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peachdues · 6 months ago

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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!

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n

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ghostfacd · 1 year ago

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IN A WORLD FULL OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. despite being in a world filled of childish boys, your boyfriend was definitely a gentleman, always putting you before him

AUTHORS NOTE. the third installment because we love tom blyth and yn avocot. I recommend reading part 1 and 2 for more context!

tomblyth “babe, do you think we’re together in every universe?” is that even a question?

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser stoppp i didn’t know youd actually take the question seriously

user1 get you a man like tom blyth bc oh my god

user2 idk what yn did to manifest him but i need her ways

user3 ugh idk what he’s doing with her lol he could do so much better

➥ user4 well someone had to say it..

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You didn’t understand how some people on the internet can be so . . . mean. Although there have been countless of fans cheering you and Tom on, it didn’t make it any less hurtful that there were still a ton who weren’t scared to be open about how much your boyfriend could do better.

It’s ironic; you think. They’re claiming they’re looking out for Tom, yet totally disregarding him and his girlfriend as human beings? Those weren’t real fans.

The reason for them hating you so much? Just for simply being with Tom. Everybody wanted him, that was your crime.

Everytime you got lost in your thoughts about this topic, Tom knew. Boyfriend instincts, he called them, but really, he was just a caring and observant person.

You tried not to break down over it, you really did, but a girl could only go on for so long before it all bursts out. Luckily, Tom pulls you right in, telling you to let it all out.

Although the world was filled with childish and hurtful beings, Tom Blyth was still who he was, a gentleman, attending to your every needs.

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tomblyth really dgaf if you like my girlfriend or not cause i do and that’s all that matters

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user5 im cryinf the polaroid he has of her

user6 YES REAL MEN STAND UP FOR THEIR GFS

user7 ALL THE PICS HE HAS OF HER 🥹🥹

tomblythswife oh to be yn avocot and be loved by tom blyth

rachelzegler tell ‘em 🙊

user8 she doesn’t even comment on the posts he makes abt her, so self centered lol

➥ ynuser I’m right next to him rn?? cant say the same thing about you “lol”

➥ user9 OH SHE ATE YOU UP @/user8

tomblyth_daily here are some clips of tom talking about his relationship in his new interview! GET YOU A MAN THATS LIKE TOM BLYTH 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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user10 the way he’s so passionate when talking about her and being a good boyfriend, God I hate being single

user11 “they’re not even that cute” STFU AND GO WATCH THIS INTERVIEW CAUSE ??

user12 tom blyth said put aside your nonchalant attitudes, im looking at YOU MEN 🫵🫵

ilovetomblyth he’s so boyfriend it actually hurts

user13 yn must’ve saved a continent in her past life to be dating tom blyth omg

ynuser girls, before you have a meltdown over a boy: think of what balleona laurent would do. kiss and manipulate coriolanus!

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tomblyth you kiss and manipulate me too

➥ ynuser you’re gonna get me CANCELLED

user14 literal unbothered icon i love her

user15 if i were her id post a tiktok with that audio “he chose me he don’t want you”

iloveyn SHES SO FUNNY

lionsgate us when behind the scenes photo of balleona 😻

➥ user16 lmao stop who’s the admin of lionsgate

user17 balleona is such a bad person but oh is she hot

tomblyth she was like a shot of espresso

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser i love u more than words can describe blyth

user18 ok who’s cutting onions

user19 GIRLS, GUYS, THEY THEMS, STOP SETTLING FOR BARE MINIMUM WHEN TOM BLYTH LITERALLY CALLED HIS GF A SHOT OF ESPRESSO, GIVES HER FLOWERS EVERYDAY, AND TALKS ABT HER ALL THE TIME IN HIS INTERVIEWS

➥ user20 YELL IT HARDER SISTER 👐👐👐

user21 this is so dark academica im inlove with u guys

user22 parentssss

rachelzegler my favorites

ynuser SNOW LANDS ON TOP LOSERS

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tomblyth yn, i love you but

➥ user23 LMFAOO when he doesn’t finish his sentence

user24 the second pic thank u yn

joshandresrivera on top of u maybe

➥ user25 IM DYING OML

user26 thank you to lionsgate for casting the most hottest villain couple ever

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow fic #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games

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peanutpinet · 2 months ago

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Soft for You - Sylus x Fem Reader

Prompt: “Let me kiss it better”

A/N: yes, I’ve fallen into this rabbit hole and all because of Sylus. There’s just something about white haired men with red eyes that’s 190cm. Hates everyone but you T^T I’m such a sucker for these characters and it doesn’t help that I’m on my period so I decided to make a lil one shot of how Sylus would react if you’re on your period and wanting to cuddle but he was in an important meeting

Warning: None, just fluff (not proofread, sorry, was so into writing this)

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

“Miss, I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb the boss right now” Luke mentioned, trying to stop you from walking further down the hall

“Yeah, he’s in a meeting right now. And the meeting, well, it’s not really going that well” Kieran added on. “Some of the low workers were trying to steal his weapons and sell them off to a higher bidding at Linkon because we heard that Linkon is currently trying to find ways to get more intel regarding the boss”

You knew that Linkon was constantly trying to uncover the mysterious Onychinus’ leader. Though they knew his name, they couldn’t find anything regarding what he looked like or any other information about him. That’s why Linkon is willing to pay a hefty amount to those who have been associated with him to gather any sort of intel. But you could care less about what political issue was going on between Linkon and Onychinus. What you cared about was that you were in pain because of your period and you wanted to cuddle with Sylus because somehow, he always helped ease your pain.

Not caring about the twins’ warning, you managed to drag yourself all the way in front of Sylus’ meeting room where you could clearly hear his deep voice echoing along with several other voices. It sounded like the meeting had just begun and you suddenly contemplated on going in and disturbing Sylus just to tend to your pain.

However, on the other side of the door, Sylus already knew that you were in front of the door along with Luke and Kieran since he could see through Mephisto’s eyes with his aether core. Though Sylus wouldn’t mind you coming in, he wanted you to come to him first instead of jumping to conclusion that you were actually looking for him.

He learnt that from past incidents where you were actually looking for Luke and Kieran but Sylus jumped into conclusions and thought you were looking for him.

Right as Sylus was about to start the meeting, he could hear both Luke and Kieran’s frantic voices calling out to you. Without uttering a word, Sylus got up but not before making sure the men in the room stay put in their designated chairs. “None of you get up from the chair or I’ll rip your legs apart from your whole body”

After his calm threat, Sylus went to the door and opened it to find you on the ground with both Luke and Kieran holding onto you. When the twins looked up at their boss, the colour from their faces were slowly drained. “B-boss” the twins managed to utter out as Sylus looked at your weak state, basically trying to hold yourself up with the help of the twins.

Without saying anything, Sylus crouched down and lifted you up in his arms and practically carried you into the meeting room where all the other men in the room were staring.

“U-uh boss? We can bring her back to her room and…” the twins didn’t get to finish their sentences as Sylus used his evol to close and lock the door

To say the men in the room were shock was an understatement because who would have thought that the Onychinus leader could be so gentle towards anyone yet here he was sitting in his chair, further away from the others with you on his lap.

“S-sylus?” you uttered, looking up to see your boyfriend looking at you with soft eyes

“You alright, sweetie? I heard you from in here. You looked like you were going to pass out in the twins’ arms. What happened, sweetie? Did someone hurt you?” Sylus asked, his eyes were searching through your entire body for any wounds but you shook your head and leaned on his chest, wrapping your small arms around his waist

“No. It’s that time of the month. It’s the first day and I don’t know why but it’s painful this time” you whined and Sylus couldn’t help but coo at your vulnerable state that he brought you closer to his chest (if that was even possible with how close the two of you were).

“Shhh, it’s alright sweetie. I’m here” Sylus kissed the top of your head as you hummed in satisfaction. “Sleep sweetie, I’ll be here when you wake up, hmm? I’ll try to keep the meeting short and quick for you” Sylus mentioned as he lulled you to sleep

As he stroked your head like a kitten, Sylus the softie was gone as his eyes looked through the entire room with a cold, sharp gaze that if looks could kill, everyone in the room would be dead by now. “Now, where were we? Ah, right. Where’s my share in the sales, gentlemen? Or did you think that you could fool me that easily by selling my weapons at a higher price by giving away some information about me?”

***

By the end of the meeting, there was practically no one in the room as Sylus dismissed them all into thin air since he needed to be quick.

Sylus almost cursed at himself for almost going too far with the lowlife men in the room until he remembered that you were practically sleeping in his arms.

Taking a deep breath, Sylus went back to look at your sleeping figure, stroking your head as he kissed your forehead before teleporting both you and him back to the master bedroom where Sylus laid you on the bed.

Leaving you to sleep, Sylus decided to shower and cook up something quick and easy for dinner which was steak and creamy mushroom soup to help ease your pain.

In the midst of finishing his cooking, he heard soft footsteps and a yawn slowly getting louder which he knew that it had to be you. Turning around, Sylus saw your now awaken figure sitting by the counter where Sylus was just behind of.

“Here you go, sweetie” Sylus mentioned, placing down a plate of steak with the mushroom soup he made in front of your sleeping figure

“Thank you, Sy. Am sorry I interrupted your meeting” you yawned, drinking some of the soup that he made while Sylus decided to eat across from you

“It was nothing, sweetie. I’ve mentioned it before. If you ever need me, just come to me. No matter where I am, who am I with, or what time of the day it is. I’ll always be here for you” Sylus mentioned, caressing your cheek whilst wiping the excess soup at the corner of your lips

“But what would those men do now they’ve seen your soft side?” you asked, holding his hand that was on your cheek

“They’re none of your concern. Besides, they won’t be able to spread anymore information anymore” Sylus smirked, making you roll your eyes. “You and your evol”

Chuckling at your behaviour, Sylus decided to feed you the dinner he made. “Are you still in pain?” he asked

Thinking about it for a second, you decided to tease him. “A bit. Mainly because you only kissed my head when the pain I’m feeling is at my stomach”

Shaking his head, Sylus went around the counter and cupped your jaw, making you look at his tall figure. “Is that so? Then let me kiss it better”

#love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus fanfic #lads sylus #lads x reader #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lads fanfic #lnds fanfic

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agustdtown1 · 4 months ago

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SHUT UP ‘N LISTEN | JJK

PAIRING: street racer!brother’s bestfriend!jeon jungkook x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Trust was broken, and wrong decisions were made. You were now left alone facing the consequences of your own actions, realizing it was never a good idea to fuck around with your brother’s friend. But maybe that was another lesson you were meant to learn.

WC: 17.3k

WARNINGS: brother’s best friend trope, angst, like a loooooot, unnecessarily dramatic dialogues that I think were a bit too much but that worked out for the plot at the end. Fluff because I didn’t want to end it on a sad note again. Way too much feelings and emotions. Smut +18, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), a lot of begging, slight dom!jk, choking, making out, smacking, praising, pet names (doll, good girl, princess, baby, sweetheart, etc.), jk calls reader his good little slut, big dick!jk, mentions of belly bulge (very brief), doggy, missionary, jk begging a little bit towards the end. Let me know if I’m missing anything.

A/N: it’s finally here, the part 2 of shut up and drive, it took me some time to finally get it done, but I’m happy with the results. Also it was initially intended to be max 5k but I got a bit carried away and ended up being this super lengthy one shot so I apologize in advance. Anyway, enjoy your reading!

part 1 | masterlist

Most people experience a variety of emotions throughout their lives; happiness, sadness, anger. You can find happiness in the simple things in life, like buying your favorite food, your favorite drink, or when you go out with your friends. Sadness usually comes along when something bad happens, like losing a loved one or missing an important moment. Anger is presented in the form of violence most of the time, but it can also be delivered through words; hurting just as much as any punch would. Nonetheless, there’s also another emotion that has a huge impact on people, one that can conquer your body in the most unexpected moments.

Fear.

Usually defined as an unpleasant feeling that installs itself in the deepest part of our hearts and souls; fear is that one emotion capable of paralyzing people when faced with dangerous situations. Regardless of it being an abstract concept, like any other feeling, anyone at any point in their life has experienced that same emotion.

It is fear that you feel when you notice a stranger following you at night; it is fear that you feel when encountered with a wild animal. It is fear that goes through your body when someone tells you they have bad news.

And it was that same emotion that you felt when your brother verbalized the one thing you were trying to avoid.

“How long have you been fucking my best friend behind my back?”

It felt like your heart dropped to your stomach the moment that question flew out of Taehyung’s mouth. Nothing would have ever prepared you for it; for the inevitable confrontation you oh so much wanted to avoid.

But life can be funny sometimes, and it would put you through situations that would cause you an unbearable amount of anxiety and fear.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” His voice was the perfect example of exhaustion and disappointment; two emotions you didn’t want your brother to experience.

It took you exactly ninety-eight seconds to regain your ability to speak, only to scramble to find a poor excuse that would get you out of the mess you got yourself into.

“I don’t… um, I don’t really know what—”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Taehyung cut you off. “Is that what you were going to say?”

The words were caught in your throat, making it impossible to give him the answer he was expecting. But then again, would you be able to respond wisely if given the chance to speak properly?

“I’m sorry.”

The answer to that question would be no; you were not capable of forming a valid argument that would make your brother dislike you any less in that precise moment.

“You know, I thought you would finally be honest.” Your brother sighed, shaking his head in disappointment, “I guess I was wrong.”

No man will ever be worthy of messing things up with Taehyung; a mental statement that you prayed would be proven right, but ultimately it seemed like you were the rightful culprit of a crime you didn’t realize you committed.

“Tae, listen…” You began saying, but your brother was not ready to hear whatever you had to say.

“You wanna know what’s funny?” He asked rhetorically. “I’m not even mad that you guys are together or whatever.” Taehyung chuckled, humorlessly. “But you lied to me, and that’s not something I can take lightly.”

You knew that, and yet you decided to go behind his back to mess around with one of his closest friends. In hindsight, the outcome of your web of lies was fully deserved, however, it was hard to accept the possibility of the rupture of you and your brother’s bond.

Hoseok and Jimin, on the other hand, could only stand there and watch everything fall little by little. It saddened them, knowing that the messy situation the three of you were involved in would not be easy to deal with, and most likely would end up badly. Trust was broken, and wrong decisions were made. None of them pondered over enough to realize the weight of the actual problem. But alas, that’s the lesson you were meant to learn.

“Guess loverboy can drive you home tonight, right?” Taehyung’s bitter tone was like a knife digging in your soul. “I’ll talk to you guys later.” He turned towards the two other boys, before retrieving his car keys from his jeans’ pocket.

With nothing left to say, Taehyung started his way back to his car.

“Tae, wait! Don’t be like that.” None the wiser, you tried to reach out and stop him, but someone else got a hold on you before you could.

“Let him be, I think it’s better for everyone if he cools down before you talk to him.” Always the voice of reason, Hoseok intervened at the right time.

It was hard to watch Taehyung walk away, knowing that he would probably let his anger and frustration out the wrong way. It was true that your brother would usually need some time to calm down and come around, just like Hoseok said, however, you also knew that Taehyung could be a bit impulsive and reckless sometimes. His well-being has been put to the test an uncountable amount of times, and more often than not anger would cloud his vision and the only thing he would see is red, which would cause a much bigger problem than him just being upset.

Truth be told, there was not much to do. It was either making the situation a whole lot worse by pushing your brother to his breaking point, or waiting until his anger and frustration had subsided. The latter seemed to be a better option, and so it was decided that you would let it go for the time being.

It couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Y/n…” a familiar voice rang through your ears, making you snap out of your thoughts. “Can we—?”

“Take me home.” You interrupted Jungkook harshly.

Maybe it was the way he was acting so cautiously; or perhaps it was the fact that he didn’t even attempt to explain what was really happening to Taehyung, but the idea of being near Jeon Jungkook for a second longer irritated you beyond belief.

“What?” He seemed to be taken aback, “I mean, yes, I’ll take you home, but first I wanted—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, just take me home.”

The hurt look in his eyes almost made you apologize, but the moment of weakness was short-lived; the frustration and worry you were feeling at that moment were enough to blind you, preventing you from seeing how your cold attitude was affecting him.

“Hoseok…” You started saying, “You coming with us?”

The brown haired man shook his head, sporting a soft grin on his face to break a little bit of the tension surrounding you.

“Don’t worry about me, Jimin’s gonna give me a ride home.”

Looking to his right you found the blond guy nodding his head, confirming that he would take care of Hoseok.

“Alright then.”

You started your way towards Jeon’s car, not really waiting for him; the sooner you got out of there the better. That place was starting to become a horrific nightmare the more you stayed there anyway, and it wasn’t really worth it to wait a second longer.

Jungkook was right behind you, like a silent follower, not uttering a single word due to the fear of being ignored. And somehow he was right about protecting his heart from your cold demeanor, for it was your silence he would get if he had started a conversation in the most inconvenient of times.

But how can you blame him? Had you been in his shoes, conquered by fear of losing the person who makes you feel more alive, along with your best friend, at the same time, you would be scared of saying and doing the wrong thing too. The only difference is that Jungkook wanted to fix things up for the first time. He wanted to redeem himself and be the bigger person for once; changing his usual I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and not ignoring his responsibilities. Because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was just as guilty as you were, and it was time for him to be held accountable for his own actions and decisions.

Nonetheless, there was still that emotion that would prevent him from initiating a conversation that was already set to happen. Fear was, for lack of better words, fucking him up, just like it did you moments ago.

You could feel his burning stare at every red light you were encountered with, yet you refused to look his way, not giving him the satisfaction of staring at his doe eyes that would lure you into giving him the chance to explain himself. That, however, didn’t prevent him from finally gathering the courage to speak.

“I still wanna talk to you about tonight.” Eight words uttered with fear; a sentence verbalized with the utmost caution, only to fall on deaf ears. “I know you’re not in the mood to have a conversation right now, and you’re most likely mad at me, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry it happened this way.” A sigh escaped his lips, leaving him with a heavy weight on his chest, not fully finding the right words to say. “Things went wrong, that much I know, but neither of us had a way of knowing all of this would go down tonight.”

A humorless chuckle abandoned your mouth, cutting Jungkook’s speech off.

“An apology is not enough to fix all of this, Jungkook.” You started saying. “Taehyung must hate me right now. And for what? Me fooling around with his friend when I should’ve kept my distance.”

Anger, sadness and regret can be demonstrated with a variety of physical acts, but all those emotions can be also delivered through words, hurting as much, hurting even more. Like a knife digging in the soft material of a pillow, your response cut deep in Jungkook’s heart.

An interesting reaction, taking into account that the boy has never, not even once, shown an ounce of weakness around you. It is true that he was softer than most guys when he was with the people he trusted and loved, but there was a slight switch in his attitude when it came down to you. Was it infatuation? Was it stupidity? Jungkook wasn’t sure, but he knew well enough that the things you were saying stung more than they should.

“You say that as if you regretted everything that happened between us.” He dared to speak once again, after pondering what his response should be.

“Maybe I do.”

Why does it hurt so much the words that were flying out of your mouth? Why was the situation affecting him in ways that it shouldn’t?

“Maybe I regret everything, maybe I wish nothing ever happened between us.” You didn’t actually mean it, but people tend to say things that hurt others when they’re angry. “It doesn’t matter if I do, though, you knew this shit wasn’t even worth fighting for.”

Jungkook stopped the car abruptly, ignoring the honking of the van behind you.

“Not worth fighting for?” He repeated, clearly offended. “Are you hearing yourself? You’re acting as if all of this was just my fault”

“I know it wasn’t all on you, I played my part too, but why does it matter so much to you all of a sudden?” You inquired with a venomous tone. “You were the one who said this wasn’t anything serious to begin with. You told me not to get my hopes up because we were just friends who happen to fuck all the time.”

That conversation was engraved on your brain, memorized to the very end. It hurt to repeat the words Jeon said to you, it hurt to remember every single detail of that night, but it was time to accept that neither of you were meant for the other.

He wasn’t yours to take, he wasn’t yours to keep.

And yet you wished that at the end things could be different.

“So it was all meaningless to you?” Jungkook demanded an answer of you.

His heart was beating fast, his hands were starting to sweat and there was a frown falling upon his eyebrows, making him look sort of adorable. For you at least, Jungkook has always been like a big puppy in search of attention, seeking for people’s affection and love when he couldn’t even love himself enough to commit to someone. He was an interesting guy, that much you could admit, but it wasn’t enough to go through the hassle of giving it a try to an already nonexistent relationship.

“You just wanna end things like this?” Jungkook’s mind was going crazy, he couldn’t comprehend how you could act so nonchalant and heartless about it. “I just… I can’t just let you—”

“There’s nothing to end.” You cut him off. “You can’t end something that never started.”

Like cold snow falling upon his face in a swift motion; like a hundred knives digging in his soul and ripping his heart out; like the most saddening ballad cutting deep in someone’s mind to bring back the memories of a past lover.

It all hurt the same, it all happened as fast. It all was just equally awakening.

“Is that what you want?”

Jungkook’s dead voice wounded you just a little, but it wasn’t enough to stop your answer.

“Yes, that’s what I want.” You confirmed.

Without wasting any other second, Jeon started the car again, letting out a heavy sigh while maintaining a hard grip on the wheel.

And for better or for worse, not a single word was uttered the rest of the ride to your house; representing the finish line of a race that never even started.

Seven days, four hours, twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds. That’s how long it has been since the last time you heard the voice of your brother, or even knew anything about him, for that matter. Seven days since you last saw him; seven days since one of your biggest fears came true; seven days since Taehyung looked at you right in the face with an expression full of discomfort and disappointment, one that he has never shown until now. Seven days since Jungkook tried to talk you out of ending things with him.

Seven days have passed and not much has changed, besides the fact that you have felt lonelier than before. The monotonous routine of attending lectures, studying, going to work and then coming back home alone was damaging your mental health and your stability was starting to decay. Sadly, you didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself. It was a hard pill to swallow, but in the end it was all the consequences of your impulsive actions.

Had you thought about everything more thoroughly, the outcome would have been way different. No one would have felt betrayed, because you wouldn’t have had the need to hide anything from anyone to begin with. No one would have gone home feeling broken or with a heavy weight on their shoulders.

A lot of things would have been different, but rather than dwelling on the matters that have already happened, you decided to keep your mind at bay.

Work and school kept you occupied, but it didn’t relieve the pain that was poisoning your weak heart whenever you received a message or a call from someone who wasn’t Taehyung. His two friends kept you updated about how he was doing, but it wasn’t enough for you; you needed to hear it from the guy himself. Which seemed to be a task rather difficult due to the current situation.

Jungkook tried to reach out to you a few times after that night, but on the fourth day of calling and texting you nonstop, he finally let go of the idea of fixing things up, with one final text where he poured his full heart, just for you. If Jeon had been any more honest at some other point in his life, he didn’t acknowledge it. For him that long text was his truest self, his bare feelings abandoning his body with the hope of reaching you on time. Nonetheless, you two were living in different realities, it seems. You didn’t even dare to read the message, opting to block him and ignore how unhealthy and wrong it was to act that way.

It was unfair of you to treat him so poorly, but your pride stopped you from seeing the bigger picture. You were at fault, in the same way that Jungkook was; both of you took the decision to intertwine your bodies that one night, and both of you decided to maintain the secret encounters. It was a crime committed by two bodies, but that sadly left three broken hearts behind. Two at fault and one caught in the crossfire.

You’ve caught yourself wishing you would’ve done things differently; no secrets, no betrayal. No guilt, no fear. However, it was that same predicament that led you to meeting Jungkook, and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were grateful for that. Behind his fuckboy persona there was a kindhearted guy that not everyone knew, but that you wish could be yours; Jeon was, for lack of better words, the type of guy that any girl would love to have as a partner, but alas you wouldn’t be the one to experience it.

And that cold and saddening truth was what prevented you from ignoring your pride and reaching out to him.

“Y/n…” a distant voice called your name. “Y/n!”

Looking up from your long-forgotten class review, you stared at one of your closest friends, Eunbi. She was a 5’6, black-haired girl, with the personality of a fifty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a twenty-three-year-old girl. In better words, she was your best friend. You met her during orientation and you two hit it off right away; have been inseparable ever since.

“I’ve been calling you for a solid minute.” She chuckled lightly. “You okay there?”

You sighed, taking off your glasses to rub your eyes. An annoyed groan wanted to leave your mouth, but you were quick to suppress it before making any unwanted noise while being at the library.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired I guess.”

Eunbi looked like she knew you weren’t completely honest, however, she didn’t push any longer for an answer and you were grateful for that. You weren’t in the mood to explain the whole disaster you were into with your brother and his best friend.

“Wanna stop here and go grab some coffee? I’m kinda tired too.”

You wanted to decline and keep studying, but truth be told, if you kept up the act of trying to busy your mind with anything to keep it away from the topic you didn’t want to speak about, it would damage you more than it already has. So the distraction was greatly appreciated and a decision was rapidly made.

“Yeah, I could use some caffeine.”

Both of you abandoned your comfortable seats at the library, gathering your belongings to start your way out to the nearest coffee shop. The breeze caressed your skin with its refreshing wind; there has been a sudden change in the weather that has put the barely tolerable heat on pause. The gray clouds were adorning the sky, which in result made you curse under your breath for not having an umbrella with you.

“Seems like it’s going to rain.” Eunbi lamented, for she didn’t bring anything to protect herself from the water either. “We better hurry to get there before it starts.”

Your gaze moved slowly down from the gloomy sky, observing your surroundings with a deep sigh trapped in your throat. The saddening weather didn’t help you to cheer up, but maybe the tall guy waiting for you a few feet away would.

It took you a few seconds to realize that it was your brother who was waving at you while leaning on the hood of his car. Taehyung seemed relaxed and nonchalant, clearly not aware of the immense joy that he had brought upon you by just being there, due to finally seeing him after so long.

“Tae?” A small whisper fell from your lips. “Eunbi, can we raincheck? I um… My brother’s here.” You looked over your friend on the side, while smiling apologetically at her.

“Of course, don’t worry about me. We can have that coffee another day.” A soft smile was all you received after that, while your friend made her way home.

Uncertainty was quickly taking its place in your chest, making it a bit difficult for you to be calm and collected. There was a weird feeling making your fingers tingle, while your skin got coated with goosebumps; one that you rapidly disclosed as fear.

You feared the reason your brother was at your university. You feared the inevitable conversation you most likely will have with him, but above all, you feared the outcome of said conversation, scared it might break you more than the whole situation already has.

Your heart was pounding rapidly against your chest while you were, albeit reluctantly, walking towards Taehyung. His soft grin didn’t mirror your awkward grimace, already creating a tense atmosphere between you two.

“What… What are you doing here?” Your question came out rather strongly, in comparison to how nervous you were. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Taehyung nodded, looking down at his feet for a brief second.

“Am I not allowed to come see my little sister?”

No, when you haven’t contacted her in a whole week, you’re not.

“I guess so.” You finally answered, opting to take the easy route and avoid arguing at all costs.

“Get in, I don’t want you getting sick because of the weather.”

A simple sentence that held a lot of meaning behind. Not only was it the fact that Taehyung finally had the courage to present himself in front of you, but he also continued to care for you, even when the prospect of the bond shared between the two being more than broken by now was a possibility he strongly believed in.

Regardless of the initial surprise that painted your face and that invaded your heart, you followed his words and entered the car, tossing your things into the backseat. The ride to your house was filled with an awkward silence, neither of you daring to talk due to not knowing what to say to make things better. Your brother would often sigh and look at you, only to give you a tight-lipped smile and continue driving.

It was safe to say that things were far from being like they used to be, at least for now. It had never been a problem to start and maintain a conversation with the older guy sitting next to you, but it seems like now it was a complete torture for the both of you to be in and share the same space.

A pang of guilt struck your chest for the awkward situation you were found in. A little voice at the back of your head telling you that it was all your fault, and that you should do something quickly to fix it up.

The truth was that you, once again, didn’t know how. It was uncharted territory, not even once in your life had you been in a predicament such as the one you were currently living. It was safe to say that you didn’t know what to do.

Despite being clueless and frustrated, you finally found the courage to form a coherent sentence to break the uncomfortable silence. And it was with a shaky hand fisting your skirt and trembling lips that you finally spoke.

“So… It’s not like I’m complaining or anything, but why exactly did you come to pick me up?” You inquired, staring right at him “You’ve never done that before.”

Truth be told, Taehyung didn’t think this through, he didn’t even imagine he would get this far; the only thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t like the current situation. It was already hard to digest the news of you and his best friend being somewhat together —at least from his perspective that’s what it was—, to add the burden of not being on good terms with you to the pile of concerns that Taehyung had.

On top of that, he felt guilty. Guilty for being so hard on you, guilty for not letting you explain yourself, guilty for not caring enough about you and Jungkook’s feelings before shutting both of you out. But then again, it was a normal reaction, one that was expected from him.

It was due to that that Taehyung decided it was finally time to talk with you and sort everything out, the only thing he didn’t foresee was how awkward and hard it would be to communicate with you after a week.

“Well…” He drifted off, stopping at a red light. “We need to talk… But I think it’s better if we do that once we’re at your place.”

It was decided, and silence had, once again, conquered the space inside Taehyung’s expensive car. You didn’t bother to try to break it this time, opting to save all your energy for the, most probably, draining conversation that you and your brother would have in a matter of minutes.

The moment you saw your building becoming nearer and nearer you let out a sigh of relief. Being trapped in such a small space with such high and thick tension engulfing both of you was making you feel upset. You were thankful for the fresh air gracing your face once you stepped out of Taehyung’s car, however, your joy was short-lived due to the cold droplets of water falling rapidly from the sky.

“Hurry up inside.”

Both of you made your way quickly towards the entrance, not sparing a second glance to your landlord at the door, but rather walking straight into the elevator.

Once you were in the warm insides of your apartment, you finally let your shoulders slump, while a tired groan abandoned your lips. Taehyung followed suit, taking his shoes off at the door and walking towards your living room.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll go change.” You shared before going into your room.

Comfortable clothes, that’s what you were seeking for. If a disaster was bound to go down, at least you would be wearing your soft pair of pajama shorts and that one shirt you stole from Jimin when you were over at his and your brother’s apartment.

It was a matter of a few minutes before you encountered Taehyung once again. His eyes were locked on his phone screen, looking rather entertained by whatever he was watching.

“I’m back.” You informed him, while taking a seat next to him. “Do you… perhaps wanna talk now?”

Hesitance and curiosity were invading your mind and soul at the moment, making you feel uneasy. You shouldn’t be so aggravated or feel so anxious, it was your brother sitting beside you, not a stranger. But then again, you weren’t prepared for the conversation, and instead of taking things easy, you were overthinking every single thing about it.

“I don’t really know how to start this.” Taehyung avoided looking at you, which in result caused you to feel hurt. “I wanna say a lot of things but I don’t think I have enough words to express them.” He chuckled lightly, fidgeting with his fingers while looking right into his lap. “I’m gonna start with the obvious. I was mad, that night at the race, I got really upset. I don’t know what pushed you to make the decision of hiding such a thing from me, but it really hurt Y/n.”

You knew that already. You knew that you fucked up and that it affected Taehyung more than he would like to admit, but it was the path you chose, the only thing left to do was walk through it and accept all the consequences.

“There was no need, you know?” It was then that he looked at you. “Like I told you that night, I wasn’t upset about you two being together and I never would. What you do with your love life or who you decide to be with is none of my business. I can’t stop you from liking someone, even if that someone is my best friend.” Taehyung let out a sigh, searching for the right words to say. “I got mad because you lied to me. I don’t like when you do that or hide things from me, it makes me feel as if you don’t trust me. And I really don’t want to think that’s the case.”

“It’s not!” You were quick to say, already fearing he would get the wrong idea. “I swear I trust you, you are the only person I actually confide the majority of my life to.” You sighed, feeling a heavy weight on your chest. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I think it’s partially my fault. Maybe I haven’t been doing a good job at being a trustworthy brother.”

You wanted to say no, to make him stop thinking that way about himself, but he didn’t give you the time.

“What I want to say is… I might have been mad at you, at Jungkook and at the whole situation, but I’m also sorry for how I reacted.” Taehyung finally let out the words that were bugging him ever since that night. “I’m sorry I shut you out completely for this long, and I’m sorry for not talking things through sooner. I can’t control the decisions you make, and most importantly I shouldn’t be upset about the guys you get involved with. I just…” Taehyung drifted off. “I was just worried about you getting hurt that I didn’t notice the big mistake I made. I didn’t take into account your feelings and how my words would hurt you and for that I’m so fucking sorry.”

Seven days, five hours and fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took to finally hear your brother’s voice again. That’s how long it took to finally sort things out. That’s how long it took Taehyung to say those awaited words.

Seven days passed, and not even once you stopped thinking about what would happen if you were to have the opportunity to explain everything.

Until now.

“Taehyung,” You whispered, “you don’t need to apologize, I should be the one apologizing. It was so fucked up of me going behind your back and messing around with Jungkook.” You sighed. “I didn’t think things through and it almost cost me your trust and love, and for that you have no idea how sorry I am.”

Taehyung smiled softly at you, reaching out to squeeze your hand.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He said.

“I’m not, I’m just being honest.” You lightly argued. “Still, I’m sorry for lying to you, for hiding things from you, for… For messing around with your best friend. You didn’t deserve any of it.” A tight-lipped grin was sent his way. “I promise I won’t do anything like that again, I value our bond more than any quick fuck.”

Taehyung hissed, retrieving his hand from yours.

“When you say it like that it sounds weird.”

You chuckled, poking his side in a playful manner.

“Hey, I’m trying to be serious here, don’t ruin the moment.” You complained.

“I’m sorry, but it’s weird listening to my little sister saying she had a quick… well, that.” He grimaced, shaking his head to prevent himself from getting any unwanted mental image of it.

“It’s not like you don’t do it.” You scoffed, feeling suddenly defensive. “But that’s not the point of this conversation. What I really wanna know is… Are we good? Do you forgive me?”

Taehyung smiled at you sweetly, “Only if you forgive me too.”

It was a no brainer. You would do anything to go back to normality, to have your brother in the same way you have always had him. To not be scared of saying or doing the wrong thing; to finally be free of lies and secrets.

“I do.” You responded cheerfully.

You found yourself wrapping your arms around his torso, while resting your head on his shoulder. One of Taehyung’s hands came up to caress your hair, sweetly, while the other was softly patting your back. You were finally where you needed— wanted to be, and somehow it still felt weird.

There was a feeling of something missing, like a part of you was still holding onto an invisible string, tying you to someone whom you weren’t ready to face just yet. It didn’t take much to figure out why you were feeling that way, but it only served to leave you with more doubts and confusion.

Why was your heart calling his name? Why was your soul hurting for him? Why was your mind thinking of him?

All those questions were left unanswered, although you already knew the reason. The line between accepting the hard truth and ignoring your feelings was so thin that you didn’t even notice when you crossed it, but you definitely felt it. Like salt rubbed on a fresh wound, your heart ached just as much when the thought of Jungkook finally letting go of you was presented in your mind. That’s mostly why your heart, mind and soul were so desperately seeking his presence.

Maybe that’s even why you would tear up at night while staring at your phone. Waiting for a text, for a call, for anything that would let you know that even in some twisted reality, Jeon Jungkook felt the same for you.

“Youf shouf call hif.”

Eunbi was stuffing her face with a fresh baked bagel, not really minding how little you could understand about what she was saying, due to her full mouth.

“Could you please swallow your food before speaking? I can’t understand you.” A grimace took place on your face, while watching your friend enjoy her food.

You weren’t against Eunbi being so openly in love with whatever she was eating, but there was a limit for your patience when it came to eating etiquette.

“I said…” She finally swallowed the bite she took. “You should call him.”

A confused look was sent her way, while you took a sip of your iced coffee.

“Whom?” You asked, looking at her quizzically. “Be more specific, I just told you about what’s been going on in my life and I mentioned a lot of people.”

It took some convincing but Eunbi finally got all the gossip out of you. It was weird at first, to confess to someone else rather than to the people involved in the problem about everything that happened, let alone about your painfully obvious feelings. Because, although you weren’t ready to openly admit it yet, Eunbi didn’t need to know much to understand what was really happening in that complicated heart of yours.

“Your brother’s friend.” She answered after taking a sip of her drink. “That guy, Joncook.”

“Jungkook.” You corrected her with an annoyed sigh. Whether she has been purposely pronouncing his name wrong or she seriously couldn’t remember it, you didn’t know. “I already told you his name is Jungkook.”

“Potato, potahto.” Eunbi shrugged, cleaning her mouth after finishing her food. “Point stands. Call him.”

“Why would I? Didn’t you listen to anything I just said?” You asked thoroughly confused, “Clearly he’s not into me, otherwise he wouldn’t have said that it was a no strings attached type of thing.”

Eunbi wanted to hit you in the head to knock some sense into you. It was obvious, not only to her but to anyone who came across you two during those months of secret encounters. Jungkook, the rebellious and cold hearted man that anyone deemed as the raunchiest fuckboy, but that surprisingly most people would be willing to fuck. That’s who Jungkook was, but for Eunbi, for his friends and even for your own brother, Jeon was just a guy afraid to show his real feelings for you.

Almost too sickeningly cute, with his doe eyes and dumb smile, ready to go to the ends of the Earth to make you laugh or at least get a grin out of you. It was so painfully obvious to anyone but you how badly in love he was. It wasn’t infatuation, although at first it was a huge possibility; it wasn’t a simple crush despiste starting as one. It went beyond that, beyond the weak barriers of taking a liking of his best friend’s sister. It was more than just saying that he thought you were attractive, although he clearly thought that.

Jeon Jungkook had it bad for you. But how could you be able to see that?

The only face he would ever show you was one full of indifference, overconfidence and nonchalance; adorned with a smug smile and a pair of darkened eyes that warned you with a simple look that pure chaos was about to ensue. However, he did treat you differently than most girls. Jungkook would never get out of his bed at one in the morning just because your friends ditched you at a bar at the very last minute and you were too scared to call an Uber or a taxi.

He’s never remembered the coffee order of the girls he’s hooked up with, but oddly enough he remembers the exact amount of sugar you like in yours; Jungkook wouldn’t even remember their names. But yours? Yours was embroidered on the very front of his brain, not willing to erase it, not willing to forget it. Your order would be the first thing that comes to his mind every time he’s at a coffee shop, and more often than not he’s made the mistake of ordering yours instead of his, only to realize what he did a second too late. Your name was always at the tip of his tongue, risking his opportunity to fuck a random girl he met at a party. All because he almost said your name.

All those things were unmistakable, not easy to be looked over or ignored.

But once again, how could you be able to notice that the man was head over heels for you? When you wouldn’t even let your heart accept its own feelings.

“Do I really need to say it?” Eunbi deadpanned, staring at you with an annoyed look. “My god, Y/n, you’re not usually this dumb!”

“Excuse you?” You look offended, and rightfully so, but you were also ignoring the fact that your friend was just trying to make you see the obvious. “You’re being mean right now.”

“And you’re not being reasonable.” She sighed in exhaustion. “At least think about it, alright? If what you told me it’s anything to go by, that boy has it bad for you.”

Thinking is all you did, thinking is all you knew; it seemed to be like an easy task, but in hindsight it was way more difficult. It took you two more days to actually come to the conclusion that Eunbi may be right, and for those two days your mind didn’t have a peaceful moment to even worry about your upcoming exams. Your brain was completely fried at that point, full with possibilities and theories of what the outcome of finally confronting Jungkook might be.

The first possible outcome was the least feared out of the thousands.

If you were to reach Jungkook through a text, he would not reply. Now, that wasn’t really that bad, and in a more down to earth mindset, it would be completely deserved. Your not so reasonable side of your brain reassured you that he would and most likely will reply to any text you send him. Why wouldn’t he, after all?

The second possible outcome was one that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

If you were to call him, Jungkook would hang up after telling you to fuck off for not reaching out sooner. Seemed fitting and a very Jungkook-thing to do, but still you wished for that scenario to be false.

The last one was the worst among the assumptions swimming through your head. If you were to finally confess your feelings… he would reject you.

Rejection as a whole seemed like a terrifying experience. People would often avoid getting to that point, whether it would be them facing rejection or being the culprit of someone else’s broken heart. You had been on both sides, had gone through both experiences; it wasn’t anything you would like to live again. Hence to why you were trying so hard to suppress your feelings.

Poor and weak heart of yours, it didn’t choose who you love, but it certainly chose who you hurt. And as it turns out, it wasn’t only your brother who got caught in the crossfire.

Ever since you were a kid, flowers made you feel at ease. Their smell, their texture, even their bright colors. Anything about flowers was as relaxing as a day at the beach, at least for you.

You grew to be that one girl completely enamored with nature, and your fascination for flowers was only enhanced once you realized that people would use them as a token of love and appreciation for others. It was romantic, it was pure, it was honest. Gifting flowers to those who you loved and appreciated, to those who you held close to your heart, was such a kind and lovely gesture.

It was the purest act of love you could come across.

The meaning behind every kind of flower was such a wonderful thing to discover. Daisies were often a symbol of happiness and purity; whereas hydrangeas symbolize comfort in times of sorrow, especially at funerals. Orchids often represented beauty and strength, as well as the flowers birds of paradise. Roses, often associated with deep passion and love, had variations in meaning due to their colors; they could represent innocence and purity if they were white, or friendship and warmth if they were yellow.

However, among all those types of flowers, the ones you were holding in your hands at the moment were the hardest ones to carry with you. For no other reason than their meaning.

Striped carnations were often known for representing regret and remorse. They were used to apologize for past actions or mistakes.

It seemed fitting, so you bought the bouquet when you passed by a flower shop on your way to Jungkook’s house.

It took you way too long, but it was after one decisive night in that lonesome room of yours, fighting back the tears while finally reading those soft and beautiful words Jungkook used to pour his heart out, to confess his unmistakable love for you, that you finally made the decision. It was now or never, whatever the outcome of this might be, you’d face it and endure it.

So it was with shaky hands and wobbly legs that you carried yourself to Jeon’s apartment, holding the flowers tightly, afraid that they might disappear if you loosen the grip.

Several seconds passed with you standing outside his door, fearing that if you knocked reality might finally hit you in the face with the bitter truth: Jungkook didn’t want you anymore.

“Are you gonna stand there all day, or you’ll finally let me get in my house?”

That husky and seductive voice. It was hard to miss and hard to mistake it for anyone else’s. That particular voice tone has been playing in your head ever since the night everything went down. It was obvious who it belonged to, and the undeniable fact only made your nerves reach a whole new level.

“See, I wouldn’t usually complain about a pretty girl standing outside my door, but I really need to get these bags inside.” Jungkook didn’t seem bothered by your presence, and even if he did you would never notice.

Maybe you made the right choice to come and finally talk, or maybe you didn’t.

Truth was that as it has been stated many times before, you were very oblivious, so it would be no surprise if you read the room wrong. But then again, he called you pretty, right? Wouldn’t that count for something?

“I— Yes! Fuck, sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t home.”

First apology of the night; many more to come.

“Would you mind helping me get my keys?” The dark-haired man in front of you turned around, just the right amount to insinuate that you grab the keys from his back pocket. “The left one.”

Hesitantly, you reached out and dug into his pocket to retrieve the keys and give them to him. There was a light and soft touch when your fingers brushed that sent a slight shiver through your body.

It has been so long since the last time you were this close to Jungkook that you were already forgetting his touch, his smell and the way he could mesmerize you with a single look.

“Come on in.” Jeon led the way inside his house. “Get comfortable while I put this away.”

Jungkook was quick to make his way to the kitchen, getting the groceries out of the bags and setting everything in their respective place. It was hard for you to loosen up and get comfortable in a space that became foreign to you. Had it been any other time, you wouldn’t have thought twice before sitting on the couch, or even following him to the kitchen to tell Jungkook about your day while he loaded his fridge with meat and veggies. But now it was different. Now you felt an increasing tension between you two, which made you stand stiff in the middle of his living room, rethinking your decision of finally confronting him.

It was not that you were a coward —maybe you were— but more so the fact that you didn’t know how to have a proper and serious conversation with the guy in question. The talk you had with your brother was orchestrated by Taehyung himself, you only chimed in to apologize profusely, which shouldn’t have been enough but seemed to be more than sufficient for your brother. However, this time the ball was in your court, you were meant to do the talking while Jungkook was expected to listen attentively or at least pretend he was.

Maybe you should’ve thought this through before putting your plan into action, but it was too late to back down now, and in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you were capable to postpone this conversation any longer.

“I gotta admit, when Taehyung told me you were planning on paying me a visit I didn't believe him.” Jungkook’s voice rang through your ears once again, he walked back from the kitchen, becoming aware of your quizzical look. “Oh, he didn’t tell you we were back on friendly terms, I see.” He chuckled, beckoning you to sit on the couch with him.

Not only did your brother omit the fact that he was back to being friends with Jungkook, but also he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your plans of finally talking to Jeon, which made you upset by default. You thought that by now secrets and hiding things would have been out of the picture between you and Taehyung, but it looked like it was only you who decided to go down the path of honesty.

“You two… Is everything okay between you and my brother?” It was only fair to ask, although you already knew the answer.

Jungkook nodded, looking away from you.

“He called me a few days ago to talk, and well…” He drifted off. “I would say that everything’s back to normal.”

“That’s good.” You nodded.

It truly was. It might not seemed like it, but you were equally concerned about their bond being broken as you were about yours with your brother. It would deeply pain you to know that they couldn’t continue to be the best of friends after the incident. It sent you a sense of relief that they were on good terms again, at least you didn’t have to worry about ruining their friendship anymore.

“Are those for me?” His sudden question made you blink repeatedly. “The flowers, I mean.”

Looking down at your lap you realized that you were still tightly holding the bouquet of striped carnations.

“Oh… yes, they’re for you.” Your hands moved slowly to softly place the bouquet on Jungkook’s palm.

“Why thank you.” He seemed surprised. “Usually I’m the one gifting flowers, not the other way around, so this is a first. Although, I don’t know if I should feel flattered or concerned that you’re giving me…” Jungkook stopped for a moment to look at the flowers more attentively. “Striped carnations.”

Of course he knew the meaning of the flowers. When has Jungkook not made you feel like a total idiot due to his undeniable intelligence?

“Yeah, well…” You drifted off, not really knowing what to say.

The dark-haired guy let out a soft sigh, while the ghost of a smile took place on his lips.

“Why are you here, Y/n?” Jungkook asked, silently urging you to answer honestly. “We both know you’re not here just to deliver these.”

You took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes for a second. In theory, it shouldn’t be this hard to answer his question or to start the speech that you have been memorizing all these days, but it was easier said than done. It was as if all the words in the English language had vanished from your brain, and you were left with dumb sounds that wouldn’t help your case.

“Maybe I should change my question.” Jungkook placed the flowers on this coffee table, before speaking again. “Are you sure you want to go through this today? It’s obvious you came here to talk about us, but how I see it, you might not be ready for it yet.”

You shook your head, squirming in your place to find a more comfortable position.

“I wanna do this, I really do.” You assured him. “I just don’t know how to start.”

The tattooed man nodded, carefully sliding a bit closer to you.

“Maybe you can start by telling me why you gave me those flowers.”

Jungkook, bless his heart, always knew how to get the best out of you. It was easy for him to get people to talk about things they didn’t even know they needed to let out. It almost made you think he had some sort of magic going on that would compel others to be open about their feelings.

“They… They symbolize regret.” You finally answered. “They’re usually given when you want to apologize to someone.”

It was certainly easier to explain the meaning than to actually do it, but it must count for something, right?

“Mhmm.” He hummed, waiting for you to continue with your explanation. “Why give them to me then?”

“Because I want to apologize to you.” There, you finally said it, there was no going back. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Taking a deep breath you continued. “I’m sorry about what happened that night, I’m sorry for the way I treated you afterwards; I’m sorry for putting all the blame on you when I was just as guilty. I’m so fucking sorry for the things I did and said.”

You felt like you could finally breathe, like a weight was slowly lifting off your shoulders.

“You didn’t deserve any of that.” Tears were starting to cloud your vision. “I didn’t mean it when I said I wished I didn’t meet you. It was so stupid of me to say it, getting to know you has been one of the most complicated yet amazing things that have happened to me. And I’m truly sorry that I wasn’t able to show it.”

Jeon reached out to wipe away the tears that were starting to run down your cheeks.

“Please don’t cry.” He begged, almost too quietly.

It pained him how aggravated and distressed you were, right in front of him. Jungkook knew it was only right for you to apologize but it wasn’t fair that you were suffering so much when he was at fault too.

“I’m sorry too.” He finally apologized. “I did things wrong, I shouldn’t have agreed to hide all of this from Taehyung. I knew we weren’t doing the right thing, but I let it slide because it meant I could have you longer.”

Jeon regretted how things went down, but it would be a lie if he said he didn’t enjoy his time with you. Jungkook knew that the moment the truth was out, it would only complicate everything for the both of you; not to mention that he was scared that Taehyung would prohibit him from being near you. Jungkook was so weak for you that he couldn’t stand the possibility of losing you so easily. And so it was decided that it would be kept as a secret for as long as you two deemed necessary. However, he didn’t really think that the outcome would be so painful.

“I just… I couldn’t bear not being with you. I couldn’t let you go.” Jungkook confessed. “I’m sorry. A lot of things would’ve been different if I did.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Even if you tried, I wouldn’t have let it happen.” You brushed the tears away, trying to keep your composure. “Could you please forgive me? I don’t… I don’t want you to hate me”

You were silently praying that the answer to your question would be yes. It scared you that he reserved the right to reject you and move on with his life. After all, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did, it would be rightfully deserved.

However, Jungkook once again proved to you that he was way different from what you picture him to be.

“I already forgave you, sweet cheeks.”

His smile, oh how much you missed his smile. It was the rainbow you needed to see after a storm. Like a warm blanket during a snowy day. Like the comfort you seeked when everything outside was falling apart.

It was so him, and it almost brought you back to tears when you finally saw it. Shining so bright and pretty on his face.

“And I’m afraid that there’s nothing you could do to make me hate you.” His hand reached out to cup your cheek, making you lean into his touch. “Would you be willing to forgive me too? I know I hurt you with the things I’ve done, but–”

“Yes. I forgive you, Kook.” You smiled at him softly.

“That means we’re good, right?”

If only it was that easy.

There was one thing that was still bothering you and it was the unmistakable feelings for the boy in front of you. Confessing has always been hard, but when it comes to confessing your feelings to Jeon Jungkook, it was ten times worse.

“Actually, there’s something I still need to talk about.” You approached the matter carefully.

“What is it?” Jungkook felt uneasy, he didn’t know what else you had to say, but it was making him nervous. As if he knew something bad would happen. “Are you still upset?”

“No! No, no, it’s not that.” You assured him. “I… it might be a dumb question but… That text, the one you sent me the last time you tried to reach out to me.”

Why was it so hard to say it?

“Did you mean it, all of it?”

A sigh abandoned Jungkook’s lips, and the hand that was once holding your face, slowly retrieved to fall on his lap.

That was it, he was gonna reject you. That was the thought running through your head. His lack of response set a crack in your heart, making you feel vulnerable, making you feel dumb. It was obvious what his answer was going to be, why did you even have to ask?

“You read it?” Jungkook finally spoke. “I thought you simply decided to ignore it.”

You sighed, feeling ashamed of your actions.

“I did at first. I mean, I only got to read it as of recent because I… might have blocked you.” You cringed after finally confessing what you did. “I know it was childish, trust me, but I was mad at the time and I thought it was for the better.”

Jungkook simply nodded, showing you a reassuring smile.

“So yes, I read it, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t surprise me.” You looked like in his eyes. “That’s why I’m asking… Did you really mean it?”

The words adorning your screen late at night while you were reading the long paragraph he sent you were engraved in your brain. It was all memorized at this point. You spent night after night reading every single word while tears were spurting out of your eyes, lamenting that you didn’t open his message sooner.

I would never forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you.

I’m sorry for being a coward and not saying this to your face.

You already knew how sorry he was, not only because he apologized only a few seconds ago, but Jungkook also poured his heart and soul into that message, letting you know how deeply sorry he felt for what he put you through.

This is me being honest, this is me being true to myself.

The confession was the hardest part to read, but it was equally shocking and relieving to know that…

I wish I could say this to you, face to face.

He indeed…

But I can’t hide it any longer.

Felt the same…

I love you, Y/n.

For you.

“I did. I meant it, with my whole heart.” Jungkook smiled at you, sweetly, delicately, lovingly. He wanted to express his love for you in any way he could, in every gesture, every word, every smile. “I don’t know if I might regret this later or not, but what I know is that I don’t want to act as if I weren’t so madly in love with you.”

His answer drew a gasp out of you. It was one thing reading his confession and getting to know his real feelings for you, but listening to him say it out loud was a new, different experience.

Jungkook looked at you as if you held the world in the palm of your hands, as if you were the remedy for his pain; as if you were the only person worth fighting for. And maybe you were. He’s never felt any sort of feeling that could come close to the emotions he has experienced and continues to experience with you. His heart has never beaten so hard to the point of feeling as if it were to escape from his chest. It only felt like that when he was around you.

You were the reason for Jungkook's many sleepless nights, when Jeon could only think of every little detail about you that he loved so much. Your laugh, your smile, the way a frown would be adorning your face when you try to concentrate, or how adorable you look while playing with any pet you come across.

It was so hard for him to get you out of his mind; so difficult to erase the feeling of your skin burning against his, of your lips traveling all around his body to leave marks that he prayed would last a lifetime, because maybe that way, at least a part of you would stay within himself.

“I know you might not feel the same.” His husky voice echoed through the walls of his living room after a moment of silence. “And I didn’t say all those things in hopes you would reciprocate my feelings. I just couldn’t keep hiding it anymore.”

His words were running through your mind, as a distant noise. You wanted to say a lot of things, to scream from the top of your lungs that you loved him just as much, or maybe even more than he did you. But your brain and mouth weren’t connected, as it seems, because instead of putting an end to both of your sufferings, you opted to ask him:

“How long have you felt this way?”

Jungkook sighed, reminiscing about all the moments where he felt like falling in love with you. There weren’t that many, in all honesty, but every single one of them felt like the loveliest of dreams.

“I’m not entirely sure.” He confessed. “Maybe it was when I first met you and you were so nervous around me that you even tripped over your feet and fell onto me.” A smile was slowly appearing on his face, “Or perhaps it was when I picked you up from your friends house that one night. You were absolutely hammered and babbling about one of your friends doing a backflip while drinking a shot.”

“I was a complete mess that time.”

It was embarrassing to remember that night. You drank and ate so much that you ended up emptying your stomach the moment you walked in your house. The majority of it was a blur, but despite your clouded memory you could still remember the silly things you were saying to Jungkook.

It also happened to be the first time you almost confessed your feelings for him.

“You say that, but back then I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, with that green dress and your rosy cheeks.” Jungkook reached out to caress your face with his thumb. “The way you smiled at me that night… it was so hard for me not to kiss you until I lost breath.”

His words felt like a warm hug to your heart. Love is always a nightmare when you fall alone, and for so long you felt like it was only you who felt the chemistry between the two.

“Truth is, that I don’t know when or how I fell for you, it just naturally happened.” He smiled at you, cupping your cheek once again. “And I think it’s your fault I fell this hard.” Before you could protest, he continued. “How could I not develop feelings when you’re such a lovable person, Y/n. So caring, kind and beautiful through and through. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life and call you theirs.”

“Do it then.” A clear and determined glint was adorning your eyes. “Have me and call me yours.”

Your bold request surprised both of you. Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to say such a thing, let alone that you would indirectly confess that you wanted him in the same way he did you.

“What’d you say?”

“If you’re willing to have me, I want to be yours.” The anticipation was killing you, making all your senses be on the lookout for any sign of discomfort on Jungkook’s face. “I like you, Kook, and I mean it with my whole heart.”

Jeon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had already accepted the fact that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. A one sided, unrequited love was all he got, but perhaps life finally decided to give me a breather and let him have the ounce of happiness that the boy desperately craved all along.

“You mean… you feel the same?” He asked carefully, waiting for your answer impatiently. “You lo—, no, you like me too?”

With a soft nod and a bright smile, you answered: “I do. I do like you, and I do love you, Jungkook.”

The words felt foreign coming from your mouth, as if you never imagined yourself proclaiming your love for the boy on countless nights. Reality, however, was way better than any hypothetical scenario where Jungkook would run to you to say it was mutual.

You could see the exact moment when your words finally made sense in his head, when he finally realized that this was not a dream and that you, in fact, felt the same for him.

“You better not be joking.” Jeon teased, still being a bit apprehensive that you might laugh at his face as part of some twisted prank to break his heart. “This is… not how I imagined this would go.”

“Me neither, but I can promise you that I’m being as serious and honest as I can be.”

“I believe you.”

And he really did; deep down Jungkook knew that even if life would want to turn on him and watch him suffer, you would never play a part in that. Your words felt sincere, despite the hesitation in your voice and your fidgeting fingers.

Jungkook was sure that he could lay his heart in your hands, and let you take it away to make it yours, and he would never have to worry of you hurting it.

“Now, does that mean we’re good, right?” He asked once again, with a bright grin on his face.

“Yes, we’re good now.” You giggled, sliding closer to him.

“So, can I kiss you now?”

You stopped in your tracks, with your wide-eyed gaze and tingling fingers, ready to feel his skin on yours.

It has been a long time since the last kiss you two shared, you would be lying if you said you weren’t needy for his kisses or his touch, and so, without a second thought you leaned in, stopping just a few inches from his face.

“Do it.”

Jungkook didn’t need more than that. Your words were enough to make him lose his composure and crash his lips against yours.

A warm sensation spread all around your body, filling you with ecstasy and the serotonin you much needed, also luring you to take more and more of him. Your hands started a slow trip up his torso to finally wrap around his neck and pull him closer than before.

Jungkook was holding you with such delicacy, as if he were scared that you would break. It felt like a lifetime since the last time he had you like this and the boy was afraid he would do something that could ruin the moment. Days and days Jeon spent replaying in his head those moments full of passion and need that you two loved to share; the times where he would have you in his arms, silently claiming you as his, while his lips traveled across your skin to paint your flesh with hues of red and purple. Back then, Jungkook could only hope that said marks would fade slowly, letting him enjoy the way your body had proof that the only man able to take all your inhibitions and make you reach the sky was no other than himself.

Now, feeling you like this, touching you like this, without the fear of someone seeing you and starting rumors, without the worry of hiding from your brother, and with the clear understanding that both of you feel the same for the other, Jungkook could finally enjoy the moment to the fullest. His warm hands engulfing you in his tender touch distracted you from his desperate lips running up and down your neck, and from his teeth sinking into your flesh.

A moan escaped from your mouth, parting your lips while a rush of heat conquered every inch of your skin. It was becoming difficult to keep the moment nice and romantic, without turning it into a hot mess of kisses and inappropriate touching.

“I love you, Y/n.” Jungkook whispered into your ear, before pulling slightly away to look right into your eyes. “I really do.”

His soft gaze ignited a bubbling feeling at the pit of your stomach, making you want to stay like this forever, just staring at each other with tender smiles. But a part of you knew it wouldn’t be enough, you wanted more, craved more, so it was no surprise when you pushed Jungkook to rest on the back of the couch while you moved to straddle him.

“Show me.” You asked. “Show me how much you love me.”

A sly smirk took place on Jungkook’s face, while his hands acted automatically to be placed on your hips and hold you down on his lap.

“I’m not sure you can handle it.” He teased. “That you can handle me.”

The tattooed man was looking for a challenge, to start a play of who can handle more before they get so desperate that clothes start to fly out all around the house.

“Try me, then.” You argued back. “I promise you, you’ll be surprised to find out how much of you I can handle.”

A scoff passed his lips while his hands tightened the grip on your hips.

“You sure you want this night to go like this? Don’t you prefer we take this slower?” Even if there was a light mocking tone attached to his voice, concern and worry were also adorning it.

Jungkook was still scared that tonight might be just a dream and that once he closes his eyes you would slip through his fingers to never be found again. He didn’t want to make or say the wrong thing, and it worried him that falling into old habits would do the damage he was trying to avoid.

“Do you want to take things slower?”

It was a possibility you never considered, but coming to think of it, maybe it was better to take it easy before rushing to do things you might not be ready to do just yet.

It was a fresh start after all, but maybe that didn’t implied fucking on the same night you two finally confessed your feelings for the other.

“I want you, but I don’t want to ruin this chance we have now.” His answer warmed your heart, making you smile at him. “I don’t want to make old mistakes and make you think I’m only using you for your body.”

“I know you’re not, at least now I do.” You assured him. “I want you, Jungkook, and I want this with you, but if you’re not ready that’s completely fine, we don’t have to do anything.”

He shook his head, wrapping both of his arms around your waist to hold you close to him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with this.” A kiss was softly placed on your lips, before Jungkook suddenly stood up with you in his arms, carrying you to his bedroom. “But if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it somewhere comfortable.”

“The couch was comfortable enough.” You giggled, holding onto him to make sure you didn't fall.

“Maybe, but my girl deserves better than that.”

The last time you were in his room was when Jungkook decided it was a good idea to stay in, instead of going out with your friends. He managed to convince you to stay with him, as he promised you a night full of food, drinks and his head buried in between your thighs.

Back then you didn’t care to observe the little details that made Jungkook’s room so him.

His walls were painted with a somber hue of blue, adorned with pictures of him and the rest of his friend group or his family. Your brother appeared in most of the photos, as Jungkook cherished every single moment they have spent together. There was even a picture of him and his dog, Bam, which was currently at his parents house, framed on the nightstand. The rest of the room was as any guy’s room would be; clothes scattered across the floor, that you would often steal from him whenever you were at his place; messy desk with cans of beer and energy drinks, as well as his computer and a pair of headphones; two vapes were also left on the desk, next to a pair of rings and a watch.

The bed was adorned with a single pillow and white sheets. He didn’t need much as he lived alone, but anytime you were over Jungkook would try to accommodate his house to make you feel comfortable.

“Sorry for the lack of pillows.” He apologized when he put you down on the soft mattress. “I didn’t know you were coming over, or I would’ve gotten the one you like so much.”

“It’s not like we’re gonna use it right now, so we’re good.” You chuckled tugging his shirt to bring him down to you. “Now, please do something, I’ve been waiting for way too long to have you like this again.”

“So impatient.” He smirked, running his hands up and down your sides. “Let me take my time with you, like you said, it’s been too long.”

Jungkook started a trail of kisses down your neck, while his hands pushed up the fabric of your shirt to knead your hot skin.

“We need to take this off.” He didn’t waste a moment to take your shirt off, admiring your upper body with hungry eyes. “Fuck, I missed seeing you like this, baby.”

Jeon didn’t give you time to reply before his mouth attacked your lips once again. There was desperation and neediness coursing through both of your bodies and it was palpable how bad you wanted one another, which in result made the two of you act clumsy while getting undressed.

Jungkook struggled to take off your bra and pants but he finally did, leaving you only in your underwear. His hands ran up to fondle your tits, feeling them and tugging at your nipples while his lips were rapidly traveling down to the place where you needed him the most.

“So fucking perfect, you have no idea how much I wanted to have you like this.” He confessed, placing wet kisses all around your inner thighs.

“Jungkook…” You called for him in a breathy voice, while squirming in your place.

The sensations he was sending right to your core were making it impossible for you to stay put.

“Please…” You begged.

“Please, what?” He asked. “What do you want, beautiful?”

It was hard for you to talk, especially with his mouth so dangerously close to your soaked cunt, but you managed.

“Please touch me.” You moaned out, hands traveling down to pull his hair and get him closer to your core.

“Is this not enough?” Jungkook inquired, playfully. He didn’t relent, getting out of your grasp to do as he pleased. “Do you need more, baby?”

A nod was all he got, but that wouldn’t cut it, not for Jungkook.

“Use your words.” A harsh smack was delivered to one of your thighs, making it jiggle. “Come on, be good and tell me what you want.”

Groaning you rested your weight on your shoulders to look down at him with desperate eyes.

“Please touch me here.” Your hand moved rapidly to caress your center through your wet underwear. “I need you so bad.”

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart.” Jungkook didn’t waste a second longer on teasing you, instead he made sure to take off your dripping panties, putting them to the side and forcing your legs to stay wide open. “Look at that, so pretty and wet for me, huh?” He ran his fingers through your folds, smearing your juices all over. “This is just for me, right baby?”

You nodded vehemently, chasing after his touch.

“Yes, only you can get me like this.”

The tattooed guy dipped down, placing a dangerous kiss right under your navel, so close yet so far away from where you needed him the most. A fire was ignited in between your legs, and Jungkook was the perfect remedy for that. His lips traveled down slowly, coming face to face with your dripping cunt. He took his sweet time licking up and down your folds, his wet tongue felt wonderful against your burning flesh, making you elicit the sweetest of sounds just for him.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” Moan after moan, your composure and sanity were slowly disappearing, leaving you with an ardent need to grind against his tongue. “Faster, please…”

Your boy couldn’t deny any of your wishes, and so his pace quickened in a matter of seconds, running his tongue up and down as fast as he could, only momentarily stopping at your clit to suck on it before continuing with his ministrations. Jungkook was avidly eating you out, enjoying the taste of your juices on his hot tongue and the feeling of your entrance clenching on it whenever he let it slip in. It was like heaven on earth, like a much needed meal he waited for so long. And just like a starved man, Jeon did his best to devour you until there was nothing else from you that he could take.

“Don’t stop, I’m so fucking close!” You could feel his fingers opening your folds to make their way inside your cunt, pumping in and out at a slow pace. “Oh my god!”

Your hands were still pulling at his hair, desperately trying to get a good hold on him to bring him closer and closer to you.

“You taste so freaking good, baby.” Jungkook pulled away to inhale some air before diving in again and smothering his face with your soaking folds. “Fuck, best pussy I’ve ever had.”

His nasty words were making your eyes flutter shut, with a stream of curses falling off your lips. It was ridiculous how good he could make you feel with his mouth and his fingers, you always wondered how he knew exactly what to do to make you see the stars. Jungkook was so good at reading your body, even better than you ever could; his touch was delicious, charged with the right amount of passion to throw you over the edge.

“You getting close, doll? Wanna come on my tongue, hm?”

“Yes, please! I’m so close.” You begged, breathlessly. “I just— fuck, need it… need to cum, please.”

A chuckle vibrated against your cunt, making you shiver. His fingers slipped out of your hole, leaving you empty and needy.

“Go on, pretty, cum for me.”

It was almost automatic; the moment those words left Jungkook’s mouth, the waves of your pending orgasm finally crashed over your body, making your legs shake and leaving your skin coated in goosebumps. Eyes fully shut and mouth widely open, not caring about the obscene sounds coming out of it like a chant. Jeon’s name was repeated over and over like a broken record, just like a fervent believer would pray away their sins, so vehemently, so desperately. His name was attached to your brain, making it the only coherent word leaving your lips.

“There you go, that’s my good girl.” He caressed your sides softly. “You look so beautiful when you cum.”

His praise made your head feel fuzzy and the fire between your legs was fueled once again, ready for another round.

Slowly you opened your eyes, blinking away the tiredness and trying to focus on the boy in front of you. His face became clearer and clearer, providing you with one of his breath-taking smiles.

“You good there?” Jungkook asked, sweetly, while a tender kiss was placed on your lips. “D’you wanna take a moment?”

You shook your head, still recovering your ability to speak properly.

“I wanna…” A whisper ran through his ears, prompting him to lean closer. “Want to…”

“What do you want, my love?”

My love.

Jungkook has never called you that before, and if you were to be true, it felt fucking amazing to hear him say it.

“You, I want you.” It was your final answer, looking right up at him with a fierce glare.

Your hands reached out to palm him through his boxers, feeling his hard erection twitch under your touch. The dark-haired boy hissed at the sensation of your fingers wrapping around his cock, while giving it a light squeeze.

“You don’t— shit, you don’t have to.” Jeon reassured you. “Let me… take care of you.”

“But I want to.” You argued back, slipping your hand inside his underwear. He felt heavy and warm, and so painfully hard that it made you feel bad that he had to stay confined in the small space of his boxers while he ate you out. “Let me taste you, baby.”

You were craving his cock ever since you stepped into his room; the mental image of his dick pumping in and out of your mouth left you salivating, almost whimpering at the thought.

“Please, I wanna make you feel good too.”

Jungkook closed his eyes for a brief moment, pondering if he should let you have your way or if it was better to turn you around and fuck you into oblivion. He reasoned, at the end, that he could do both. Jeon would let you have your fun for a moment, and afterwards he would completely destroy you with his cock.

“How can I say no to such a pretty baby?” He grinned at you, getting in a more comfortable position while taking his underwear off. “It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Scrambling quickly to rest on your hands and knees, you took his cock into one of your palms, slowly stroking him and smearing the drop of saliva you spat onto his dick, to make it easier for you to move your hand.

It was such an amazing sensation, your small hand struggling to wrap around his thick cock, fighting your own urge to pump him dry until he was whimpering and begging. Maybe another time you’ll be able to see that side of him, but tonight you were determined to make him cum in your mouth, and so deciding you wouldn’t waste a second longer, you took his red head in between your lips, rocking your head slowly to take more and more of his length. Little by little you were able to fit almost all of him inside your throat, choking a little bit when his tip reached a bit too far.

“Fuck, that feels amazing, baby. Keep going.” He moaned, looking down at you and the way his dick disappeared inside your mouth with ease. “Just like that, don’t you dare stop.”

Your pace increased, ripping moans and groans out of the boy. Your heart swelled with pride for making him sound and act like that; it took you way too long to be in such a position once again that you were fearing you didn’t have the same effect on him anymore.

“Faster, doll, I know you can go faster.” His hand weaved through your hair to get a hold on your head and guide your movements. “That’s right, fuck, your mouth was made only for my cock.”

It truly was, his dick fit almost perfectly and without further complications. The way you were so eager to take him in, without flinching or gagging was truly amazing for the man in front of you. Jungkook was mesmerized by your ability to suck him off until he didn’t have much to give.

“Shit, stay still for a moment.” He ordered, placing both hands at each side of your head. You did as told, waiting for his next move. “There you go, I want to fuck this pretty mouth of yours.”

His hips swayed beautifully, thrusting in and out of your throat. His cock was reaching places like never before and brought tears to your eyes due to the effort of keeping your jaw relaxed and opened for him.

“That’s it, such a good little slut, letting me use you, huh?” He teased, smirking right at you. “You like it when I use you like this, don’t ya?”

It was as clear as day that you did, no need for an answer, yet you tried to nod, which only caused to boost his ego due to how much you struggled to move.

“Mhm, I know you do, baby.” His pace increased and so did his moans; it was difficult for the tall guy to be quiet, especially with the delicious feeling of your mouth on his cock.

All of a sudden he pulled away, letting you recover your breath and positioning you to lay back down again.

“As much as I’d love to keep fucking your mouth, I’d rather stuff this pretty pussy with my cum.” Jungkook leaned down to suck on your neck, making sure to leave a mark on a very obvious spot, where everyone would be able to see it.

Feeling like you belonged to someone, like you were a nice piece of jewelry owned by a man like Jungkook, it should have caused you a very different feeling from the one you were experiencing. Your eyes shouldn’t be searching for him, impatiently, to see that look of determination in his orbs that would tell you that you belonged to him and him alone. Your hands shouldn’t reach out to touch his back, sinking your nails into his flesh just like his teeth did in your skin; a weak attempt to reciprocate the feeling, to make it clear who was the only girl who would make the great Jeon Jungkook so desperate and needy. But they did, and you enjoyed it; you loved the hiss coming from his mouth and the shiver coursing his body. You adored the way his eyes softened for a brief second, while looking right into yours and straight into your heart.

It was like a stroke to your ego, knowing it was you who he craved, who he needed. It was you, and it would continue to be you for a long time.

Jungkook finally pulled away from your neck, standing tall in front of you and guiding himself to slide up and down your folds, coating his cock with your juices. His tip was nudging at your clit every time he went up, making you gasp and shudder.

It was a torture, feeling him so close yet so far from your entrance, the worst part was that he enjoyed getting you like this; Jungkook loved toying with you. And it was so unfair how much the boy could make you crave his touch, but not give it to you.

“Just put it in, for fucks sake.” A frustrated groan abandoned your lips.

You couldn’t handle the teasing anymore. However, you didn’t think about the consequences of your words and how bad it would end for you for demanding such a thing.

Jungkook stopped all of his movements, slowly drifting his gaze up, to look right into your eyes. His gaze darkened, making you recoil in your place, while your legs started to close in anticipation of his next move.

Jeon moved to get close to your ear and whisper, “I’m gonna let it slide just because I’m as eager as you to fuck you dumb, but be careful with what you say, princess.” Slowly, he pulled away, to then harshly open your legs and slap your clit with his cock. “Turn around.” He ordered.

It took you a few seconds to register his words in your brain, but finally you did as told, albeit reluctantly, because you wanted to see and feel him from up close while he fucked you into oblivion.

“Don’t turn your face.” He caught you trying to look over your shoulder, guiding your head to look right into the pillow.

“But I wanna see you.” You whined, not fighting him anymore.

“Shoulda thought about it, before acting like a brat.” A slap was delivered to your ass cheek, making you flinch and whimper. “And be grateful I’m being nice enough to fuck you, despiste your nasty attitude.”

Jungkook positioned himself with your entrance, anticipating the tight grip of your warm walls.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quietly, in an attempt to make him relent and change positions.

“Too late for that, baby.” He chuckled while thrusting all the way into your tight cunt, not giving you time to argue any longer. “Fuck, this is heaven.” His head lolled back, placing both of his hands at each side of your hips to guide your movements.

“Oh my fucking god!” You exclaimed, feeling his veiny cock reach every crook of your insides.

Moans and whimpers were falling from your lips uncontrollably, due to how good Jungkook’s dick felt. He hasn’t moved yet since he thrusted in, but the sensation alone of being filled to the brim with his length was enough to make you see stars.

“Mo-Move.” You stuttered, trying to bounce back and create the much needed friction. “Please, move!”

Jungkook could only smirk, enjoying how vulnerable you were at the moment, completely at his mercy. He controlled your body and pleasure perfectly, knowing the spots and touches that would get you shuddering in pure bliss.

“Now you remember your manners, doll?” He grunted, slowly retrieving from inside your pussy, all the way out until your walls could only wrap around the tip. “How convenient.”

You wanted to argue and clap back, but it was impossible to form a coherent thought while being tortured like that. Jungkook didn’t care that he was also stopping himself from feeling the ridiculously amazing sensation of fucking into you, as long as he could teach you a lesson and make you regret your words and actions.

“Please, please, please.” You cried out, trying to move, but giving up after the tall man stopped you with a harsh smack. “Jungkook…”

The way you said his name made the guy feel some type of way, but still not enough to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You gotta ask me nicely, princess, and I might give it to you.”

He wanted you to ask nicely and ask nicely is what you did; gathering enough strength to softly utter the words, you tried to clear your throat to finally speak.

“Please, Kook, can you fuck me so good until I forget my name?” Such a sweet tone for such a lewd request. “I need you to fill me up with your cock, please.”

The tattooed guy leaned down, wrapping one of his strong arms around your neck while dipping down to whisper in your ear.

“Mmm, you sound so fucking pretty when you beg for me like that.” His gentle lips kissed up and down your jaw. “You did good, baby. I think you finally deserve it.”

Without previous warning, Jungkook thrusted all the way in again, filling you up to the brim, however, this time he didn’t torture you with a slow pace or any sort of teasing. Jeon didn’t waste a second longer and commenced to rapidly pound into you, until you could only whine and whimper.

His arm wrapped around your neck was slightly obstaculazing your breathing, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It felt immensely good to be fucked nice and hard while every single inch of Jungkook’s body was engulfing you.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, baby.” He moaned. “Clenching on my cock, so good.”

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to rub your clit, making you so sensitive and causing even more moans to fall from your lips.

“Sh-shit, oh god!” You exclaimed with a trembling voice. “So big… so deep.”

A chuckle rumbled from Jungkook’s chest. He has always loved how dirty you would get for him, speaking nonsense about his size and how good he fucks you. It was truly an ego boost.

“Yeah? You like how deep I go, baby?” He panted, due to all the effort he was putting into destroying you with his cock. “You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

You could only nod, it was hard to form a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Look at you,” he laughed. “You can’t even talk.”

You couldn’t protest, couldn’t even move. The only thing you could do was relax and allow your body to enjoy the way Jungkook was so avidly thrusting into you. Your arms and legs were starting to give up, feeling too tired to keep your body up; you just wanted to lay down.

Jungkook could feel your exhaustion, and so he quickly unwrapped his arm from your neck, to then turn you around and get you in a comfortable position, all of this while still fucking you senseless.

“There you go, better?” He asked, genuinely concerned about your wellbeing.

“Mhm.” You hummed, closing your eyes while your hands fisted the sheets. “Don’t stop…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the way your walks were clenching on him. Your pussy felt heavenly, so warm and so tight only for his cock. He knew he had already ruined you for any other man you could possibly meet in your life —not like he’s gonna let that happen, anyway—, and he loved that fact. The dark-haired boy enjoyed how you would only crave him, need him, beg just for him. This side of you, no one knew, he was sure that not even your past boyfriends got to see you like this. So free, so dirty, so beautiful and tempting. It was only him, and Jungkook could only wish it continued to be like that for a long time.

Amidst Jungkook’s wandering thoughts, he didn’t realize you had opened your eyes once again, looking right into his own, with such a fierce stare. Your hands started a slow trip from his thighs up to his chest, caressing his honeyed skin which was glistening with sweat; shining just right under the moonlight. Your nails softly scratched his flesh, making the boy tremble under your touch and lean into your hands to feel more of you. It was getting to that point where he no longer held power or willingness to be dominant. Jeon was starting to lose himself in you, in the way your cunt was wrapped around his cock, in the way his length would poke your stomach because of how deep he was; in the way your mouth was softly calling for him, accompanied by obscene noises that he only loved hearing if the came from you.

“You look so fucking pretty, Y/n.” The lack of a pet name sent a warm hug to your heart. You knew he was being serious; no teasing, no mocking. Jungkook was speaking from his heart, completely enamored with the view of you; panting underneath him while your body welcomed his embrace so perfectly. “I could never get tired of looking at you, my pretty baby.”

There were not enough words in the English language that could help you express how grateful you were for having a man like Jungkook in your life. But perhaps there was no need, since you knew that showing it was always more effective than saying it.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to mesh his lips with yours. His swollen lips moved slowly and gently, a stark contrast to the way he was fucking you. His cock was wildly ramming into you, while his lips were softly caressing yours. His tongue quickly made its way inside your mouth, starting a fight with your own to assert dominance, nonetheless, it was futile, that fight was already won by him and you could only back down and enjoy his touch.

“I’m so close.” You moaned, wrapping both of your legs around his waist to make him go even deeper. “I need to— fuck, I need to cum.”

Jungkook shook his head, heavily breathing while gathering his thoughts to talk properly. The feeling of it all was making him feel dizzy.

“Just… Just wait a bit longer.” He ordered you.

You groaned, fluttering your eyes shut while trying your best to hold it until he told you to let go. It became a torture once again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to wait for too long, especially with the change in pace and how deep his cock was reaching. His tip was nudging at that sweet spot of yours, making your whole body stutter and whine so perfectly that it made Jungkook grunt into your neck.

“I’m almost there.” He announced, manically pounding into you. “Just a bit more, princess.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I can wait… anymore.” You cried out, fisting his hair while your hips were desperately moving on their own volition, searching for some sweet release. “I’m gonna cum.”

It was not a warning anymore, it was a fact. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, making your body tremble with the waves of your awaited release. Rather than holding yourself back, you finally let go, enjoying the sensations and pleasure your orgasm brought with itself.

Jungkook hissed at the way your pussy clenched on his dick, making it almost impossible for him to keep moving.

“Oh, fuck.” He cursed, looking down at where your bodies were joined, feeling a bit lightheaded from how good it felt. Your cum was coating his cock, making it shine so perfectly. “That’s my good girl, make a mess on my dick, come on.”

His encouraging words only made it even difficult for you to come down from your high, but the boy couldn’t care any less. Jungkook rejoiced in the feeling of pride for making you feel that way, to make you so vulnerable and weak that the intensity of your release would make you go dumb and turn you into a babbling mess. Not a single thought was behind those beautiful eyes of yours at that precise moment, and Jeon loved how lost you looked, reaching out in need of his comforting touch to ground yourself after such intense orgasm.

Your hands found his, intertwining your fingers to form a hard grip.

Jungkook kept fucking into you, desperately searching for his own release, not stopping for even a second to catch his breath. He needed to cum and needed it now.

“Can I cum inside you?” Jeon was so quick to ask when he felt his orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach. “Please… I wanna fill you up.”

It was such a different side of him. The whiny and needy side of him you loved so much. His begging got you weak in the knees and made your stomach flutter with adoration.

You nodded, gently caressing his face while kissing his lips once again.

“Look at me, please.” Jungkook begged so sweetly. “Keep your eyes on me, I need to see you.”

“Let go for me, baby.” You smiled up at him, staring right into his eyes, while noises full of passion echoed through the room.

His whiny moans rang in your ears, making you feel fuzzy inside.

“Fuck, so good.” He moaned, resting his forehead on yours, his eyes never looking away. “I love you, Y/n. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Kook.” You said, breathlessly, feeling his warm cum filling your already sore pussy. “Just like that, so good.”

Jungkook kept rocking into you until his legs couldn’t hold him up and he ended up crashing into you. His strong arms slowly wrapped themselves around your frame, keeping you close and safe. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, with his hot breath hitting against your skin. A stream of incoherent curses were coming out his mouth, making you giggle. Neither of you dared to speak for at least five minutes, silently deciding to enjoy each other while recovering from each of your intense orgasms.

It truly felt like heaven on earth, whether it was because of how long you two have been apart, or because of Jungkook’s amazing skills; whatever it was you felt amazing and finally complete. The missing piece of the puzzle was finally here, making your life ten times better and brighter.

Jungkook was the first one to break the silence, with his babbling and groaning.

“What was that?” You asked him to repeat himself.

“I said…” He sighed, pulling away from your neck. “I’m fucking spent.”

“Me too.” You giggled. “But it was worth it.”

“Damn right it was.”

Jungkook finally pulled out, watching his cum slowly flow out from your cunt. Two of his fingers gathered the liquid coming out of you and pushed it back inside, making you gasp in surprise.

“We can’t afford to waste any drop now, can we?” He smirked at you while his fingers danced slowly inside you. “You always feel so warm, baby, no wonder why I love your pussy so much.”

After a few seconds, Jungkook retrieved his fingers from inside of you and wrapped his pink lips around them, liking every drop of both of your cums.

“So sweet.”

A part of you wanted to push him to lay down and ride him until your legs couldn’t keep you still, but you were so tired and exhausted that even the idea of putting any effort into making Jungkook lay down made you groan.

“Come here, baby.” Jeon wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, making your head rest on his firm chest. “Let’s rest for a bit before I fuck you again.”

You hit him softly in his stomach, causing both of you to giggle.

“Just how much stamina you think I have?” You asked.

“Not so much, to be honest.” He joked. “But it’s bold of you to assume I would make you work for it a second time. I’m not that mean, baby.”

“Yeah, that’s what you want me to think.”

You looked up at him, only to realize Jungkook was already staring at you. His doe eyes were looking right into your own, making their easy way into your heart. Jungkook had a way to always make you feel special whenever he looked at you. He did it back when you two were nothing more than a quick fuck, and he did it now when your souls were finally intertwined.

“I meant it.” He started saying. “I really love you, Y/n.”

“I know, Kook.” You assured him. “And I love you too, just as much.”

A soft kiss was delivered to your forehead. “I just wanted to make it clear. I spent too much time hiding my real feelings that I’m scared you’ll get the wrong idea and feel like I’m not being honest enough.”

Your hand flew right up to rest on his cheek, caressing his cheekbone tenderly.

“I understand the sentiment, but there’s no need to hide from each other anymore. I can feel your love now, Jungkook, and it’s one of the most amazing sensations I’ve ever had.”

Your words helped the boy to feel at ease. Jungkook was on high alert for any discomfort he might cause you unwillingly; he feared you would simply leave his side if he such as said that your hands were starting to get cold. That kind of feeling was something you didn’t want the boy to experience and you were more than happy to reassure him over and over again that what he felt was not only reciprocated but it was also enough for the both of you.

“Let’s sleep a little bit, I’m too tired to even talk.” You snuggled into his side, hiding your face in the crook of his face while your arms wrapped around his torso.

Jungkook smiled fondly, looking down at your already sleepy figure.

“Rest well, princess.”

Taglist 🏷️

@aphrwodite, @r1r111, @cholychi, @artificialsuicid, @tatamicc

#jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jk x reader #jk x you #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #🥢town originals!#🥢.townsmut!#[su&l!jk]#[shut up ‘n listen fic!]

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prettygiri222 · 1 year ago

Text

Wax

Summary: You tell your boyfriend you got waxed by a man…

Eren x Black Fem Reader SMUT

"Eren!" you called out as you entered his room. he looked up at you with his low red eyes making your heart skip a beat. you were already regretting your decision but you were going to power through. you gave him a little twirl, "notice anything different?"

you saw a trend on TikTok where girls would tell their boyfriends they got a wax done and you wanted to try it. you hesitated knowing Eren he could flip but your friends convinced you to do it.

Eren's eyes trailed over your body stopping at your ass that hung out of your miniskirt. "that ass getting fatter ma? shittt i've been feeding you good." he said as he licked his lips before making eye contact.

you turned around to look at it in the mirror. "i've been hitting the gym with Mikasa and Annie. i ain't even noticed the gains."

"cmere lemme touch it." Eren took a hit off his blunt motioning for you to come sit on his lap. if you didn't actually get a wax today you would've sat on something else. but it was now or never.

you walked over to Eren not missing the way his eyes watched as you purposely swayed your hips. "no, I got waxed." you said placing your foot on his lap.

"you’re so smooth." Eren started rubbing all up on your leg. "everywhere?" he asked as he trailed his hand up higher looking you in the eye.

"baby oil and cocoa butter, love." you said before giving him a nod. a smile graced Eren's lips as he pulled you down so you were straddling him.

"we can't do anything for at least 24 hrs…" you whined out onto his shoulder. "but that's not the point." you said as you shot up. you moved to the bed to create some space between you two, Eren rolled his eyes.

he picked up his phone but signaled to you that he was still listening.

"so I went to get a brazilian today and my regular lady wasn't there so they gave me someone else and honestly, i like them a bit more. they were getting all in there, like really in there and it didn't hurt as much. plus the guy was so ni-" Eren's head shot up.

"hold on ma, did you just say a 'guy?'" he put down his phone and looked into your wide eyes with his red ones.

"y-yea he did a great job…" the wall behind Eren suddenly became very interesting to look at.

"nah, i don't think i'm hearing you right." Eren sat up in his chair with his jaw clenched. "a man waxed you?”

"yes."

"you let a man touch you down there? see you naked."

"it's his job Eren."

"nah you pissing me off right now ma. you let another man touch your pussy and you telling me you're fine with it?" eren moved so he could look deep into your eyes causing you to flinch. you could see his anger building up and it frightened you.

he was always so quick to anger, especially around Jean, you can't say how many times they got physical. but he's never yelled at you much less put his hands on you but you didn't know what he would do now. he was unsettlingly quiet. you only nodded afraid you would get on your knees and beg him for forgiveness but a small part of you wanted to push him even further.

Eren surprised you as he started laughing, he rubbed his tattooed hand all over his face looking at you through his fingers. "you expect me to believe you let a man wax when you still get so shy when I say 'pussy'."

you looked away from him, if your skin was any lighter he would've been able to see you blush. "well he said I had the prettiest 'pussy' he ever saw. gave me his number to hit him up if my boyfriend didn't satisfy me enough." you were shy but you weren’t a pushover.

Eren took a big hit off his blunt before blowing the smoke in your face."ass up, face down ma." you quickly regretted your words.

"Eren wait-"

“ass up. face down. now!" Eren's never talked to you like that, he was always so sweet and nice to you. but right now he was so demanding, it was kinda hot.

you quickly moved to position, making sure your back had a nice arch in it before looking back at Eren with a pout. "Eren we can't…"

"mmhm." he mumbled ignoring your eyes. he pushed up your skirt and delivered a slap to your clothed heat.

"Eren!" you cried out in shock, you shoved your face into the sheets in embarrassment. you've never done this before. you and Eren were vanilla so far because you were a virgin up till a few weeks ago. this was something new and you kinda liked it.

"head up ma, you had a lot to say right? said you'd fuck your waxer cause i wasn't good enough?" he said grabbing your butterfly locs. they were about a week old so they weren't as tight but his grip still hurt. but you were coming to understand that you liked a little bit of pain. "lemme hear it."

eren planted a firm slap against your ass. "ah! It hurts!” Eren gave you another hard slap causing you to jerk forward. you heard him kiss his teeth before you were pulled down to the end of the bed.

“this not gon work.” he said as he maneuvered you so you were bent over his lap. “you keep lying to me, ‘s like you trying to get me mad on purpose ma. you like it when I’m angry?” Eren asked as he delivered another slap to your bare ass. your dark skin was starting to bruise.

how’d he know? you weren’t that bad of a liar. “i was the one who set up and paid for your appointments ma, they would’ve told me if there was a change.” oh, right. you brought your hands to cover your face in embarrassment.

“m sorry” you whispered.

“if you really got waxed by a man, i can’t tell you what would’ve happened.” Eren let out a bitter laugh looking at his dresser. it brought your attention to the gun Eren kept tucked in his pants when he went out. he always placed it in his top draw when he came home not wanting you to see it but you knew about it. it made you shiver thinking about him using it on someone. “but don’t worry you’ll be sorry. count to 10.”

“10 wha- ow!” Eren raised his hand high and brought it down on your ass making you jump. you reached back to grab his hand but he just slapped it away

“you run, lose count or complain and you start over from one.” he spanked you again watching as your ass rippled. you let out whine, you weren’t used to Eren being so mean to you but you were soaked. each slap sent a new wave of tingles to your core.

“how many are we at now baby?” Eren asked in that sweet voice he always spoke to you in.

“9.” you sobbed out. you don’t even know when you started crying and whether it was from the pain or the neglect of your core.

“think you can take one more?” despite being so mad at you it made your heart swell at how nice he was still being. he messaged your ass while waiting for the answer.

“yea…” he delivered one more slap but he directed it toward your clothed heat, fingers coming in contact with your clit, “ohhh fuckkk!” your body started to convulse as you felt pure bliss.

“fuck ma… did you just come from me spanking you?” Eren breathlessly asked as he placed you beside him, you winced at the contact. you nodded as you hid your face in his shoulder. “that’s my good girl.”

#aot x black reader #x black reader #anime smut #aot smut #aot x reader #aot #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren aot #eren smut #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #black y/n #black reader smut

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sceletaflores · 21 days ago

Text

it’s the easiest thing (just love me and eat me)

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 6.1k

anon says: nat pls speak on sub!logan...people are hating on the sub!logan agenda and someone needs to show them that they're wrong and it can be done cuz if anyone can convince them it's you mommy!

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, crimson! again! she's back!, slight angst, swearing, violence, light gore, somewhat dark content, religious symbolism? (idk this one got weird babes), established relationship, lowkey a toxic relationship but you didn't hear that from me, sub!logan-ish, handjob, p in v, slow sex turned rough, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, pain kink, scent kink, blood play, blood...eating (drinking? idk), porn with a tiny bit of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: anon i'm so sorry this took me so long...i hope it was worth the wait! it started as a short smutty drabble that somehow turned into…this? idk it got out of hand so fast. i am a proud member of the sub!logan nation but that's mostly because i think that ALL men have the potential for sub vibes like doesn't matter who he is if i want to fuck him he's probably a little subby. special shout out to my baby boo and fellow sub!logan truther @avocado-writing <3 tysm for sharing anon! xoxo mwah.

dividers by icon @saradika-graphics!

psst! want more logan and crimson? here's the to the bone au masterlist!

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

The team had a big scare earlier in the day.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, bust a mutant trafficking ring in Albany. You do assignments like these every week, and as sick as it sounds, it’s almost routine.

But this one was different. It was an ambush, and you were compromised.

Only humans, but they were smart. Waited until the team split up to attack. They had tech, things you'd never seen before.

Big guns loaded with tiny darts full of an ominous red liquid.

It was your fault really. You didn't clear your surroundings, so focused on getting to the kids that you let yourself get sloppy.

The tiny sting in your back barely registered, you don't think you would have even noticed if it didn't kick in so fast.

You'd never felt anything like it before in your life.

It didn't hurt. The rush of pain you braced yourself for never coming.

The sensation was strange—like your body was shutting down, piece by piece. You fell to your knees, shaky legs folding under you in less than a second.

You felt empty, wrong. An eerie silence trickling in to fill your insides.

Panic bubbled beneath your skin, but you were too numb to feel it. Trapped in the mounting weight of your limbs, the slow blink of your eyes, the shortness of breath despite hardly moving.

Your hand slipped across the gritty cement, reaching for support that wasn't there.

That was when you saw it, the shock of it was enough for your heart to drop. Your skin, blanched and sallow, the veins in your arms black and spreading like spilled ink.

You tried to fight it, tried to will your body to move, to react, to do something. You had to get up. You had to. The kids.

As hard as you willed yourself, there was nothing. It was like your body wasn't your own, like it had become something completely foreign.

You could barely make out the tiny voices calling for you. Pleading, frantic yelps of your name fading into a dull hum as everything went hazy. The edges of your vision blurring into a narrow tunnel.

He stepped in front of you, the same one who shot you. A cynical grin on his face and collar in his hand. You'd seen collars like it before, used on mutants to muzzle their abilities, to weaken them.

You tried, fingers barely twitching by your. Nothing. Just another shock of that cold, unfamiliar feeling shooting through your body.

“Got a big one, boss.” The man boasted into a comm strapped to his wrist, his voice sharp and grating. He took a single step towards you, smug grin still stretched across his face. “Yeah, real nice lookin' one too. She'll sell for—“

A muddy roar pulsed through the molasses filled haze of your ears, six claws flying through the air to embed themselves on either side of the man's skull with a wet, stomach-churning sound.

The collar dropped from his slackened grip with a dull bang, shattering into different pieces that slid across the floor haphazardly. A mess of wires and metal.

There were rushed footsteps before he dropped to his knees in front of you, his torso bathed in a dull glow from the overhead lights yellow shine.

There was blood splattered across the side of his face, slicking the front of his suit enough to reflect light off the leather.

Logan, perched in front of you like an angel.

Not one with a golden halo and a harp, but a indescribable mess of eyes and wings looming over you calling 'be not afraid'.

You'd never seen him so shaken before. All wide-eyed and pale as he checked you over for any major injuries. His breath coming in short bursts, hands frantic and shaky as they skated along your body for the viscosity of blood or uneven shift of a break.

He refused to let you even try and walk on your own, swept you off the floor and cradled your trembling body to his chest as he called for help. The beat of his heart was fast beneath your cheek, strong enough that you could feel it even through the thick leather of his suit.

You buried your face deeper in the crook of his neck, the pit in your stomach barely warmed by the feel of him. His scent is strongest there, so much so that in a room full of spilled blood, you could only smell him.

He was careless stepping over clawed up bodies littering the floor like a messy maze of twitching limbs and entrails. You didn't even know there was more than one guard in the room.

The evidence of his love for you, of his devotion, oozing red on the concrete.

Logan didn't even give the carnage a sideways glance as he raced you outside, back to the jet.

Trusting Scott and Jean to take over getting the kids out. The unsteady murmurs he pressed to the top of your head the last thing you heard before there was nothing.

You woke up six hours later.

The sterile hum of medical equipment was the first thing you heard. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils, and the faint pressure of a needle in your arm confirmed that you were hooked up to an IV.

Your muscles felt heavy, like someone had filled them with lead. But you were alive.

You could feel your body working overtime, fixing itself. The sickening shift of your insides falling back into place.

It took a few more moments for you to realize you weren’t alone.

A low, familiar rumble caught your attention. You turned your head to see Logan slumped in a chair by the bedside, his face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was mussed, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion.

He looked different, smaller, as though the weight of what happened was pressing down on him, making him fold in on himself.

You’d seen him bloody, beaten, on the verge of death, but you’d never seen him like this–completely and utterly human.

Your throat was too dry to speak, but a small sound escaped you, and Logan's head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in a heartbeat, he was at your side, his large hands hovering over you, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid you’d shatter under his fingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. His voice was hoarse, cracked with a mixture of relief and something else, something deeper. His eyes darted over your face, your arms, as if memorizing every detail just to make sure you were real.

“I'm sorry,” you managed, your voice barely more than a rasp.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed, the lines in his forehead deepening. "What the hell are you apologizing for?" His voice was gruff, but there was a tenderness beneath it. A gentleness he only reserved for you.

Your lips cracked into a weak smile. "It was my fault. I messed up."

A growl rumbled low in his chest, and you could feel the anger simmering just beneath his skin, not at you but at the situation, at whoever had dared to hurt you.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like gravel. “Don't start, none of this is on you.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What matters is you’re here.”

The reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you.

Logan’s thumb traced the line of your jaw, his touch sending a spark of warmth through your veins. “When I saw you on the floor like that…I thought—” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your fingers twitched slightly, managing to catch his wrist, squeezing it with what little strength you had. “I’m right here,” you said softly, voice clearer than before. “I’m okay.”

Logan’s gaze softened again as he looked down at your hand, his rough exterior cracking just a little more. He gently pried your fingers from his wrist and pressed your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a breathless huff. “Didn’t mean to.”

He shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You never do.”

You were fine an hour later.

The color of your skin had returned, glossy and like new. The hollow emptiness inside of you long gone. Your abilities passed every test Charles threw your way with flying colors.

Fully recovered and finally excused from the med-bay after Hank and Jean checked you over one last time, you were given your strict marching orders in the form of extra fluids and bed rest, no matter how much you argued that you were fine.

Your health was the last thing on your mind, just a distant phantom ache each time your eyes would find Logan.

He was still shaken up, even after all the reassurance from Charles and Hank. He kept close the rest of the day, hovering, his presence more protective than usual, but he didn’t talk much.

You could see it in the way he moved, slower, less sure, like he was carrying around something too heavy to shake off. It lingered in the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands flexed as though still looking for something to fight, to protect you from.

It wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

You hated seeing him like this, burdened by a guilt he didn’t deserve.

It gnawed at you, that heaviness. The way he started to shut down, to close himself off in the face of fear. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

After seeing him like that, bed rest was the last thing on your mind.

You knew Logan. Knew what he needed when his thoughts got tangled up like this, dragging him under. He wasn't the type to sit and talk through it, not easily anyway.

And even though you know he’d never ask for it himself, you knew what he needed—to be reminded, physically, that you were still here, still his.

Later that night, when the mansion had quieted and the others were tucked away in their rooms, you found him exactly where you thought you’d find him—in the room you shared, sitting on the edge of the bed. The yellow light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, the tension in his jaw still there.

A frown tugged the corners of your mouth as you moved towards him, catching his attention with the rustle of the sheets as you sat next to him.

“Logan,” you say softly, breaking the stillness. He doesn't respond, only the slightest twitch in his shoulders indicating he even heard you. “Hey,” you try again, your voice a little firmer this time.

He turns his head just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, the crease between his brows, weariness etched into his features.

But he still doesn't speak.

You shift, moving closer until your fingers brush his arm, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt. “Look at me,” you whisper, and finally, his gaze lifts to meet yours, guarded and pained. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Logan shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run it through his already messy hair. “You could’ve died,” he bites out, tone rough and low. “We should've never fuckin' split up. I should’ve been there faster, sooner. I should’ve–”

“Logan.” Your voice cut through his, sharper than you meant it to. You catch his hand in yours, thumb brushing against the pulse point of his wrist. “You saved me, I’m not going anywhere. I need you to hear that.”

He meets your gaze then, eyes dark with something vulnerable, something raw. He nods weakly, like he only half-believes it. You can still see the hesitation swirling through his eyes, the reluctance in the stiffness of his muscles against yours.

He needs something more than words, something to bring him back to you.

With that, you move to straddle his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His body stiffens under yours, his breath hitching slightly as his hands fall to your waist almost instinctively.

“Hold on,” Logan starts, tone hesitant and hands light as they hover over your hips like he’s still scared to touch you. “You heard what Hank said–”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, finality lacing your tone and leaving no room for argument. You reach down, taking his hand in yours and bringing it up to press flat directly over your heart. The very same way he did your first night together. "Can you feel me?”

The question hangs between you, soft but weighted with purpose.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat, fingers splaying wider across your chest. The heat of his palm sinks through to your skin, lighting a fire in you.

The steady beat of your heart under his touch is an undeniable reminder–alive, strong, with him. You can feel him relax, just a touch.

The tension in his muscles breaking down beneath you piece by piece as the rhythm grounds him, helps to pull him out of his spiral.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, barely audible. His eyes drop to where his hand rests, his thumb absently grazing the space just above your sternum. “I feel you.”

“Then trust it,” you murmur. “Trust me.”

A deep, slow breath escapes him, and something in his eyes softens just enough. You lean closer, your fingers trailing up his arms, over his shoulders, until they thread into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You smile softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch like a dog starved of attention from its master. His grip on your waist finally tightens, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to feel that edge of need—the need to let go.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day,” you murmur, scratching your nails along his scalp softly. “Now let me take care of you.”

You feel him shudder, a weak groan escaping from his slack lips. His hazy eyes search your face, pupils blown out and seeping into the warm hazel color like an oil spill over a lake.

You tilt your head, lips grazing the stubble on his jawline, moving slowly, deliberately, until you can capture his mouth in a kiss.

It’s soft at first, gentle, but you feel him melt into it, the sharp edge of his restraint crumbling as he kisses you back with a kind of hunger that fuels you.

Logan’s hands slide up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as you take control, deepening the kiss, coaxing him further into the moment.

His mouth is warm and wet and urgent against yours, the scrape of his teeth along your bottom lip sends a thrill down your spine.

His lips move over yours with a reverence that makes your chest tighten, as if each slick glide of your lips together is an apology, a promise, and a plea all rolled into one.

But you don’t want his apologies. You want his surrender.

His breath stutters in his chest when your fingers twist in his hair, tugging just enough to remind him who’s in charge tonight.

When your hand finds his chest, pushing him down gently, he goes without protest. His eyes never leave yours as he settles against the pillows, following your every movement as you crawl closer.

Climbing over him to perch on top of his thighs, you waste no time in reaching for the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on it in a silent question. Logan’s breath comes in shallow puffs as he nods, fingers twitching on your hips.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls under the tips of your fingers, the sharp intake of air when your hands ghost across the skin of his lower stomach as you lift his shirt up and over his head.

You toss it over your shoulder carelessly, it lands with a muted thump somewhere behind you, leaving his chest bare. His muscles taut and rippling as he forces himself to stay still, the dim light plays across his skin, highlighting the contours along his torso.

You take a moment to just admire him, trailing your fingers along the familiar planes of his skin. Your touch is feather light, tracing over the spots that should be littered in scars.

The place in his shoulder where he got shot two weeks back, or where the loose shrapnel that embedded itself in his side on the last mission should be, or the skin where his shoulder meets his neck after you dug your teeth into it hard enough to bleed a few nights ago.

The way his body responds to you makes your pulse quicken—the way he finally relaxes completely under your touch, melting into the mattress.

You continue your path down, fingers slipping through the ridges of his abs, scratching your nails through the dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his bottoms teasingly. The muscles of his stomach jump under your touch, the power of his need thrumming beneath your touch.

You drag your hand over the hard length of him, his cock thick and hot as it twitches beneath your fingers. There’s a sharp hiss bleeding through grit teeth as his hips twitch up off the mattress ever so slightly.

You lean forward, hiding a small smirk in the crook of his neck. “Logan,” you whisper, voice dripping with intent, “I want you to beg for it.”

A deep, guttural growl rumbles through his chest. It shakes your body like thunder, finding a home between your thighs. Logan’s head falls back against the pillows, exposing the tan column of his throat to your hungry gaze.

It’s almost immediate, your reaction, your bodies reaction. The pulse of your blood starts to simmer with that telltale heat, slowly bubbling beneath your skin in anticipation.

Your gaze traces along where the vein of his jugular presses against his skin enticingly, barely suppressing a full body shiver at the sight.

You slip your index and middle finger beneath his waistband, brushing against his hard cock with barely any pressure. His hips buck up again, seeking more friction, but you pull back slightly, making him chase it.

“I said beg, Logan,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, a sharp edge to it now. Your free hand comes up, gripping his jaw tightly, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes, dark and blown wide with lust, meet yours, and you can see the war raging inside him—the urge to dominate, to take control—but then he’s giving in to you, surrendering so beautifully.

“Goddamn,” he rasps quietly, his voice rough, broken. It’s barely a word, more of a growl torn from his throat. He bites it out, quiet and foreign sounding coming from his tongue. “Please, I need—”

“Good boy,” you purr, and finally, drag the soaked fabric of his bottoms down. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach lewdly.

You moan softly, deftly wrapping your fist around him loosely. Logan groans, you swear you can hear his teeth grind together at the first feeling of your touch where he wants it most.

He’s scalding to the touch, velvety skin throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Rock-hard and flushed an angry red, darkening even more the closer you get to the tip.

You keep the pace of your strokes tortuously slow, letting him feel every movement, teasing him. It’s addictive, watching the way he starts to unravel beneath you at the slightest touch.

His legs kick out against the mattress minutely, hands falling from your hips to grip the sheets as hard as he can in a failing attempt to calm himself.

You lean down, slick lips brushing against his as you speak, your voice soft but commanding. “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you tonight, aren't you?”

Logan nods, his breath coming in quick pants, his sweaty chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes,” he chokes out, eyes brimming with need. “Fuck, do whatever you want, baby. I’m yours.”

The usual dominance he carries like a second skin has been peeled away, leaving him vulnerable, laid out beneath you, at your mercy.

Your hand speeds up, grip tightening as you twist your wrist over his leaking tip. Your knuckles shine with pre-come, slick from the gratuitous amount of wetness steadily drooling out.

“You’re being so good for me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice soft and laced with praise. “So good, letting me take care of you like this.”

His response is a loud moan, his hips arching up off the bed, but you’re quick to press them down with your free arm, your thighs tightening around him.

“Not yet,” you warn, strength on display as you stop his movements. “You’ll come when I say.”

A strangled sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s right there, teetering on the edge, but he’s holding on—for you.

“Poor thing,” you mumble, idly pressing your thumb into his slit, gathering the precome there to spread it along the flushed crown. “So hard, so needy for me.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Logan whines, his head tipping back against the pillows a second times, eyes squeezing shut tighten enough to wrinkle the skin around them.

You smile, your nails digging into his chest as you shift, positioning yourself above him. The heat between your legs is unbearable now, slick all along your inner thighs as it pools from your aching cunt, drenching the soft cotton of your panties.

So desperate to be stretched around Logan’s cock, to be filled the only way he can. You roll your hips forward, the hard jut of his cock sliding through the sticky mess of your panties.

“Shit, baby,” he groans, loud and hoarse. “Fuck, give it to me, I’m ready–”

You press your finger to his lips, silencing him as you hover over him. “Not yet,” you whisper, a wicked grin on your face as you slide your panties to the side and take him in your hand, letting the tip brush against your soaked entrance, still not giving him what he craves.

Your own patience is starting to run thin, but the sound of his begging is too good.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” you say, your voice sharp and commanding as you rub the tip of him along your cunt, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

He’s trembling beneath you, a soft whimper leaving his lips as you sink down slightly, barely letting him inside. "Please, darlin'," he groans, voice rough with need. "I need to feel you—need you so fuckin’ bad."

You finally give in, sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

His body jerks beneath you, a choked growl spilling from his lips as you take him in, inch by inch. You don’t stop until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls clenching around him as you settle into his lap.

The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat, the way he fills you completely.

You both groan at the same time, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you roll your hips, savoring the way he pulses inside you, how his entire body reacts to every little movement.

“God, you’re so big,” you whisper, your voice heavy with lust as you look down at where your bodies meet. “You gonna be a good boy and let me ride you?”

“Fuck,” he grits, voice like gravel crunching underfoot.

His hands slide up your back, desperate and needy as they cradle the back of your head softly. “I’d kill them all,” he pants, lips messily searching for your own, desperate for more frantic kisses. “Fuckin’ all of them, all for you.”

You moan loud and unabashed, eyes screwing shut as your nails rake down his chest hard enough to break the skin. The smell of his blood breaks through the air, heady and sharp. He throws his head back, a broken gasp dragged out of him as his hips speed up.

You think back to the room in the warehouse, the floor slick with stray remains and viscera. Think back to him lifting you to his chest, of the blood spattered across his suit and face slipping against your own clammy skin.

Flashes of Logan running to you like a loyal livestock dog, covered in the blood of any wolf that dares attack his precious sheep. Staining the white of your wool red with the righteous wrath of his sacrifice.

You roll your hips faster, bouncing with enough force to have you crying out. The tight suction of your walls pulling him as deep as he can get at this angle.

The coarse hair along his stomach drags against your throbbing clit, making white hot sparks of pleasure zing up your spine to light up each vertebrae.

Logan presses his forehead to your chest, hot breath puffing out over your sweaty neck. You tilt your head to the side almost subconsciously, bearing more of yourself to him.

“Can’t hold back much longer,” he admits weakly, blunt nails digging into your skin sharp enough to sting. “Feels so good, so fuckin' good."

He trails off, face pinched with ecstasy as he gazes up at you. You smile, rolling your hips slowly, tiny figure eights that let you feel every inch of him pressing against your walls.

“You're not supposed to hold back," you whisper, your voice thick with need as you lean down, kissing along his jawline. "I want you to let go, Logan."

His eyes snap open, the hazel gone wild and desperate, and it’s like you can see the exact moment he breaks. The tiniest shred of self control finally crumbling under the weight of his instincts. With a low, feral growl, he surges up.

You’re on your back quicker than you can blink, stomach surging with it. You hardly have any time to react, Logan punching all the air out of your lungs as he sets a brutal pace.

The sudden intensity has you gasping, your body jolting as he takes over, fucking you like his life depends on it.

Each thrust is hard and deep, hitting the spot inside of you, over and over again until you’re a trembling mess above him, moaning his name, your nails digging into his chest.

Logan’s grip on you is ironclad, pulling you back onto him harder, faster, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he loses himself completely in the heat of your body.

"That's it," you pant, feeling the way your body tightens around him, the tension building deep inside you. "Fuck, Logan, just like that—"

He growls again, the sound vibrating through his chest as he slams into you harder, his pace relentless. You can feel the sweat slick between your bodies, hear the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies coming together as his control snaps completely.

“Mine,” he growls between thrusts, voice low and rough as he pounds into you, his eyes locked on yours, full of possessive need. "All fuckin’ mine."

Your body responds to his words, tightening around him as your orgasm builds, every nerve in your body on fire. "Yes," you gasp, your voice barely more than a broken moan as he hits that perfect spot again and again. "Yours—only yours."

Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand to your mouth, biting down on the pad of your thumb hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

The scent of iron fills the space between you, mixing with the musk of sex and sweat. Logan’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scent, his pupils dilating further, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You raise your thumb to his mouth, sliding it along his bottom lip to leave behind a thin trail of red. “Suck,” you whisper softly, pressing your thumb into his mouth ever so slightly.

And he does, without hesitation.

Logan’s lips part, and he pulls your thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the taste of your blood. The look in his eyes as he does sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

The pure devotion of the act thickening the air around you to coil the spring of pleasure winding in your lower stomach tighter.

You groan, your own restraint folding like a house of cards as you drag your nose down the column of his throat, stopping right at the base. You press a quick kiss over the rapid fluttering of his pulse before you bite down, hard.

Logan keens around your thumb, teeth digging into your skin roughly as his blood floods your mouth.

You get lost in it, the familiar taste of him seeping onto your tongue as his cock jerks and pulses in your clenching cunt. Getting lost in the way you can feel the rhythm of his heart against your lips, each strong beat sending more blood pumping out to leak along your taste buds.

You press your chest to his, not leaving an inch of space between you. It’s still not enough, it will never be enough.

You need more, so much more.

You want to encompass him completely, to be encompassed by him.

You want to dig your hands into his skin–to peel back each layer of flesh and fat and muscle, snap each of his ribs back so you can bury yourself in the cavity of his chest before you bend them back into place. Burrowing yourself deep enough inside him to watch him heal all around you, to watch his skin stitch itself back together.

It’s a sick feeling, the need to take and take until he has no more left to give. Sick and all consuming, lighting you up like the raging flames of a forest fire that destroys everything in its path.

When you finally pull your hand away from his mouth, he lets out a breathless moan, and you lean down to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss.

The coppery tang of your blood lingers between you, mixing with Logan’s as your teeth clash together violently, as you devour him, pouring every ounce of your control into the kiss.

You press your palm to his chest, powers surging to life over his heart. You don't need to open your eyes to see what you leave behind, the red and blue pulse of his blood lighting up beneath his skin like the neon sign hanging outside his favorite bar.

Logan moans into your mouth, tongue dragging along the point of your canines. "Don't stop," he pleads, “Please, baby, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You can feel the energy coursing between you, a tangible thing that's threading itself between your fingers. It’s intoxicating, a connection deeper than flesh, a binding of souls fueled by blood and lust. You lean into the heat radiating from him, urging your energy to flow freely, wrapping it around his heart like a warm embrace.

“Logan,” you whisper breathily, breaking the kiss just enough to look into his wild, pleading eyes. “You feel that? You and me, we’re connected.”

“I feel it, honey,” he groans, bucking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper. “You’re everywhere. It’s all I can think about all the goddamn time, drives me fuckin’ crazy.” His words tumble from his lips, raw and unfiltered, sending another thrill of desire through you.

You whine, head tipping back to the ceiling. Drunk of the feeling of him, of his cock, of his blood on your teeth.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church.

There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of him like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship.

Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion.

The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips.

His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin.

The sound of your name falling from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered.

You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. His blood, mixing with yours on your tongue feels like a sacrament—an unholy communion.

The air between you crackles with heat, your bodies moving together in perfect sync, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan’s head tilts back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he claws at your hips, pulling you down harder, deeper.

“I’m close,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “Please—fuck—I need to—”

You reach up quickly, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “Look at me when you fuck me,” you demand, your voice sharp, dripping with authority. “I want you to watch me when you come.”

That’s all it takes.

Logan’s entire body goes taut, a strangled roar tearing from his throat as he buries himself inside you one last time, the force of his release crashing through him. The hot spray of his come floods your insides, drenching your walls in thick spurts of white.

His hands grip you so tightly you’re sure there’ll be bruises blooming later, but you don’t care. You wish they wouldn’t fade. You want them. You want to wear his mark, to feel the evidence of this moment lingering on your skin long after it’s over.

His hips don’t stop even as he comes, a sharp cry ripping its way from his throat as he keeps fucking you, pumping you full of him like he can’t stop.

When you feel him start to lose control like that, feel the frantic twitch of his cock inside you, you finally let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. The force of it rips a scream from your throat as you clench around him, your body spasming with the intensity of it.

Your abused cunt gushes around his cock to seep into the mattress, soaking both the sheets and his lower body all at once as you let out a weak mutter of his name.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged, uneven breathing between you as you both come down from the high. Logan collapses on the bed, arms circling your waist to drag you along with him. His cock stays inside of you, plugging you full of his come.

Your body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Logan is warm and grounding under you, soft and lax. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your cheek, and you press a soft kiss to the skin there, a silent reminder.

His hand comes up to thread through your hair, his touch gentle now, his body relaxed in a way that it wasn’t before.

“I love you,” he whispers against the crown of your head, his voice soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heartache.

You smile, soft and secretive in the valley of his pecs, “I love you too.”

It’s a quiet admission, the first time you’ve ever said that to each other with words. The first time you both felt the need to, because it’s nothing you didn’t already know.

Your blood dripping from his teeth lays the same claim over you as his come dripping down your thighs.

It means you're his, and he’s yours.

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