked, “You still cold?”

Taglist for Emotions:

@slutforfictionalcharacterss @criminalmindsiscool @littledebbieinabigworld

Forever tags are open; Series Rewrite taglist is closed!! :) Requests are open!

[redrose10]

I’m going to be working on chapter 3 of Cold Brewed Love. I was really sick last week and then my toddler got really sick and we’ve just been a mess. But hopefully that should be out sometime soon.

…Last night I had a horrible panic attack. It came out of nowhere and was one of the worst ones I’ve had in a long time. I thought I was getting passed this but I guess not. So to get my mind off of it I wrote this. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but just never wrote out. It’s just fluffy and funny and cute. I hope everyone likes it and maybe it’ll help someone else feel better.

I don’t have a title so if anyone has any good ideas let me know!!

*******************************************************

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kind of suggestive, anxiety, depression, jealous Yoongi, little angst, maybe bad judgements against foreigners but not in a hateful way (when writing this I did it from the view of an American who speaks English because that’s me so I apologize to others who read that may not fit that role), also fluffy dorky Yoongi

Word count: 3,702

(I included one of my all time favorite Yoongi photos because why not)

When Yoongi first got his military assignment he was less than thrilled about it to say the least. How do you go from writing hit songs while traveling the world performing for thousands of people and collecting records and awards like no one else to sitting behind a desk entering numbers into a computer for eight hours a day? But he understands the why behind the reasons he has to do this, along with knowing that it is his duty so he is committed to completing his service to the best of his ability. He gets up early in the morning pouring himself a cup of coffee before he puts on his uniform and makes the short drive to the office location.

Whether it was pure luck or a carefully calculated choice by someone in charge he was thankful to be working in a quiet building just outside of Seoul. His department was on the top floor. His desk in a back corner, by himself, somewhat hidden away from view. He could show up, do his job, and leave like nothing happened. He was content with keeping to himself, minding his own business, and not going out of his way to make friends. Of course he was polite and friendly if approached, but he was never the approacher.

And then he met you…

When his senior manager told him that he would be getting a desk partner he nodded and politely accepted the change but internally he was irritated. That irritation only grew when he found out that his new partner was a foreigner who barely spoke Korean. His mind immediately conjured up this idea that you were probably some kpop obsessed fan who moved here on a whim. The only saving grace he thought would be that due to the lack of mutual language you both would probably not be speaking much.

He got to work a few minutes earlier than usual on the day you were arriving to work with him. For some reason he wanted to beat you there feeling like he had to lay claim to his portion of the rather large desk. Your computer was already set up next to him. He sighed as he unpacked his bag and began logging in for the day.

Then you arrived. Your work uniform similar to his. You smiled and introduced yourself and then sat down and got right to work. You didn’t freak out and tell him how big of a fan you were. You didn’t even make small talk. You put in your ear buds and turned on some music and got right to work. You brought in a heavenly smell with you of vanilla and sugar. He’s sure it would be called something like Fluffy Cloud Sweet Sugar Oasis and Grandma’s Cookies or something like that if they sold it at Bath & Body works. And he was ready to buy every bottle.

When work was over for the day you told him to have a good night and packed your stuff and left. Yoongi realized this new seating arrangement wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The days went by much similar to that first day. You introduced him to your best friend Joon-Sung who worked in a different department on the second floor. The first time he met him Yoongi felt what he told himself was just some indigestion from his lunch because there was no way he was jealous of the handsome man that you so freely talked to and joked with until he heard you mention something about Joon-Sung and his new boyfriend and the indigestion somehow magically went away.

Then Yoongi noticed that he found himself feeling a little more excited each day for you to walk through that door. He also started changing his routine bit by bit. He styled his hair a little more, at least the little bit of hair that was slowly growing back after having to get it shaved. He started wearing cologne again, even buying the one he heard you mention you liked after someone walked by wearing it. His nights were spent brushing up on his English so he could better converse with you and in the mornings he started bringing you cups of hot chocolate or herbal tea after he heard you tell Joon-Sung that you were trying to lower your caffeine intake because your anxiety was getting worse.

Then his world came spiraling out of control at the realization that he might like you…like a lot. The last thing he needs right now is any kind of relationship especially with a foreigner. Like sure you were really pretty and very nice and you both communicated well even with the language barrier and you were taking Korean lessons so you were getting better. You had acclimated to living in Korea just fine. Joon-Sung often joked that you acted more Korean than most Koreans and that you were a Korean Ajumma in a young woman’s body.

Your best friend other than Joon-Sung was your 80 year old neighbor Mr.Park and his cat Mittens which lead Yoongi into remembering a story about how you and Mr. Park spent all day hand making cat toys to take to the animal shelter which made Yoongi’s heart swell with affection before he quickly shook that feeling away.

The more he thought about it the more Yoongi realized how much of your life he had grown to know and how much he looked forward to seeing you and talking to you.

And how much he talked about you outside of work.

“I don’t know man, sounds like you like her.”, Hoseok said while having a couple drinks at Yoongi’s on his day off from the military.

“I do not. She’s just nice. We have to work together. That’s all.”

“Mmmhmm sure, that’s why you haven’t stopped talking about her all night. Jimin mentioned that you even told him about her over the phone. And your ears are doing that thing.”

“What thing?,” Yoongi questioned already knowing the answer.

“You know…that thing where you ears get all red when you’re lying or embarrassed. And by how red they are I’m thinking it’s a little of both.”, Hoseok chuckled before taking a sip of beer.

Yoongi couldn’t like you. He’s only known you for a few months. He doesn’t fall that easily for anyone. He knew his last partner for three years before asking them out. He hasn’t even hung out with you outside of work yet. He had your number, but that was because you asked him for it to send over a work file you were going to complete at home. He’s never texted you outside of a thanks once he’s received it. Sure he’s opened up a blank message and attempted to text you something almost every night. That’s normal though. Right? He’s just awkward and you’re just a friend.

Then he saw you walk in for the day. You were carrying two bags of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. One bag had Joon-Sungs name on it and the other had Yoongi’s. You made him cookies. He thought his heart was going to explode.

When Joon-Sung walked in to collect his package from you he started complaining about how he was going on a date with some guy who loved basketball so now he was trying to cram full of info to try and impress him. He showed you his phone,

“Who is this?”

“That’s Lebron James.”

“Is he any good?”

“Well he’s the highest scoring player in NBA history, he’s top 10 in steals and assists, and has four championships so yeah you could say he’s pretty good.”

“Okay and what team does he play for?”

You sighed, “He was drafted by the Cleveland Cavaliers in 2003 then he went to the Miami Heat for a while and then back to Cleveland and now he’s with the Lakers.”

Yoongi listened as you rattled off basketball facts like nothing with his eyes wide.

Fuck I think I love her, he thought to himself.

Yoongi tried his best to push any thoughts he was having about you far out of his mind. But you were all he thought about. How good you smelled next to him. How sweet your voice sounded saying his name. How you would feel underneath him with his body pressed against yours…

Realizing he was about to really embarrass himself at work he quickly started thinking about that time he accidentally saw his mom in her underwear instead hoping to change the direction of his thoughts but because his brain seemed to hate him his thoughts wandered back to what you would look like in this black lace number he saw was being released by some high end lingerie brand. Maybe he could buy it for you as a gift. Or would that be weird? Quickly he excused himself needing to get up and get a distraction.

When he returned to his desk Joon-Sung was gone and you were typing away at your computer.

“Hey can I ask you a question?”, you said, “I hope I’m not going to make things weird between us.”

Yoongi froze. Did you notice? Could you read minds? Oh my God Yoongi that’s so stupid, people can’t read minds. He was so in his thoughts he forgot that you had asked him a question until he saw you staring back at him.

“Of course, go ahead.”, he managed to squeak out.

“So Joon—Sung is having a party this weekend. He wanted me to ask you to come. It’s nothing big. He does them every few weeks. He’s just social like that.”

Yoongi’s not sure if he’s relieved that you’re not some mind reader or if he’s hurt that you’re only asking him to come because someone else told you to and not that you actually want him there.

But he agrees to go regardless because he wants to spend time with you.

Yoongi doesn’t like to judge people but he’s a little shocked to find out that Joon-Sung lives in one of the fanciest most elite apartment complexes in Seoul. Something about having family money so he works mostly to give himself something to do. Yoongi admits he’s a little impressed and also a little jealous.

He came prepared with topics to talk about. He researched the bands he always sees you listening to even though most really weren’t his style. He looked into your home city so he could ask you questions. And if all else fails he can rely on basketball as a speaking point. He can’t remember the last time he put this much effort into getting to know someone.

He takes off his shoes and walks into the main living area and immediately starts scanning the room for you. He spots you right away.

He takes a moment to look you over. The dress you’re wearing is much shorter and tighter than your normal work outfit. It accentuates every one of your curves perfectly. He sees what he thinks is a thigh tattoo poking out the bottom. He wants to see more of it. You look so good and he can feel his temperature rising. Fuck Yoongi get it together. You’ve been acting like some deprived horny teenager he thinks while making a mental note to call his doctor. Maybe his hormones are out of whack or something. This isn’t normal for him to feel like this around someone.

He watches as you’re happily talking to some guy. Some guy who’s like ten feet tall and made of pure muscle and looks like he was ripped out of beauty magazine. Maybe that is your type. Maybe he should introduce you to Jungkook. At least then he’d still get to see you after his service is up because you’d clearly not be interested in someone like him.

You’re laughing at something the guy said while placing your hand on his bicep.

Well this is something Yoongi never thought about. He was so consumed in his feelings for you that he never stopped to think about whether or not you liked him too or if you were even available. What if you’re already seeing someone? What if you’re happily married with two kids? He never asked you about your relationships since it felt too personal at the time. He feels like the room is spinning as he is trying to find another route when he hears you calling his name.

You walk over and wrap your arms around him in a hug, “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

He smiles feeling some relief as you lead him to the kitchen to get a drink and something to eat.

You’re both eating a piece of pizza when you ask him a question.

“This is random but do you have a nickname? I mean besides Suga or Agust D of course.”

He shakes his head.

“You look like a Yoongles. Has anyone ever called you that?”

“A few fans have online but that’s it.”, he chuckles.

“Well I think it suits you. Or maybe Yoongily Boongily Bear.”

“Okay” he snorts trying to fake indifference but in that moment he realized that he’d let you call him Captain Dumbass if you wanted to just so he could see your smile and hear your giggle again.

Yoongi had gone to talk to one of your other co workers for a while to give you a break from him since you’d been attached at the hip. He was coming back from the bathroom when he noticed you were nowhere to be found.

Did you leave already? And without even saying goodbye. That hurt a little more than he wanted it to. He didn’t get the chance to ask you about your hometown. Now he’s stuck with all these useless facts about some city he’s never even been to.

Just as he was about to give up and head home someone moved the large curtain hanging against the window and he recognized your figure leaning against the balcony outside. Slowly he made his way there.

“I thought you left.”, he said when you turned to look at him after hearing the door open.

“No it was just getting to people-ish in there, I needed a break.”

Yoongi felt bad for intruding on your space.

“Oh I’m sorry. I’ll go back inside.”

He felt electricity shoot through his body after you grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the railing, “No stay. I like spending time with you.”

He felt his heart skip.

The two of you stood in silence for a few moments while staring down at the vast city below.

“I like to look out at the city when I’m overwhelmed or when my anxiety gets too much.”, you suddenly spoke, “I like watching the lights, seeing all the people move around. Some going to work, some coming home. Couples going on dates. Some people are down there having the best day of their life while others are having the worst. It’s comforting in a weird way.”, you chuckled, “To know you’re not alone out here in the world.”

Yoongi looked you over quietly. He didn’t know you struggled so much with anxiety and feelings like that. He knew you had anxiety which is why he never got you anything with a lot of caffeine, but he thought it would just make your heart race or something. He didn’t know you suffered so harshly from it. You always seemed to calm and put together. He felt a strong urge to just wrap you in a big fluffy blanket and give you a kitten to hold as he cuddled you close while telling you it’ll all be okay.

“It’s funny actually. I never really listened to your music before I met you.”

Yoongi gasped dramatically acting extremely hurt.

You giggled, “I know. I mean I knew of you guys and such but it wasn’t really my thing. But when I found out I was going to be working with you I wanted to know about your music and having something to talk about with you. Honestly I went into it not having high expectations.”

Now Yoongi was genuinely a little hurt but he knew everyone was entitled to their own opinions and feelings and that’s why music was so great.

You continued, “I was taken back by how real your music was. How full of emotion and the raw feelings you conveyed. Your song The Last, man I cried after hearing that. To see someone struggle as much as you did with mental health issues and still come out on top even though you had to fight for it. It gave me hope. Maybe one day I’ll be okay too.”

Yoongi thought about every funny scenario he could. That time Jin shoved an entire donut in his mouth and then accidentally coughed it all over Namjoon’s face or that time his brother slipped on some ice and conveniently landed right in a giant puddle of dirty water like he was in a cartoon. Anything to stop himself from crying in front of you.

“Then I listened to Snooze. And that song has become like my anthem. Any time I feel the walls closing in on me or I think I can’t do it any more I play that one and I can feel the gray clouds being pulled away and the sun shining down.”, you chuckled, “You have got to introduce me to WooSung by the way.”

Yoongi laughed with you but deep down he knew he was NEVER introducing you to WooSung unless it was at your wedding after you’d already exchanged vows and kissed and you were officially Mrs. Min Yoongi. Then MAYBE he might let you meet him…from across the room…over video chat.

“I’m glad my music could help you so much. Any time I hear something like that it gives me the motivation to keep going too.”, he said not really sure how to comfort you in that moment.

“How did you do it?”

He look at you confused.

“How did you heal yourself?”

Yoongi found himself chuckling. Not because he thought it was a funny question or anything but he never thought he’d be answering questions like that.

“I mean I don’t know if I’ll every be fully healed. At first I used alcohol. I’d drink until I wasn’t coherent enough to feel. Then I switched to working myself until I was so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to worry. But now I go to therapy and take medicine when it gets really bad. I use music as an escape without overworking myself. I also surround myself with people who I know are good for me. I think that’s really important.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Thank you Yoongi. For helping not only myself but also yourself and the millions of fans around the world.”

Fuck he wanted to kiss you so bad and and hold you and make sure you never felt another ounce of sadness ever again.

This conversation kind of killed the mood admittedly though. You just opened up to him about something that must’ve been difficult and he can’t just be like oh hey by the way I want to date you and hopefully do unspeakable things to you one day so do you want to go out with me? That would be really insensitive.

Instead he was going to simply invite you to hang out as friends, offer to be your support and see where it goes from there.

“Hey Y/N…”

Just then the door swung open and a very drunk Joon-Sung came stumbling out.

“There you are. I looked everywhere for you guys. I figured you were blowing him in the bathroom already.”

Yoongi choked on his spit and felt his entire body heat up at that statement.

“Did you tell him how you love him and you think he has the prettiest eyes and the nicest smile and the cutest little butt?”

“Go.to.bed.Joon-Sung.”, you hissed.

“Alright alright, but if you two are gonna fuck use the spare bedroom. I paid too much for my couch for there to be naked ass cheeks on it.”, he slurred before stumbling back inside.

You turned back around and continued to stare out at the city below. Yoongi thought you were handling this well. If it was him he would’ve already jumped over the railing from embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”, you whispered when he came up next to you, “I didn’t want you to find out like that. It’s gonna be weird between us now. Monday morning I’ll ask for them to reassign me to a new department.”

“Y/N”

“Hell I’ll even move out of the city.”

“Y/N”

“I’ve heard Busan is nice.”

“Y/N”

“Just please don’t write a song about me. I don’t think I can recover knowing my most embarrassing moment is being retold on stage as seven guys do some extreme choreography while wearing coordinating outfits.”

Y/N!”

Finally he got your attention. He couldn’t help but smile at how flushed you were.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

He used the new boost in confidence from knowing that you liked him too to take a step closer to you. So close he could feel the warmth of his breath bouncing back off of your skin.

“Y/N…Can…I…Kiss…You?”

You didn’t say anything but nodded which was all he needed to lean in placing his lips on yours. It’s cheesy but he felt like fireworks were going off. His senses were overloaded with you. That familiar sweet vanilla perfume you always wear. The softness of your lips. The taste of the pizza and hard cider you had earlier. It made him feel like he could fly.

“So you think I have a cute butt huh?”, he smirked against your lips.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to remember?”

He stepped back putting his hands up in defense, “Hey listen, you don’t even want to know the things I’ve thought about your butt over the last couple months.”

“Yeah well maybe you can show me instead then huh.”, you smiled pulling him in for another kiss.

“I would be happy to”

[youcouldmakealife]

Do you ever mix up names? I love your stories, but I am shit at names and as your pantheon/league grows I find myself increasingly turned around by all the north american dude names (first, last, AND hockey nicknames!!!). I can usually keep track of the on-going series names and names that are less common in North America (Kiro, Sven), but if I'm reading, say, an ask or rereading I usually have remind myself who is who first.

I don't mix them up between themselves and other characters in either a similar name way (James vs Jake, say) or roles (mixing up say, Wheels and Craney and Matty).

(This got so long and off topic, why does this always happen)

What I do mix up is sort of more of a...muscle memory thing, maybe? I'm writing the word, say, gorgeous, and I have to delete georgieous first, because my fingers apparently have become a phone's autocorrect function. I actually did write James as Jake a few times when I was deep deep in editing BTT, but again, it was just sort of like...an autofill error between my brain and my fingers.

The names themselves I'm pretty good with, though I do worry about whether I'll continue to be as a) the pantheon continues to expand (I love this by the way, and now I'm probably going to spend the rest of my evening mentally assigning characters places in the pantheon) and b) I get older. And both things seem pretty inevitable to me.

Unfortunately, the two things I appear to have in common with Leo Tolstoy are brevity and 'these people have three names, and I'm going to use them all interchangeably'. (ie Vinny is Thomas to himself, but Vinny to literally everybody else including me. And sometimes Tommy but only to Anton and his parents and only sometimes. Anton's alternately Anton, Petrov, Tony to Vinny and teammates, or Antosha to his family.)

I'd honestly apologise for it but it's one of those things that's really inextricable from the sort of...falling into a perspective way that I write, the same way I write in American English for American characters and Canadian English for Canadians, or use Christian (and specifically Catholic) references in Robbie or Georgie's POVs but never, say, Mike's or David's, unless we count Mike's very liberal usage of the word goddamn (and it's lowercase with him, but it'd be Goddamn to Robbie.)

And the different vocabularies extends to names. Like William Dineen is William to Robbie, he specifically asked to be called that when he was a teenager who wanted to feel more adult, and Robbie respected that then and continues to now. Georgie respected it in another way -- he was Willy to him, and now he uses Will, which William is fine with, but only with immediate family.

But in the text itself Georgie would never use William, because it'd feel distant to him, and Robbie would never use Will because he'd consider that disrespectful after William specifically requested to be called that, and me choosing one or the other wouldn't be in character, so he's Will and he's William, but never Willy (that's Tate Williams).

I make this all sound like a much more conscious process than it is. A lot of this stuff I've only figured out via metacognition of my writing process, which is, by necessity, done in hindsight.

My original answer to questions like 'why did you do _____ that way?' is invariably '*shrug* felt right', and people tend to find that...unsatisfying, so I often investigate further, and the answer becomes 'felt right because of <this reason I was in no way consciously aware of during the writing process>'. As I've said to my poor beleaguered editor, a lot of my writing process is 'just vibes'. I follow good vibes. Bad vibes tell me something's not working, and I adjust accordingly. I think a lot (I cannot tell you how many times I've been accused of overthinking things), but when it comes to writing, most of it's happening beyond my own perception, so instead it feels more like gut instinct. (which is, indeed, what gut instinct often boils down to: pattern recognition going on beneath one's conscious awareness)

[dubiousdoctors]

unfair that the Brain Things have an effect on my body and the Meat Things have an effect on my head. extremely poorly constructed and I want to Get Rid of It but there is not a convenient way to Do That.

[frecht]

things are going well it is currently four forty-seven a.m. (i woke up at three in a fit of worry over my anthropology project, spent a half hour on my phone trying to make myself feel better about it, spent almost an hour trying to fall back asleep while feeling vaguely ill, then decided i wouldn't be successful and got out my computer to do more work on the project)

[motherforthefamicom]

i need to beat klonoa so bad actually holy fuck

[keeps-ache]

microdosing on pinterest by looking at the pictures they send me in the emails and nothing else

[leebrontide]

Every single time I see a take that amounts to "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" I'm reminded of this one time I was at a casual friends house as a young kid. We were in her room, pretending to "be orphans" escaping from an evil orphanage and having to take care of each other and fend for ourselves. It was all very Little Orphan Annie/All Dogs Go to Heaven and based on the 80s pop media.

And this girl's mom comes in, hears what we're playing and gets all MAD and UPSET. She says that if we play act something, it's because we want it to happen. So her daughter must WANT HER TO DIE.

First off lady, we were 6 year year olds, so take it down several notches. We barely had a concept of mortality for fucks sake. She made us feel so guilty and ashamed, because she was taking our game personally.

Now I have a 5 year old. And sometimes she looks at me and says "pretend you're dead, and I have to -" Whatever it is. Some adult task she's assigned herself.

And it's just so transparently obvious that she's practicing the idea of having to do things on her own. Which is exactly what 5 year olds are supposed to do. I actually find it very flattering that the only way she can envision me not being available to help her is to be literally deceased. Otherwise, obviously, she wouldn't have to do scary hard things alone.

It's a natural coping mechanism. She's self-soothing about what would happen if I wasn't there by play-acting independence in a perfectly safe environment. She's also practicing skills she needs, and making up excuses for practicing them on her own, without taking on the responsibility of being able to do them by herself all the time yet.

Humans mentally rehearse bad this in their brains all the time. We can do that by ruminating- going over worries over and over again, which tends to lead to anxiety and helplessness and depression. Or we can do it with a sense of play- by recognizing that the fiction is fiction and we can dip our toe into these experiences and expose ourselves to bad things without actually being injured.

My daughter does not want me dead. And I don't want bad things to happen in real life. But fiction and pretend help me face the horrors of the world and think about them without collapsing or messing myself up mentally.

[roaringroa]

just sent in an assignment exactly 1:50 minutes before it was due oh my god i can feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins

[thingswhatareawesome]

have super torn through the materials from the $bp, nice to make good progress on some characters though (like march/himeko/yukong and their light cones as I mentioned earlier). also did a ton more work again on evaluating relics. making sure to max out any gold ones that have 2+ needed substats. been trying to be conservative with the resources but that's holding my characters back, they're weak bc of low relics. so i think i've been too picky waiting. so yeah, so long as it's got the right main stat and at least 2 substats, i'm upgrading.

also then had to take a ton of time to do more with salvaging to then generate more of the material, and i really struggle with salvaging what really isn't a great item vs but what if a future character needs it or what if a 2/4 pc bonus combines with unexpected stats and gets recommended in the guides, like i wouldn't have suspected healing stats being needed on what looks to be non healing relic types. so hard to know what's trash and what the guides are going to suddenly say is useful. (and jfc is everyone going to end up in hackerspace?)

but doing my best. trying to use mats and not just hoard them for 'just in case' when characters need them now and i can tell it's why i'm so much weaker than other players. and trying to learn, like i know it takes me so much longer to pick up this information (just finally getting to where i understand pity and 50-50). wish there were a bit more info on this stuff for those of us who're new to hoyo games (like my dabbling in genshin never got me to gearing and evaluating stats so sr is basically my first).

not that many levels left on the battle passes, i'm in the 40s, so yeah, it'll be a bummer when that dries up. bc there's quite a while left before the new one.

[peachdues]

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.

This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.

Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

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

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

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

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

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Read that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

[sunniepoo]

Omg imagine this rafe x Reader but its a love Island USA au rafe character is like rob and readers well she's like herself shy and awkward different to the confident baddies since reader is only in it for the money since she's a college student (probably round the age of 18-19 or 20) and of course this is gonna contain smut maybe when there in their assigned room.I'm not sure if you've watched it or not so its okay if you don't wanna write it. ❤️

how i imagine love island!rafe

shut up!!!! you match my freak because whenever i watch love island (uk cause your girl is a british babe) i always think about how the obx boys would go about things

ahhh this is less of a drabble but more word vomit but i might do one for each of the boys cause i love this!!

rafe is definitely a bombshell who comes in like within the first couple of weeks. he is immediately very drawn to you just because of your calming presence is such a refresher in the high intensity atmosphere so it really relaxes him and just helps him breathe

i feel like he wouldn’t really get to know anyone beside a couple of chats here and there when he comes in initially but he already knows his head is with you, so he chooses you at a recoupling and it’s very smooth sailing in there

the only time an issue really comes about is in the beginning of your situation, when he starts getting annoyed at you for speaking to any new male bombshell even though you’d only been coupled up for a little while HOWEVER it gets squashed very very easily and you both set boundaries with each other

you both gain a reputation for being the horniest in the villa (think tasha and andrew s8) because all the islanders come out saying you guys are soooo loud in bed, mainly just oral - a mix of some light fingering and handjobs

this causes you guys to be picked for the hideaway very quickly and you of course you go the full way - the sex is very typical in rafe cameron style, hard rough thrusts that have your eyes rolling back. the public love you for the most part, just worry about rafe’s attitude when he’s angry

rafe is many things but a cheater is not one of them, so casa is very very hard for him because he misses you so bad, def just sleeps on the daybeds and looks at pictures of you and obviously vice versa, you’re recoupling is so so cute and just boosts the love for you guys from the public more

he skips all the exclusive stuff and just goes straight into asking you to be his girlfriend, he doesn’t do it in an overly grand way but he does make it very very special

i feel like you guys wouldn’t win just because some people are worried that rafe is too intense for you but that’s a small minority, so you end up placing 2nd or 3rd but it’s fine cause rafe’s loaded anyways

[minhosimthings]

Dirty, Dirty Girl || PSH, 18+

Summary: You were the police captain's daughter. He was the resident bad boy. It was like a match made in lustful heaven.

Pairings: badboy!Sunghoon × police captain's daughter!reader

Warnings: Smut minors DNI, oral (f receiving), semi-public sex, exhibitionism, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (not for you), fingering, slight thigh riding, daddy kink, dumbification, breeding kink, degradation, multiple orgasms cause I'm a lonely piece of shit, cumming inside, mention of cigarettes, hoon and reader match each other's freaks a lot, me being a simp for park Sunghoon

A/N: yo yo yo Enhablr guess who's back from her monthly hibernation ME. Kinda died while I was writing this i initially wanted to do something really long, like with backstory and all that, but I neither had the time nor the energy so just enjoy the horny smut I wrote yipeee I hope my beloved @jaeyunluvr will enjoy this!!

Sunghoon's fingers toyed with the belt loop of his ripped jeans as he sat in a lazy posture in the almost empty library. This author says 'almost empty', because of the strict librarian dressed up in what appeared to be a sweater from the 70's and one Jay Park with his girlfriend, sitting in the corner and giggling over some book.

Sunghoon scoffed as he glanced at them from time to time, taking a swig from his bottle of 'water' everytime Jay's girlfriend slapped his chest playfully. Though Sunghoon was externally sporting a disgusted face (complete with his iconic side eye), internally, he was waiting for his own girlfriend to show up.

It was a calm Friday evening, which usually meant that Sunghoon would be living up to his ice prince title by going to some or the other party on the other side of town. But since last week (or was it last month?), he had been confined to the torturous prison of being tutored by a classmate in order to improve his grades. His parents had imposed it upon him after what had been his fifteenth run in with the local police captain.

Fortunately though, the captain, someone who was exactly like Sunghoon's father but only more stricter, had let Sunghoon go, on the condition that he'd attend his tutoring lessons. If he didn't, it would be straight to juvie.

Though Sunghoon wasn't someone who payed attention to threats and whatnot, having grown used to it after his reputation of the 'bad boy' was sought after by other people, he payed careful attention to his threat. Specifically, he paid careful attention to his tutor.

You.

His beautiful, smart girlfriend of a year now.

Fortunately for him, you were the one assigned by your teachers to be his tutor—all of them thinking that your inherent goodness might just rub off on him.

Unfortunately for him, you were also the police captain's beloved only child.

Sunghoon heard the door to the library slowly creak as it opened. Snapping his head to the direction of the sound, he beamed with happiness as he saw you, dressed in your usual shirt and cardigan along with a skirt that reached just above your knees. The sight of you drove Sunghoon crazy.

"Hey Hoonie." You smiled, as you sat down next to him on the chair, pulling yourself closer to the desk. No sooner had you set your bag down on the table, than Sunghoon had his hand placed on your thigh, gently squeezing it.

"Sunghoon." You glared playfully at him, "We need to study, come on."

"Whatever you say, princess." Sunghoon chuckled, opening up his books with a flick of his fingers whilst you arranged your own material on the table. He unconsciously scooted his chair closer to you, earning a rightful glare from the librarian at the sound of the chair scraping on the floor. Looking apologetically over at the librarian, you moved your book closer to his, ready to start the new (boring) math lesson.

••••••••••••••••

"So if you divide two here, what will you get?" You glanced at Sunghoon, taking your eyes off the book. You softly smiled when you saw him slightly dozing off. Sleep coated his features rather adorably to you.

"Hoonie..." You nudged him slightly with your elbow, "Baby, wake up." As a second measure, you leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, leaving a bit of your shiny lip balm on his porcelain skin.

"I was waiting for that." Sunghoon's soft voice vibrated through your being, as his eyes fluttered open. With a mischievous smirk on his face, he extended his arm and wrapped it around your waist, bringing his lips down to kiss all over your neck.

"Baby." You said with a stern tone, trying not to squirm out loud, due to the cheek-warming sensation of his arm squeezing your thigh and his lips brushing your neck so gently, "Sunghoon, we're in a library."

"And the way to the bathrooms is there." He tilted his head up from your neck and looked at you with darkened eyes, biting his bottom lip with his vampire-like teeth, "Come on princess." His mouth twisted into a smirk, "I know you want it."

Biting your own lip, you rolled your eyes, before closing your books and depositing them inside your bag. Sunghoon followed likewise, his hand not leaving your waist even once.

"Fuck you Park Sunghoon." You mumbled, as you walked over to where the sign written 'Bathroom' was pointing, "Do you have any idea what my dad would say if he found out about us?"

"Oh shush." Sunghoon chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, "He loves me enough to summon me to his office on a weekly basis."

"Keep up the delulu score Hoon." You giggled.

"More delusional than you?"

"Hey!"

•••••••••••

Sunghoon began to lead you through the library and into the dark bathroom, a sense of urgency in your steps as you made your way through the room, his hands only straying away from your skin for a few seconds, before going at it again.

You were a tangled mess, stumbling through the darkness, throwing your dignity off in corners neither of you didn't really care for and soon, your back was pressed against the graffiti-filled wall, with Sunghoon's hard-on rubbing against your skirt in such an agressive way, that you thought you might as well have cummed without even starting. You couldn't take it anymore and grabbed his neck, pulling him closer and pressed your lips to his. He didn't hesitate for a second and cooperated, biting your lower lip to have better penetration for his tongue.

"So needy for me, huh princess?" Sunghoon smirked through the kiss. His right hand went underneath your skirt, his fingers groping your thigh tightly until he was able to find the waistband of your panties, ripping it off faster than you could register anything. His lips never left your body even once, the pretty pink of it, decorating your skin with marks that you know you'll have to make up a curling iron excuse for.

"Hoonie—don't tease." You whined, your lips searched desperately for his.

"Patience baby." Sunghoon chuckled again, "Or does my princess not want my tongue, hm?"

You squirmed when you felt him quickly slipping a finger in your pussy, smiling into your neck as he felt you moan into his hand. Sunghoon pressed a kiss against your neck, as he wasted no time, thumb rubbing against your clit as his finger penetrated your hole. He stuck another finger in, loving the fact he had you trembling under him. His two fingers curved inside of you, watching as your thighs shook at his unexpected action.

"Fuck—daddy!" Your body shuttered as your lips let a moan escape, throwing your head back as his fingers worked rapidly around you. The small noises escaping your mouth showed Sunghoon how much you loved it as he pumped his finger into you.

“God — you’re so wet.” Sunghoon hummed, letting his head rest on your shoulder as he added another finger into the mix.

“fuck—“ you muttered, wincing a bit as his thick digits stretched you out. You spread your legs, giving Sunghoon a better angle to sink his fingers deeper into your pussy.

His lips angrily crashed into yours as his pace on your pussy slowed down, only slightly. You were moaning into each other's lips, a pornographic scene painted the library's bathroom and the thought occured to you only now, whether or not you had shit the door.

"Hoon—" you broke the kiss, your hands scratched at his back, "Hoonie—the door."

Sunghoon paused, a warm breath echoed against your skin as he mumbled a tiny 'fuck' and looked back, his eyes tracing the doorknob. You took the opportunity to stare at his neck, soft skin covering the strong thews of muscle, with a delicious looking vein tracing it like a never-ending valley.

Before you could stop yourself, your mouth was on his neck, leaving wet kisses at his veins, practically sucking the life out of his neck like a starved vampire. Sunghoon's fingers were still inside your gaping hole, something you didn't bother to remember until they suddenly snapped up and bumped against your cunt, making you gasp against Sunghoon's neck.

"Needy fucking baby." Sunghoon whispered, bringing his free hand up from your waist to stroke your cheeks gently. Looking at his gentle eyes, you seized the chance to crash your lips against his once more, tasting the intoxicating flavour of cigarettes and gin from his beautiful lips.

"Fuck princess...let me...let me taste you." Sunghoon whispered breathless against your lips, like he needed it badly, and it did make you stop, gently fluttering your eyes open with your hand hovering over his abs.

He gave you a devilish smirk, before he got on his knees and his face disappeared between your legs. Your breath started shaking as you leaned against your palms to have a better view of Sunghoon. Without any warning, he slammed his lips, still wet from your saliva, on your folds.You immediately throw your head back as you sink your fingers into his hair, while trying to keep your voice down.

He was just giving you a sweet little kisses at first, starting from your clit down to your pulsating core. He repeated this few times, before he penetrated his tongue inside you. You bite your lips really hard, as you desperately tried to be as quiet as possible. You were starting to closing your legs from that unimaginable pleasure, but Sunghoon had his strong hands on your thighs, keeping them from crushing his head.

You tasted amazing, he couldn't get enough of your juice and he needed more, he was voracious. That was why he buried his face even deeper into your core, making you arch your back and grab Sunghoon's hair really hard, that you almost pulled some out.

Your body was teetering on the edge, every stroke of Sunghoon's tongue pushing you closer to the brink. The way he alternated between nosing at your clit and teasing your entrance was driving you wild, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You could feel the pressure building, your muscles tightening as you tried to hold on, wanting to savor every second of the intoxicating pleasure he was giving you.

“Deeper, please. Almost there.” You gasped out as Sunghoon's tongue sucked mercilessly on your pussy, “Fuck, you feel so good, Hoonie.”

A keening moan tore from Sunghoon’s throat at your praise and that, combines with a particularly precise thrust of his fingers and his wet tongue pressing tightly against your clit made you stumble over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you in waves, legs quivering, pussy clenching around Sunghoon’s tongue and chest heaving. Vaguely, you registered him moaning against you, his eyes falling shut as he worked you through your orgasm.

"fuck.." you heard (felt) Sunghoon groan, "that was some nice dinner."

"Fuck. You. Park. Sunghoon." You gasped with each letter, as Sunghoon pressed his hands to your thighs once more, "My dad is gonna kill me for being home late!"

"Poor baby." Sunghoon mockingly cooed at you, "Daddy's little girl aren't you?" His tone of voice had you struggling to shush your whimpering, "I'll drop you princess, just give him the old 'we were studying hard excuse'."

"The only thing that was hard here was your dick Park Sunghoon."

"And yet you love me."

•••••••••••

Your mouth stretched into a smile, as you felt your baby sister cuddle closer into your arms, all wrapped comfortably in her blanket. You truly loved her with all your heart but you hadn't gotten the opportunity to spend much time with her, as she was always with your mother. But for this evening, while your parents would be gone out on their sudden date, you'd have all the time in the world.

"Y/N honey!" You heard your mom call you from her room, adjacent to your sister's. Calling back to her, you put your sister down in her bassinet and with a twirl of her baby mobile, you skipped out the room and went into her room.

"You called, mom?" You said, eyeing your mother, who was re-applying her lipstick.

"Honey, Sunghoon's in the living room for you." Your mother said with a pop of her lips, "He came all the way here with his books so late at night, the poor boy."

Your stomach did a double flip when you heard Sunghoon's name came out of your mother's lips. Though your dad did not get along with him much, your mother adored him. Rather, she adored the innocent personality that Sunghoon had adopted specifically for her, for some stupid future plan he had created where he'd reveal your relationship with him to your parents as soon as he struck gold.

You had planned another tutoring session with Sunghoon that evening, but you must have completely forgot about it on hearing about your parent's date. Internally slapping yourself, you thanked your mother and made your way down to the living room, where you knew your worst nightmare would be sitting.

Your father and Park Sunghoon in one room.

•••••••••••••••

"So.." Sunghoon winced at the sound of the gruff male voice, "How have the tutoring lessons been?"

"Good, sir." Sunghoon painfully responded, "I've been doing better in class." With what he hoped was a goodie-two-shoes smile, he added, "All thanks to your daughter."

"My daughter, yes." The elder man nodded and coughed, adjusting his tie, "Remember, she's my daughter. So don't you try anything funny with her, got it?"

"Oh no, never sir." Sunghoon responded with a voice that he thought was a scandalized one, "I'd never do that." He tried hard not to remember your fucked out face the day before in the library.

"If you even go near her—"

"Dad, can you stop threatening him already?" You groaned, stepping into the room with a guffaw. If you asked Sunghoon later on, whether or not he pressed his legs together tighter after seeing your thighs in shorts that were definetly too short, he would probably say no.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't remember we had a session." You say down beside your dad, with your eyes glued to Sunghoon, "Um, we can study for an hour or two if you want."

"You can study until your mother and I get back." Your dad responded with a soft look towards you. You smiled back at him and glanced towards Sunghoon.

A devious smirk was almost tugging at the corner of his lips.

••••••••••••••

"Park Sunghoon, if you touch my thigh one more time, I'll make you do this entire chapter on your own."

"Oh what shame, I was positively dying to do it with you." Sunghoon said with his usual shit-eating grin.

"Why am I dating you again?" You rolled your eyes and turned your face away from him and towards your book. Soon enough however, when Sunghoon's fingers grabbed your chin ever so gently and turned it towards him, you were met with his eyes again.

"Because you love me." His cold breath against your skin made you softly gasp. Bringing your eyes down to his lips, you moved closer, before you were almost left without any space between the both of you, lips ghosting against each other in an attempt for a fervent kiss.

"Aren't we supposed to be studying, pretty?" Sunghoon let out a cold laugh, bringing his hand to cup your cheek again. But just as you were about to kiss–

Waahhhh!

"shit." You mumbled, darting your eyes towards the upstairs bedrooms, "I think she woke up."

"Your sister?" Sunghoon asked, releasing his grip on your thigh so you could get up, "Does she need food or something?"

"Nah she ate already." You replied, signalling him to follow you up the stairs, "She just gets cranky sometimes...you know–without mom."

"Ahh." Sunghoon nodded (as if he understood much about babies).

He promptly followed you into the dark room, which had all sorts of baby toys scattered on the floor, with only a faint blue light illuminating it's walls. In the middle of the room, was a bassinet, where a screaming baby ould be seen rolling in her sheets. Sunghoon's eyes carefully followed your hands, gently reaching out to your baby sister, all the while cooing her name.

"There, there I'm here, it's okay." You said gently, reaching into the bassinet and picking up the tiny bundle of blankets, "It's alright."

"Does she usually just stop crying if you say that?" Sunghoon whispered, his eyes never leaving the baby in your arms.

"You do, so I guess it'll work on her." You softly giggled, still rocking your sister forward and back, her cries died down after some time, although she still remained wide awake, staring curiously at the new presence in the room standing next to you.

"Why is she looking at me as if she wants to kill me." Sunghoon asked, eliciting a laugh out of you.

"She's a baby, Hoon. She looks at everyone like that." You laughed again, looking at your sister practically glaring at Sunghoon, "I don't think she likes her future brother-in-law that much though."

"Brother in law huh?" Sunghoon asked in a cocky manner, "Well, my apologies great princess." He lowered his head towards your sister, who magically seemed to be satisfied. Her tiny mouth framed an adorable yawn, and her eyelids slowly drooped until she was fast asleep in your arms again.

You lowered her into a bassinet once more, adjusting her blankets around her so that she could cuddle into it in her sleep, a fact you knew from your nights of babysitting. Looking at her once last time, you activated the baby mobile, and stepped out, with Sunghoon following behind you. You shut the door behind you as quietly as possible, breathing a sigh of relief that your sister didn't wake up.

"How about we study in your room?" Sunghoon suggested from behind you, "If she wakes up again, you don't have to climb the stairs."

"Good idea."

••••••••••••••••••••

You didn't know how much time has passed since you and Sunghoon had been doing physics equations in your bedroom, with him sitting on your computer chair, and you sitting on the edge of the bed, with books propped up in both your laps. Time slowly ticked by in the lighthearted conversations and stupid questions about gravity, that you didn't have the chance to notice how particularly delicious and inviting Sunghoon's lap was looking. But now, in the peaceful silence, you could practically hear your eyelashes flutter at the sight of his lap.

"Staring are we, princess?" Sunghoon chuckled, snapping you out of your daze.

"Nope." You responded with a smile, like a complete and utter liar, "Just—got distracted."

"By my legs?" He laughed again, "Aww, does my princess want to sit on my lap?"

"Sunghoon no." You rolled your eyes, quickly changing the subject, "We should study something else, I'll get the chemistry manuals."

But just as you got up, Sunghoon swiftly grabbed your wrist, pulling you harshly against him, such that you perfectly fell onto his thigh. His arms settled on your waist to balance you, and his lips pressed a wet kiss to your neck. One of his hands travelled up your body to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, an action which sent butterflies wilding in your stomach, and the north sea wilding in your pants.

"Hoonie~" you said, silently gasping at the way he steadied his thigh such that it out pressure against your cunt through your shorts, "We shouldn't....."

But Sunghoon said nothing at all, merely resorting to squeezing your waist with his hands, and pressing his mouth to your neck, suckling hard on your skin. His obsession for leaving his beautiful marks on you was not letting go, and soon enough, you had to give in, reciprocating with a deep mouthed kiss to his puckered lips.

Sunghoon's tongue swirled inside your mouth, and you could taste the flavour of cherry pie, a bit of vodka too and a whole lot of love. You slightly bit his lip, putting your hand on his chest and pulling his shirt towards you.

When Sunghoon felt you rock against him slightly he knew he had broken that barrier, which was keeping you from letting him absolutely ravish your pussy. You were never this forward with him, and was always the one to stop Sunghoon when he got a bit carried away. Yet there you were, gently rocking against him while you kissed, moving against his jeans almost desperately, rubbing against him until there was a rock hard bulge for you to move against and he had to gently push you off him.

“Sunghoon,” you basically mewl his name, eight letters that roll off your tongue with little effort. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, his kisses growing harsher on the delicate skin of your neck. Threading your fingers through his hair, you decide to try again, speaking a bit louder this time. “Daddy, please.”

“What do you want, then? You can tell me,” he kisses you on the lips, softly at first. What starts as nothing more than a sweet kiss turns into a needier one, his hard on poking you through your shorts. “Come on. Tell me, baby. What does my sweet girl want?”

He peels his eyes open, takes in the sight of you, and lifts his hands from your waist to remove your top. He easily pulls it off of you and discards it in a corner, and before you know it, your bare chest is being massaged by Sunghoon's hand. He bites his lip as he plays with your nipples, reveling in the way you whimper at the sensitive touch.

"You like that princess?" Sunghoon asks in his cocky manner, "Shouldn't we continue this somewhere else?"

Before you could respond, his hands are propped up against your ass and he's carrying you to your bed, laying you down ever so gently. You let out a whine at his hands leaving your skin, but quickly shut up as you watch him carefully take his belt off, setting it aside on the bed. His hard on was visible from his pants, and the sight of it already had you cumming.

His tongue swiped over his lips, wetting it before, he swiftly took his shirt off, revealing his chiseled figure. Your eyes lingered over his abs, going further down to his length as he took his pants off. Sunghoon stood, like some Greek god before you, handsome, carved and waiting to be pleasured. And you were more than glad to let him use your hole as his fucktoy for the evening.

"You'll be quiet, yeah princess?" Sunghoon crawled up with bed and got on top of you, getting his face as near to your as possible, "Don't wanna wake your sister up now do we?"

With a smirk, Sunghoon lowered his mouth to your neck, kissing down your collarbone, his hands exploring every curve of your body. The sensation was electric, igniting every nerve ending in ways you never imagined possible. He moved with the grace of a predator, just as fierce as he was intoxicating.

"Tell me what you want, baby." He said, in between kisses, "Tongue as usual?"

"Please Hoonie." You sigh, smiling at him. He starts to kiss down the length of your body, starting with feather light kisses at your collarbone, and going to rougher kisses down your stomach. Your eyes catch Sunghoon's biceps flex as he spreads your legs open, like he's preparing some food to devour on a silver platter.

The sight in front of him was almost too arousing for his already too-rock hard length. Strings of your arousal all so pretty and ready for him to use, your swollen clit that peaked out from your pink folds, such a beautiful cunt he was about to savor. Sunghoon licked a fat stripe up from the bottom to the top of your slit, gently placing teasing kisses on your sensitive bud.

“Daddy — oh! Mm.. oh my God oh!” His ears soaked in the sounds of your moans, each shaky breath, every gasp and groan, all of it because of him. Sunghoon could never get over your taste, you were oh so sweet, a nectar of the highest quality, he thanked whatever god there was for the privilege to savor you. Every swipe of his muscle made you sticky and beautiful, as your cunt became deliciously glossy he become more insatiable. He lifted his head periodically, only to coo or groan.

“Fuck me baby, taste so fucking good — feels good doesn’t it my little princess? Yes it does” he murmured as we dropped his head back down.The corners of his mouth curled up in a beautiful smirk.

"Stupid baby. Don't have any shame fucking me with your baby sister sleeping next door?" Tsk tsk." Sunghoon clicked his tongue, you couldn't register much, though his tongue was not inside you, you could still feel it's touch, "Dirty dirty princess."

Your head flew back when he began to swirl his tongue around your clit, euphoria gnawing at any sense of inhibitions you had left as you practically wailed in ecstasy. You felt all of your limbs turn to jelly the second Sunghoon suddenly plunged his thick tongue back into your entrance.

"Sunghoon!" you mewled as he thrusted his wet muscle deep inside your juicy, pulsing hole. Your breasts rose and fell quickly as you felt yourself careening towards the edge of your release. You screamed his name as your body grew stiff, your walls hugging his tongue as it relentlessly massaged the inside of your gushing cunt.

Sunghoon groaned as he slurped your delicious juices like a man parched. You saw stars as your body was overwhelmed with wave after wave of bliss, your mind foggy as you practically rode his face. Eventually, your breathing began to settle as you lowered your hips back onto the mattress.

Sunghoon took note of the way your thighs slightly shook. Just after my tongue, he silently chuckled, feeling proud of himself. Slowly, he rose up and brought his hands back to your waist, steadying himself on top of you. You could feel his hardened cock just touch your vulva.

"Hoonie~" you groaned, "Hoonie~need your cock please."

Sunghoon did nothing but let out a rather attractive chuckle, while his mouth formed into a devilish smirk. If you knew Park Sunghoon, you knew that smirk meant trouble.

His hips were easing back and forth, the fat tip of his swollen cock rubbing all in between your slicked folds. And there were, watching him with a gaping mouth as he sits there and teases your cunt.

"Daddy~" a pathetic whine now leaves your lips, a desperate cry of help that makes you look so innocent, so pure to Sunghoon, it almost drove him crazy.

"Poor baby." He cooed at you, his angry tip still teasing your vulva, "Want daddy's cock so bad huh?" His low chuckle sent a wave through your body, "C'mon princess, be a good girl and tell me how much you want my cock."

"Please daddy~" you let out a high pitched whine again, all your self respect was lost for his cock, "~need your cock so bad."

Sunghoon muttered your name, low in the base of his throat, before he leaned in. Your lips met slowly, molding together in harmony for one slow second before you opened your mouth. Inviting him in, you kissed delicately and placed your arms on his sides. Your heads turned in opposite directions, opening up for more room to explore with your tongues. The intensity grew, as did the burning desire in his core to feel your pussy. To feel you, live you, breathe you, he was going insane. Just touching your hair, trying his hardest not to mess it up, was sending hot arousal down his cock into his swollen head. 

"My dumb little princess." Sunghoon mumbled, you could feel his pre-cum slowly drip down on your thigh from his bare cock hanging above you, "So needy for her daddy."

You couldn't even respond before you feel the head of his dick teasing your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself onto him, taking him inside inch by delicious inch. You moan as he stretches you, filling you up completely.

Once he is fully sheathed inside you, you stay still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of being impaled on his thick cock. He listened to your whines, nodding while you blabbered whatever you were blabbering, slowly pushing himself in you. You shivered at the additional heat burning from your lower stomach. You had been pleading for this and still it felt as though your mind would rupture at any given second.

The feel of his large length inside of you lights your nerves on fire. His swollen cock head kisses your cervix just right, sensing socks of pleasure throughout your dripping core. You're shuddering and shaking in pleasure with every move you make, which causes his cock to slide deeply in and out of you; hitting your special spot just right. Sunghoon was writhing in his ego at the fact that he wasn't even going at his normal pace.

"Feelin' so good, tight little pussy wrapped around me so perfect-fuck," Sunghoon rasped as his nails dug into your sides. You cried out when he brushed over your g-spot, stars bursting across your vision as your legs shook. Sunghoon grunted as he started to pick up the pace, your cheeks clapping against the mattress as he thrusted into your weeping cunt.

"D-Daddyyyy~" you rasped as your jaw went slack. Sunghoon hissed between gritted teeth as your cunt convulsed around his cock, sucking him in deeper as he shallowly thrusted into you.

"Yeah that's it—soak daddy's cock," he breathed as he held your asscheeks apart. Your hole puckered around his girth as you shivered, your hips shifting back on their own as Sunghoon fucked you through your high.

"So—shit–tight for me." He growls out, sitting on his knees while his massive hands easily hold onto your hips, lifting you up with him while he pounded into you, your moans mixed with his as he used you like you were simply a fleshlight— compared to his massive frame, you are.

He moves your hips away as he pulls out, suddenly slamming himself all the way back in before you can protest. He drags a whiny moan out of you, pain and pleasure mixing as you can feel a familiar warmth building up in your stomach. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he mutters out pure nonsense. His voice sounds hotter than ever and you listen intently, dumbly nodding your head to his words despite not understanding him.

As the tightness in your stomach continues to build, your fingers loop through the softest curls of Sunghoon's and tug, pulling his face down to meet yours. Your lips crashing together in a heated kiss, tongues swirling against each other. Sunghoon's pace quickens, his movements sloppy and desperate as he chases his release and you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind him and pressing him deeper inside you. 

“F-fuck, i’m gonna cum, you gotta let go” Sunghoon pants, pulling back from your kiss slightly to speak but you shake your head.

“Inside, Hoonie please. Ngh– want you to fill me up” you moan against his lips, your words causing his eyes to roll back in his head as he returns his lips to yours.

With one last thrust, a low guttural moan pulls from the back of Sunghoon’s throat and you feel his cock twitching inside you, flicking up towards your sweet spot a final time. His twitching and the warmth of his release pumping into you pushes you over the edge, the knot in your stomach snapping as a stream of moans falls from your lips.

Sunghoon's lust blown eyes rolled into the back of his head as he witnessed you squirting messily around his cock. It was the hottest thing he's seen in his life. Oh, how you're fucking perfect for him.

“Fuck—you want my baby, huh princess? You don't wanna wait anymore?.” Your boyfriend points out while pistoning in and out of you at an uncontrollable speed. “Shit–you're so messy." He thrusts into you mercilessly like an addict, your pussy was the highest high he could ever reach, "My messy girl."

Resting your forehead against his, you blissfully order, “Cum inside me, daddy please.”

And that was all Sunghoon needed to hear to release his pent up please. His balls tensed as he bucked up deep inside of your cunt, only to unleash rope after rope of his cum. You hold on to his shoulders as he empties his balls inside of you; painting your hole white with his thick, hot seed.

"Fucking hell." You swore loudly, falling down on the mattress with a thud. Your chest rose up and down rapidly, your breath slowing with each minute. You saw Sunghoon steady himself before he pulled out. You winced when you felt your hole being emptied.

Your eyes followed Sunghoon as he sat on his knees, throwing his head back, with a panting chest. You didn't register much of him sliding into bed next to you, your brain was too fucked out to notice anything at all.

"Should I run a bath, baby?" He asked gently, tracing circles on your thigh with his finger. You twisted your body towards him and latched onto his arm, bringing yourself closer to him.

"Mum and dad won't be here for another two hours." You told him, your hand cradling his cheek. His jawline was so sharp you were surprised it hadn't cut you yet.

"Two hours huh?" Sunghoon asked, the smirk back on his face, as he took your hand from his cheek and kissed it.

"Round two?"

Taglist: @jjongsha @furina-toko @jakeswifez @kpopaussieline @lvnglysunoo @hearts4yawnzzn @pasteltheghost16

[helenofblackthorns]

me vs the assignments I have to do but really don't want to do

[amourane]

flustered and blushing

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: fluff so much fluff that it's insane

w/c: 1.7k

summary: in which you're a flustered mess around theo nott and he absolutely adores it.

warnings: none!

a/n: *screams* i just combust every time i write for theo but this piece especially has me just screaming at the cuteness!!!

Everyone who went to Hogwarts knew who Theodore Nott was. It wasn’t hard to miss the dark chestnut hair that would fall in his eyes and the charming smirk that he always wore. Theodore Nott was gorgeous and he knew it. His popularity often led to him being the topic of most conversations and a receiver of many love confessions. Girls would flock to him and try their best to twirl their hair and flirt with the Slytherin but all they were met with was indifference. 

Theodore Nott would tune out their obnoxious laughter and shrill squeals. He would stare blankly at them, reject their advances without a care in the world. Word got around that the infamous Theodore Nott was seemingly unreachable. His unattainability only made him that much more interesting to everyone else.

You were blessed, as some would say, to sit next to Theo during Charms. Flitwick had randomly assigned the seating at the start of the year and you got stuck with Theodore Nott. He wasn’t bad at the subject by any means it just got a bit overwhelming with all the stares and whispers that were directed at your partner. You weren’t one for attention or drama, always preferring to hide in the shadows and not be seen. Sitting next to Theo didn’t exactly grant you that freedom.

Theodore Nott was handsome. So so so handsome. You couldn’t deny your attraction and as much as you tried to push it down you often found yourself staring. The slope of his nose and the angled jaw. His eyes that pulled your attention away from anything else. You would watch as he scrawled his notes onto the parchment. His quill would glide effortlessly without hesitation and you often would forget to take your own notes. You couldn’t help but feel your heart pound whenever he spoke to you or whenever he would offer you even the tiniest smile.

“Hey Y/n you free after dinner tonight?”

The boy beside you drawled with his chin in his hands. He looked at you expectedly and you blinked at him confused. 

“Sorry?”

“Were you not listening? We have an assignment together, I was asking if you were free so we could get started.” He smirked as if he knew you had been watching him all this time. You felt your cheeks heat up and you spluttered for words. Theo chuckled as he shoved his things into his bag, still waiting for your answer.

“Yeah I’m free tonight.” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. You felt your heart race and you gulped. “Wait where are we meeting up?” 

It was then that you realised looking up was a huge mistake because Theo’s face is mere inches away from yours and you felt yourself flush scarlet at the proximity. You blink like a deer caught in headlights trying to calm your own rapidly beating heart. Theo grinned. He tilted his head to the side as if he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Words died on your tongue and your eyes locked with his and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

It was all too much. Way too much.

You cleared your throat, backing away in your seat as far as you could. Theo bit back another smile as he finally leaned back into his seat again. You felt lightheaded from what had just happened and you looked over at the Slytherin only to find him already staring at you causing your eyes to bulge out of their sockets and for you to turn away quickly.

“W-Where did you say?”

“The library of course, I’d bring you to my dorm but don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for that principessa?”

Even if you couldn’t see Theo Nott you definitely could imagine his trademark smirk that would spread across his face whenever he was feeling smug with himself. His words registered in your mind finally and you let out a squeak at the implication before quickly throwing your stuff in your bag and saying a goodbye.

You darted down the hallway, desperate to get away from your seatmate and to your dorm. Theodore Nott had always been like this with you. All smiles and suggestive comments. Your heart couldn’t take his charming grin and angelic laugh. Ever since you had quietly greeted him back in September he had stuck by you and you really didn’t know why. You weren’t popular by any means and you had no pureblood connection that would be of any use so you weren’t sure why Theodore Nott had taken such an interest in you.

His words filled your head once more and you felt your whole body heat up at the memory. You flopped down onto your bed, groaning into the pillow as you tried your hardest to calm yourself down. You just knew tonight was going to be so much worse.

//

“-and I was thinking that we could also talk about non verbal spells since- are you listening to me Y/n?”

You snapped out of your thoughts only to see Theo’s brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. The library was fairly quiet and the two of you had picked a secluded corner to ensure no one would disturb the two of you. Your eyes drifted to the textbook in front of the two of you and you blinked blankly towards your partner.

“Sorry I wasn’t paying attention, what were you saying about non verbal spells?” 

Theo smiled and you felt your heart flutter at the sight. His eyes seemed to twinkle more in the warm lighting and you told yourself that you needed to stop having these ridiculous thoughts. Everyone knew that Theodore Nott had no interest in dating anyone much less you.

“You seem to be daydreaming a lot today Y/n, I’m honestly hurt that you haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been saying.” Theo pouted but you could see the mirth that spread across his face. He leaned towards you and your eyes widened. “What’s got you so distracted today hm?”

He was so close to you. Too close even. You could smell the familiar citrusy scent that he always wore. It felt warm, you didn’t know if that was possible, but he smelt like what you imagined home would be. The slightly sweet but earthy scent invaded your senses and you felt your brain melt.

Your eyes search his face. The sharp cheekbones and jawline contrasted with the smooth curve of his lips. His dark tousled hair that you couldn’t help but imagine running your fingers through his curls. His long eyelashes framed his beautiful grey eyes. The soft glow of the lamp highlights his complexion and you continue to stare, completely mesmerised.

“Nothing…I just have a lot on my mind.” You replied awkwardly, hoping that he didn’t sense that you were lying.

“Hmm…well I’m always here to talk.” Theo folded his arms as he leant onto the wooden desk in front of the both of you. He buried his head into his arms before turning to the side to look at you, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “But I guess we’d just be talking about me, wouldn’t we?”

Immediately you burst into flames and you tried to stutter out an excuse. You knew he had noticed your staring. There were only so many times you could get away with not paying attention in class. Then again, it was still mortifying to get caught.

A group of girls decided that that was the perfect time to walk past the two of you and you froze as they saw you and Theo together. They looked at you and then the Slytherin beside you. Your jaw hung open, gaping like a fish, unable to comprehend the multitude of events that were thrown at you. The girls mirrored your expression before scurrying off whispering loudly.

“Are they dating?”

“No way I didn’t actually think he was capable of liking someone.”

“Who is she anyway? I’ve never seen her around.”

You felt your heart race and you deflated in your chair, head in your hands. This was not meant to happen. You felt a tap on your shoulder and you looked up to see Theo. His smile wasn’t on his face anymore, now replaced with a worried look.

“Are you okay?”

“What? Of course not!” You cried out softly. “Everyone’s going to think I’m your girlfriend and it’s going to spread across the whole of Hogwarts by tomorrow morning. And and…” You groaned, putting your head back into your hands, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening. 

Silence spread across the two of you.

“Would that be so bad?” Theo’s voice broke the quiet. You looked up, startled by his words. “Dating me, that is.”

“T-That’s not what I meant-” You stammered, scrambling for an apology, but Theo interrupted you.

“I don’t smile and flirt with just anyone you know. You’re special to me Y/n. I like you, a lot.” 

He was looking at you now, his eyes filled with a warmth you had mistaken for amusement. His gaze was soft and filled with affection, a small smile playing on his lips. Your cheeks heated up at his unexpected confession. Your heart pounded, and you gripped your fingers, searching for the right words to say.

“Do you like me too?”

Try as you might you couldn’t find any words to express your emotions or your feelings towards Theodore Nott. All you could muster was a nod as an answer to his question. Theo laughed as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He tugged you closer to him and once again you were face to face with Theodore Nott.

“I want to hear you say it principessa. Tell me how much you fancy me.” 

He was doing it on purpose. He knew exactly what to do and what to say to get you completely flustered and a blushing mess for him. And you would be a fool to say it wasn’t working.

“Theo I...” You whispered finally finding your own voice. “I really like you Theodore Nott, I really really like you.”

A bright beam graced Theo’s face and he pressed his forehead against yours, hugging your body close to his. You wrapped your arms around his waist, melting into his touch. Theo pulled back as he placed a kiss on your cheek. You blinked before you felt yourself heat up at his affectionate action. You buried your face in his chest, embarrassed at your flustered state.

“You’re so adorable.” Theo chuckled as he embraced you tightly. “I really really like you too Y/n L/n.”