#nothing but skin and bone meets aus

[skeletonsfortea]

What if entire groups traveled to other universes? Like NSB to VBPS, and VBPS to I don't know, Underswap just to make things funny (Blue and Stretch being sent who knows where). How would they do?

Assuming they're swapping places with the current skeletons, rather than joining them?

In the case of NSB going to VBPS, they're probably just gonna hunker down and do their damnedest to get another human soul.

As for VBPS going to Underswap, they're freaked the hell out. First and foremost, they'd eat. Honestly, they're likely to just part ways and go live life far, far away from one another ;)

[wonlovie]

— RACING, BEATING.

You didn’t mean to show up to one of the most important meetings of your year completely hungover. No, in reality you would have preferred being sober when you met the man your father was marrying you off to. But how could you resist those dark eyes and plump lips that tempted you on your final night of freedom?

— starring. illegal-racer!heeseung x model!reader

— tags. arranged marriage!au but they kind of not really hate each other for like one scene, reader is touch starved af, smut [mild public sex (car, elevator), vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), face-fucking, establishment of a safeword but it's never used, degrading (use of whore and stupid bitch) [MINORS DNI]]

— word count. 11.9k

— notes. there was a whole other part to this but i kept rewriting it until i could not anymore 💀 if i do finally get it written the way i want to, i might release it as a part two to this 👀👀 lmk if u'd be interested!!

You were used to playing pretend. As the daughter of an influential CEO, you were born in the spotlight, never knowing what living without a camera pointed at you was like. By seven years old, you were a master at faking a smile. A gentle smile, never too broad because people would call you an overachiever but never too little, or you’d be caught up in unhappy scandals. 

By fifteen years old, your father had announced your title as the face of his company and your ‘normal’ life as you knew it was gone forever. You no longer had time for actual studies nor for the fruitless relationships you had gathered. Instead, you spent your hours practicing your runway walk and your model face. Almost every wall in your lofty house was lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, never allowing you for a second to forget how you looked to others.

Your father was never one to miss out on making money, priding himself on his cynical and opportunistic ways of life. If something could be monetized, he was always the first one to come up with a foolproof plan to capitalize on it. Which is why you weren’t surprised when he announced to you that you were to be married off to the heir of a big company whose name you saw almost everywhere. 

Years spent watching your peers grow up normally, studying hard and partying harder, left behind a bitter jealousy that you could never voice. For once, you wanted to feel normal. For once, you wanted to feel like your father’s daughter and not his employee. For once, you wanted to forget the world and experience true freedom. 

That was how you found yourself sitting on an uncomfortable barstool, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop with a glass of some mystery drink hanging from your fingertips. The dress you wore stuck to your skin, showing off more of your body than you were ever allowed to in public. There was a dull burn in your calves from the stilettos you wore, but you paid no mind to them as you sipped gingerly on the liquor.

Tomorrow, you would be meeting the man your father was giving you away to. You knew nothing about him other than the fact that he was one of your father’s business partner’s son. You silently tipped up your drink, a silent toast to your last night of freedom. Knocking your head back, you winced at the unfamiliar burn as you emptied the glass.

When you ungracefully dropped the empty glass onto the counter, red lips stained the rim. “Another, miss?” you vaguely heard the bartender ask. You nodded without thinking, eyes staring forward without focus. Your cheeks felt warm from the few drinks you’d had since you sat down. As the bartender poured you another drink, you allowed your gaze to drift, scanning the room in curiosity.

Red lights lit up the space, random spotlights moving about from the ceiling. The music played loud enough to leave a slight ringing in your ear, your bones vibrating to the beat. Hundreds of people flooded the floor, you noted. Some pairs danced against each other provocatively, intriguing you as you eyed a girl making out with a taller man over her shoulder. Some people danced alone, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize.

As you looked around, your eyes met a stranger’s from across the bar. He sat alone, unlike the many other patrons of the club, a half-emptied pint in front of him. From where you were, you could make out the details of his attire—a dark blazer that fit snugly over the expanse of his shoulders. He wore a silk button-up, rudely unbuttoned low, allowing you to see the curve of his collarbones down to the lines of his chest.

When your eyes flit up to glance at his face, he was already staring at you. His expression, which you can only describe as alluring, prompted you to suck your bottom lip under your teeth, gently biting at the skin. Dark eyes watched you from across the room, looking you up and down slowly before settling on your face. You watched carefully as a tongue flicked out to lick his pink lips before the corners pulled up into a smirk. He rose a brow at you, hair pushed back enough to let you see his silent beckon.

You mirrored his expression, taking a sip of your drink as you stared at him through the glass. The man held a hand up, showing off silver rings wrapped around his slender fingers that made you want to sin. Clearing your throat, you looked away and down at your drink, amber liquid sloshing around in the glass. Before you could even take another swig, a shot glass slid in front of you, its contents almost spilling out.

Looking up in confusion, you called over the bartender, who’d already turned his back to you. “Excuse me? I didn’t order a shot,” you yelled over the blaring music. The bartender glanced at you for a second before nodding his head in the direction of the man who, when you looked, was already gone. The bartender continued, already pouring a drink for another.

Knitting your brows together, you brought the shot glass up to your nose, scrunching it when the strong smell of vodka invaded your senses. A cough tickled your throat as you held the offending shot glass away. Your eyes danced over the many heads in the room, but the mystery man was nowhere in sight. Heaving a sigh, you tipped your head back, swallowing the bitter liquid as quickly as you could. Wincing slightly, you let out a breath as you placed the glass next to the other one.

“Atta’ girl,” a smooth voice crooned in your ear, tickling your skin and leaving behind goosebumps. A hand reached around, grazing the tops of your thighs as its owner spun your barstool around. Face to face with the man of the night, your breath hitched as you found yourself inches away from him. You wondered if he could hear your racing heartbeat over the pounding music.

Up close, you could see his lip ring, plump pink lips pushing against the silver as he peered down at you. His hand moved from the barstool to your waist, his warmth spreading over your skin like wildfire. His other hand leaned on the counter behind you, surrounding you in his essence. His attention was overwhelming as you caught his eyes glimpsing down at your lips before dropping to the curve of your breasts under your dress.

Your hands hovered over your lap, clenching and unclenching as you tried to figure out what to do with them. Keeping eye contact with you, the man leaned forward until he was a hair away, closer than any other man had been. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he spoke lowly, your ears just barely grabbing onto his words. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing stuck at the bar, hm?” 

You bit your lip, his eyes quickly darting down. “Just… enjoying the night,” you mumbled, resisting the urge to lean forward. The air in your lungs felt trapped as your mind filled with incoherent thoughts. 

The man tilted his head at you, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he bore his gaze into you. The hand on your waist pulled you forward until you were almost pressed against him, his thumb rubbing up and down over the fabric of your dress. “Didn’t seem like you were enjoying it,” he said, his breath fanning over your neck as he leaned to whisper in your ear. “I know how you can really start enjoying your night, sweetheart.”

When his lips brushed against your jugular, you had to stop yourself from throwing your head back, the simple touch sending you haywire. “Yeah?” your voice came out breathy, your hands finally settling to rest on his chest. Bent over you like this, his shirt rode lower than ever, letting you see his chiselled torso. You brushed a thumb over his skin, burning to the touch as he leaned back to look you in the eye. “How so?”

He smirked, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. He pulled you closer by the chin, using his thumb to pull at your bottom lip gently. Your heart raced as he came closer, his nose nudging your own as your eyes subconsciously started to close. “Just let me take care of you,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours. The cool metal of his lip ring sent a shiver down your spine, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him as his grin seemingly grew. “Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow the man out of the crowded club, guided by a hand on the wrist. With as many drinks as you had in you, it might’ve been worrying with the ease with which he was able to take you by the hand. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care as excitement bubbled in your lower abdomen. 

Even his back was attractive, all broad shoulders and straight lines. A few earrings hooped around his ears, glinting under the strobe lights. When he pulled you outside, the cool night air was starkly different from the hot temperature inside. Goosebumps rose on your bare arms, causing the man to glance back at you with a worried look. Not another word was said as he brought you to a car you’d never seen anyone actually drive around town.

It was a bold red colour, something that reminded you of a crimson fire. You blinked when he opened the passenger side door for you as it swung upwards. The car was low, and you felt a bit awkward climbing in with your stilettos, but the man waited patiently until you were inside before closing the door. You watched as he walked around the car to the driver’s side, the head-up display blinking on the windshield when he started the ignition.

“Wow,” you mumbled dumbly, easily getting comfortable on the leather seat. He spared you an amused look, one eyebrow raised, paired with a smug smile. Leaning over, your breath hitched as he pulled the seatbelt over you, the click of its buckle cutting through the silence. He stayed there for a moment, hovering over you with eyes so intense you felt your mouth dry out. 

“So fucking pretty,” he whispered, finally leaning in to kiss you. The kiss was aggressive, his calloused hand cupping your face and forcing you closer. Your teeth clashed as he licked into your mouth, but the searing feeling in your stomach made it impossible for you to care. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, eliciting a moan as his hand wandered down to your outer thigh. His fingers danced across your skin, pushing your skirt up until your black lace panties were exposed. 

You threw your head back as he pressed his thumb against your folds, feeling how wet you’d gotten over the course of your earlier conversation. He breathed harshly, attaching his lips to your neck as he grazed a finger up and down your clothed cunt. You had no doubt that by morning, you would be painted with bruises. The thought was exciting to you.

He slipped a finger underneath the fabric of your panties, groaning when he felt your slick coat him in an instant. “So wet for me,” he almost growled, pulling his hand out despite your whines of disapproval. He pulled back, eyes flitting over your heaving form before settling into his seat. His lips were smudged red with your lipstick, and you found it unfair at how hot it was.

He was quick to pull away from the curb, the engine roaring to life as he drove down the busy street. It felt uncomfortably sticky between your thighs, rubbing them together. He was quick to grasp your thigh, pulling your legs open as he drove. While the hand on your thigh was still, his impatience showed in the hand that held the steering wheel, his finger tapping against it whenever he’d hit a red light.

You weakly moaned when his hand drifted higher, his pinky brushing against your core. You spread your legs further, urging him to do more than just light touches, but he didn’t give in to your silent pleas. The ride to, what you presumed was his place, was unbearably long as he continued to tease you. He would grip your thigh tightly, his rings pressing into your skin, and suddenly move up to flick at your covered clit. His sporadic movements left you a whining mess, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Need you so badly,” you whined, flushing in embarrassment at how you sounded. 

He scoffed, scraping his nail over your thigh, making you jump. “I can tell,” he said, his tone degrading as he pinched your skin. “Whining like a whore in my front seat, like it’ll make me fuck you any faster.” You gasped, his words going straight to your cunt. You could feel yourself get wetter, your panties sticking to your folds agonizingly. 

You bit your lip as he pulled into an underground parking lot, the orange-hued lights casting an intimidating shadow over his face. When he finally parked, you realized he had brought you to a fancy apartment building. The parking lot was empty, not a soul in sight. Despite his words, he still opened your door for you, pulling you out of the car roughly. When the door closed, he pressed you against it, forcing his lips against yours as he ground his hips into yours. You moaned into his mouth at how hard he’d gotten, gripping at his blazer with shaking hands.

His kiss left you breathless, and you found that you really liked the feeling of his hands harshly holding your hips, keeping you from moving too far from him. You tongued at his piercing, taking his bottom lip into your mouth as he moved to push your dress up again. Pulling away, he was quick to kiss your neck as your eyes darted around the empty lot.

“Not here,” you gasped when he bit at the skin under your ear, “what if someone…”

He bit down harder, making you whine. “Let them see then,” he spat. “Let them see how much of a slut you are for me, sweetheart.” You made a noise of disagreement, causing him to pull away. You looked like a mess in heels, hair tousled, no longer in neat waves as you had them before, and makeup smudged. The glassy look in your eyes made him grin at you, a menacing curve of his pink lips. 

He grabbed your wrist again, tugging you to the underground elevator as his car beeped behind you. The few seconds it took for the elevator to reach the parking lot felt agonizingly long, your legs shaking in anticipation.

The second the doors opened, he had you pressed against the frigid elevator walls, his hand blindly reaching to touch one of the top buttons. He pushed your dress up past your hips, fingering the lace undergarment between his thumb and pointer. Without wasting a second, he tugged. The sound of fabric ripping took you out of your trance as you realized he had completely torn them off you.

“Hey,” your voice was clipped as you frowned. “Those were expensive.”

He rolled his eyes at you, tucking the tattered fabric into his back pocket. “I’ll buy you a new set,” he said, annoyed that you had interrupted him. “Now shut up, princess.” He took your lips again, his hand moving to wrap loosely around your neck. He swiped his tongue over your lip as his free hand grasped at your hips.

“Fuck,” you whined highly when he traced a line up your cunt, collecting your juices on his fingertip. He made quick work with you, swiping over your clit with his thumb as he pushed two fingers into your sopping hole. The hand around your neck pressed down lightly, sending your senses into overdrive as he kissed you again. 

“My name’s Heeseung,” he said against your lips. “Moan it for me tonight, yeah?” You nodded feebly as you spouted your own name in a mess of stutters.

When the elevator beeped, indicating that you were on the designated floor, he unwillingly pulled away from you. He stared at you darkly, pupils blown as he sucked his fingers clean. Your eyes trained on the way his tongue flicked at his rings, your slick disappearing into his mouth. You pulled your dress down as he guided you out with a hand on the small of your back.

When you made it into his apartment, you didn’t have time to gawk at how fancy it was, decked out with marble tiles and sleek glass light fixtures. As the door closed behind him, he pressed himself against your behind, grinding into your ass as he groaned lowly in your ear. His fingers dragged the fabric of your dress up to your waist, leaving your lower half exposed as Heeseung left dainty kisses against your bare shoulder.

Pulling the dress up and off, he ushered you further into the apartment, pushing open the door to his bedroom. He dropped the dress in the corner of the room before turning you around to face him. He took your lips, pressing deeply against you as he felt you up. His hands roamed as he licked into your mouth, one hand cupping and groping your left breast while the other shifted downwards. Resting on your hip, he brought you closer to him, pressing your bare cunt against his boner.

You reached down, palming his hard-on through his pants. He threw his head back in a silent moan, allowing you to continue with your ministrations. You hastily unbuckled his belt, tossing it on the floor next to your dress. Pushing his pants and boxers down past his knees, you almost moaned at the sight of his pretty cock.

It was long and thick, twitching as it wept pre-cum at the tip. It was a pretty flushed colour, enticing you closer. Looking up at him through your lashes, you watched Heeseung’s reaction as you licked the mushroom head gingerly. You scrunched up your nose at the bitter taste, but Heeseung’s wanton expression urged you to continue.

Taking the whole tip in your mouth, you sucked gently. You could feel yourself gush at the sound of his loud moan, pressing your thighs together as you tried to take more of him. He grazed the back of your throat before you could even take half of him. The sight of you struggling on his length made him feel impossibly hard, his ringed hand moving to grasp at your hair. Determined to make him feel good, you traced one of the veins that stretched along the length of his shaft with your fingernail before taking his cock in your fist.

Bobbing your head slowly, you matched your pass with your hand wherever your mouth couldn’t reach. Heeseung breathed heavily at the feeling of your hot cavern taking him in, your tongue swirling around his tip in a way that drove him up the wall. He could barely imagine how being in your cunt would feel, the mental image making him thrust unexpectedly against you.

When you gagged at the suddenness, Heeseung groaned, using your fisted hair to guide you up and down his shaft. “Fuck, baby,” he sighed, head thrown back and eyes scrunched in pleasure as you gained speed. “That mouth of yours is so fucking perfect. Like it was made for my cock.” He hissed when his head pressed against the back of your throat, holding it there until you swallowed around him, tears welling in your eyes.

The sounds that you were making would normally disgust you, the wet gags and spit dripping down your front as you struggled to take his girth, but with Heeseung, it only turned you on more. You rubbed your thighs together, feeling your slick coat your puffy folds.

Using his other hand to grip at your hair, he held you still as he fucked into your mouth, jaw agape as he watched you suckle on his length. You looked like the embodiment of sin, on your knees and taking his cock so well. He rubbed at the smudged mascara underneath your eyes, only making it spread as tears dripped down your face. “Shit,” he mumbled, gripping your hair tighter. “Fuck, I wanna make a mess on you, baby. Can I?” 

You nodded the best you could, the thought of him cumming all over you making you impossibly wet. Swearing loudly, Heeseung pulled himself out of your mouth, using his hand to force your mouth open. You stuck your tongue out as he pumped himself desperately, chasing his release as he bore into your eyes. You gasped when he came, ropes of his cum shooting over your face and tongue.

He watched intently as you swallowed whatever landed in your mouth, wiping at the cum that dripped down your cheeks. “Get on the bed,” he said gruffly, not wanting to go another second without feeling your cunt drip around him.

You wasted no time in following his instructions, scooting further up the bed as he crawled on after you. He spread your legs roughly, situating himself between your thighs. Heeseung leaned forward, kissing you again as one of his hands rested around your throat. As he kissed you, sucking on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, his free hand traced down the side of your body.

Without warning, he touched your core, collecting your wetness on his fingertips as he rubbed up and down your cunt. You moaned loudly as he switched between teasing your entrance and swiping across your clit. “You’re so fucking wet, princess,” he groaned, kissing you deeply as he finally thrust two fingers into your hole.

You cried out into the kiss, arching your back up and into him as you held on. You gripped at his bicep that flexed with each movement, his fingers curling up into you. It didn’t take long for him to find your G-spot, rubbing dedicatedly against the spongey walls of your cunt. He sped up, thrusting his fingers into you with ease, slipping around your juices.

“Fuck, Heeseung,” you almost screamed as you neared your orgasm, “I’m so, so close, please—”

He pulled his fingers out, making you whine in disapproval, your eyes opening wide as you begged him to keep touching you. He ignored your silent pleas, taking his soaked fingers into his mouth as he had before. You watched, in a trance, as he swirled his tongue around his slender digits, the sight making you squirm in anticipation.

He reached over to his bedside drawer and pulled out a few packages. You glanced at them through your ditzy stupor, surprised to see several condom wrappers. Upon closer inspection, you realized they all had different flavours. “Pick one,” he instructed in an almost joking manner as if he didn’t just bring you to the edge with his fingers.

You contemplated just grabbing one at random, not wanting to wait any longer to feel him inside you. Reaching for one, you subconsciously made a face when you read what flavour it was.

“Not a fan of strawberry?” he asked rhetorically as he took the wrapper from you and tossed it back in the drawer. Impatient, he picked one and threw the rest back where he got them. You watched with intrigue as he opened the package with his teeth before rolling it onto his already hard cock.

“Hey,” he mumbled once he got the condom fully rolled on. “If you want me to stop at any moment, just say… Bambi, okay?”

You looked at him warily. “Bambi?”

He didn’t elaborate any further, pressing the tip of his cock against your folds. He rubbed the head through your slick, bumping against your clit before pressing into your tight entrance. He groaned in unison with you at the intrusion. You winced at the stretch, shoving your face into one of his pillows.

When he bottomed out, he pressed a sweet kiss against your cheek before pulling back and slamming into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you gasped for air, his sudden harsh thrusts surprising you. He breathed heavily as he moved, draping your legs over his shoulders as he leaned into you. 

“So deep,” you cried, squirming at the stimulation. “Fuck, Heeseung!”

He moaned at the sound of his name on your tongue, leaning down to kiss you. The position only made him go deeper, and you struggled to kiss him properly, mind foggy with pleasure. His balls slapped against your ass, echoing against the walls. The sound of your sex was burned into your mind, Heeseung’s breathy groans and moans of your name bound to haunt your dreams from now on.

Heeseung pulled out and flipped you onto your side, re-entering you with ease. The position was something you’d never done before as Heeseung held your leg against his torso as he thrust harshly. He moaned out your name as he closed his eyes, as lost in the pleasure as you were.

“‘M gonna cum,” you warned, your voice high and shaking as you reached down to circle your clit. At the sight of you touching yourself, Heeseung sighed with rapture, trying hard to get you to the edge. 

“Cum around me, baby,” he hushed as his thrusts grew harder, rougher. “Come on, you can do it.”

At his words, it felt like a cord had snapped inside of you, and you cried out as you came. He helped you through your orgasm, thrusting shallowly as your body shook and jolted. Once you had calmed down, he pulled out and fisted himself over the condom, the lube mixed with your wetness making it easy for his hand to slip up and down.

You watched, exhausted, as he leaned over you, a look of concentration on his face as he got off on your body. White filled the condom, low groans of your name reverberating in his chest as he collapsed on the bed next to you. You barely processed him standing to throw out the used rubber or how he came back with a warm towel and wiped you down gently. 

Your eyes closed, and you felt yourself succumb to slumber.

When you awoke the next morning, you swore. Head pounding, you pressed your face into your pillow in annoyance. Of course, you would be having the worst hangover of your life. You didn’t even want to think about what your father would say if he knew you’d be walking into the meeting in a few hours, completely hungover.

You paused, pressing your face further into the pillow. The smell was unfamiliar, you noted. Not a second later, you sat up, eyes wide. Your lips parted in disbelief as you remembered where you were, memories of last night quickly returning to you. Holding the blanket up to your bare chest, you willed yourself to look over at the other side of the bed. 

Heeseung lay there, rolled over onto his stomach, his cheek resting against the pillow as he slept. His hair was messy, sticking up in different directions almost cutely. You made a face when you caught a glimpse of angry red scratches down his back.

He looked unnervingly peaceful, considering the stampede your heart was experiencing. You swore under your breath again, quietly stepping out of the bed. The floorboard creaked underneath your weight, your head snapping back to see if the noise woke him up. Fortunately, he stayed blissfully in rest. You held your breath as you collected your discarded dress and your heels, also picking up the silk button-up you had thrown off of him last night. 

He’s rich, clearly, you justified, taking a brief look around the room. His closet was cracked open, revealing several more expensive-looking clothes. Though, in your haste to make it to the bedroom, you didn’t get a good look at the rest of his apartment. You knew that it was huge if the building’s name wasn’t an indicator already. He won’t miss one shirt.

Not wanting to risk waking him up, you tip-toed out of the room before getting dressed in the hallway. You slipped the button-up on top of your dress and made your way to the front door, heels in hand. As you pushed the door open, you panicked when it beeped in alarm. With haste, you ran outside and closed the door before Heeseung could catch you sneaking out.

Without bothering to put your heels on, you booked it to the elevator, making it inside in time for you to hear Heeseung call your name. With wide eyes, you pressed the close doors button more times than necessary, only relaxing when they finally did close.

You opened your phone, only to see a text from your father asking where you were. Making an excuse, you used the reflective elevator walls to fix your appearance.

If anyone saw you, they would be none the wiser to the previous night. The automatic doors to your father’s company opened as you approached, a gust of air from the air conditioning pushing your freshly styled hair out of your face. Any marks that littered across your neck and shoulders were expertly covered up, and your eyebags were concealed just as well.

The sound of your heels, which your father insisted you wore in public, in the otherwise quiet lobby gathered the attention of the gaggle of people. Having so many eyes on you didn’t bother you as much as it had before, something you’re grateful to have gotten used to. Smiling politely at the pair of receptionists, you were quick to make your way up to your father’s office.

The elevator dinged, and you couldn’t help but think back to last night. The feeling of Heeseung’s warmth pressed against you as he fingered you and touched you was a thrill you don’t think you could forget if you tried. Clearing your throat, you looked at yourself in the mirrored walls, another habit you couldn’t get rid of. 

Deeming yourself as presentable, you stepped out of the elevator and into your father’s large office. He sat at his desk, typing away at his computer. If he heard you come in, which he must’ve, he didn’t react. His graying hair stood out under the sunlight that the floor-to-ceiling windows let in. The glasses perched on his nose bridge threatened to fall down as his fingers tapped relentlessly. 

“Good morning, Father,” you greeted, sitting down at the chair adjacent to his desk. He didn’t look up. “I’m a little early.” You crossed your legs, resting clasped hands on top of your knees. It didn’t surprise you when he didn’t say anything in reply, so you opted to look out the window. Being on the top floor, you could see most of the town. You could watch the bustling traffic and pedestrian-filled streets for hours, the busyness of life fascinating to you.

You weren’t able to stare for too long before a familiar ding interrupted your daydreams. You straightened your back, facing forward as your father stood to greet the newcomer. Unlike when you came in, your father straightened out his blazer with a warm smile, something that looked foreign to you. You watched quietly as he manoeuvred around the desk to formally greet the guest.

“Ah,” your father greeted placatingly, his timber voice filling the space.. “Lee Heeseung, it is great to finally meet you. I have heard much about you from your father.”

You felt your heart stop when you heard his name. Unwilling to turn around, you stared into the window’s faint reflection in hopes of seeing the man’s face. Maybe your Heeseung wasn’t the only Lee Heeseung in town. Surely, it wasn’t too uncommon of a name because there was no way that your one-night stand just happened to be your husband-to-be.

If your heart stopped when you heard his name, your soul left your body when you heard him talk. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, sir. I am honoured that you picked me out of all of your daughter’s candidates.”

As subtly as you could, you slapped a hand over your mouth.

You heard their footsteps grow closer. “Well, please have a seat,” your father ushered. “She’s right here. You ought to meet your future bride, right?” With each of their perfectly synced steps, you could imagine another foot of your grave being dug. “Heeseung, this is my daughter.” You inhaled sharply and took his cue to stand.

When you turned on your heel, you were sure that Heeseung’s shocked expression matched your own. Recognition burst behind his eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses, and his lips—which you noticed was missing its piercing—parted in shock. You silently willed him to keep quiet about the night before, looking at him with widened eyes and a painfully fake smile.

“It’s you,” he blurted out, pointing at you with the slightest bend of his elbow. If you weren’t in front of your father, you could have smacked him over the head. “I was wondering where you went.”

Internally screaming, you put on a faux confused expression to match your father’s. “You two are acquainted already?” he asked, looking at you for confirmation. You were quick to shake your head no, glaring at Heeseung when your father looked away.

Bowing your head slightly, you smiled up at Heeseung as you would any other businessman. “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you lied through your teeth, desperately hoping he would catch on. “We have never met before today. But it is nice to meet you.” You held out a hand for him to shake, which he did after fumbling for a bit.

Heeseung looked at you with a confused gaze, eyebrows knitted together before a lightbulb went off. “Right,” he smiled graciously, putting on a persona completely different from the one you met before. “My apologies. It is nice to meet you. I’m Lee Heeseung.” Letting go of your hand, he nodded when you introduced yourself. 

Clapping his hands together, your father grinned widely at the both of you. “Now, I have some work to tend to, but the two of you can continue to get to know each other downstairs.” Wanting nothing more than to escape the stuffy room, you agreed stiffly. “I’ll have the wedding planners contact you both later on.” Your father nodded at Heeseung once more before returning to his desk, the sound of his noisy keyboard filling the room again.

Heeseung followed you out after saying goodbye to your father, standing far too close to you in the elevator. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he drawled out, voice dry. “The very woman who I happened to have a fun night with, only to wake up with her nowhere in sight, is the very woman whom I’m marrying.” He bore his gaze into you as he leaned against the elevator wall, his prim posture long gone. “How exciting, is it not?”

“Please, Heeseung, do not bring up last night.” Your voice was terse as you pinched your nose bridge in frustration, your ears and face warming up. 

Heeseung raised a brow at your request, pushing off the elevator wall and stepping close to you. Your eyes widened as he backed you into the wall, eyes darting to the LED screen that showed which floor you were on. If anyone were to need the elevator, they would catch Heeseung pinning you to the wall, and you would have no excuse for it. “Come on, princess,” his voice lifted into a tease, “that’s not how you were begging me last night.”

You groaned, dropping your head and hitting it against the wall behind you. “Heeseung,” you hissed, glaring at him. You tried very hard to ignore the way that his glasses framed his face nicely and made him even more handsome, which you didn’t think was possible. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Do not bring up last night unless you want me to castrate you.”

Heeseung pouted at you, resting a hand on his chest as though you’d mortally wounded him. “But if you castrate me, how am I supposed to please—”

“Heeseung!”

He laughed openly at you, shoulders shaking as his lips split open into a grin. “You’re so easy to rile up, princess.” He leaned toward you, hovering himself above you by resting his forearm against the wall. You glanced at the screen again, silently cursing your father for owning a building with slow elevators. “I don’t know what’s so bad about people finding out that we’re—how do you say it?—well acquainted.”

You breathed out in annoyance at his ignorance. “Did you hit your head? I don’t know about you, Heeseung, but I do care about how the public perceives me.” You jabbed a finger at his chest, though it had no effect on him. “If people find out, then…” You trailed off, your brows furrowing as you looked at the ground, the recently shined tiles sparkingly under the fluorescent lights.

“Then?”

You bit your lip, thinking back at your father and his cold demeanour. “Look,” you started, shoulders deflating. “If my father finds out that I went to that club at all and had sex with some guy that I didn’t know… He wouldn’t react well.” You spoke lowly, the topic dampening your mood immensely.

“Ouch,” Heeseung joked, tilting his head at you. “So, I’m just some guy to you?”

You deadpanned at him, unimpressed with the small snippet of information he chose to focus on. “You get what I mean, asshole. So please, just stop bringing it up. At least, not in front of him.” Your faith in his compassion was dwindling by the second, and his silence wasn’t doing much to help. When the elevator doors opened, you were ready to give up and began formulating an apology to your father for your behaviour.

Before you could duck under his arm to make your way out, he laid a gentle hand on your wrist. “Okay, okay. I won’t talk about it again. You have my word, princess.” You balked at his sudden sincerity, but before you could even utter a thank you, he opened his mouth again. “No more talking about how we had the most mindblowing sex—”

“Lee Heeseung!” You chided, quickly ducking under his arm and rushing out of the elevator. Your face burned as you walked through the lobby, no doubt catching the attention of curious onlookers. Embarrassment flooded your veins as you exited the building, standing on the curb with your face in your hands.

Not wanting to be there any longer, you pulled out your phone and searched for your personal driver’s contact. Before you could press the green call button, your phone was snatched out of your manicured hands. “Hey—!”

To your surprise, or perhaps you weren’t surprised at all, Heeseung stood next to you with your phone haphazardly dangling between his fingers. “What are you doing?” You asked as you reached to grab it. He pulled it away, grinning when it left you pressed against him.

“What are you doing?”

You rolled your eyes, jumping to grab your phone. Once it was back in your possession, you went to call your driver. “Going,” you answered simply.

“Going where?”

“Going anywhere but here.”

He clicked his tongue, pulling a pair of keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drive you. There’s no need to wait for your driver.”

You eyed him suspiciously, your thumb hovering over the call button. “I don’t think you understand. When I said I wanted to be anywhere but here, here is referring to here with you.”

He gave you the same look as he did in the elevator, lips upturned into a pout as his eyebrows arched upward. “You really do wound me, princess.” He pressed a button on his fob, and you could see a car’s lights flash a few meters away. It wasn’t the same one he had driven you in last night, so you looked at him in question. “I have two cars. One for business, one for fun,” he winked at you when he said the last word, only laughing when you pretended to vomit in your mouth.

“Come on, princess,” he took your wrist for the nth time. “Let’s go.” You begrudgingly followed, not missing the way several workers from inside had lined up against the window to watch the interaction. You smiled politely at them again, waving goodbye as Heeseung practically dragged you along.

Just as he had the night before, he opened the door for you. This car was much simpler in design than the bright red one, with a dashboard instead of a HUD and a simple touch screen instead of dozens of buttons and features you were too distracted to play with.

As he drove off, you stared out the window, refusing to look in his direction. He had pushed up the sleeves of his blazer, showing off his toned and veiny forearms as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the middle console. “I’ll take you home,” Heeseung claimed as he slowed to a stop for a red light. “But let me show you something first.”

You looked at him incredulously but only nodded before looking out the window again.

You didn’t pay attention to where he was taking you, watching fondly as groups of friends walked down the streets, wide grins splitting their faces as they talked. It was rush hour, and you ended up paused in traffic long enough to watch a couple emerge from one of the street stores, arms linked and full of shopping bags. They were wearing matching sweatpants and sweaters, making you look down at the dress you wore. Pursing your lips, you stopped looking as you pulled your skirt down.

“Y’know, last night your skirt was getting pushed up.”

At his words, you glared at him. “You are so sleazy.”

Heeseung only grinned, never taking his eyes off of the road. “Something’s on your mind. Had to get you out of that head of yours somehow.” He briefly glanced at you, “Did it work?”

You blinked in surprise before looking away. Your hands clenched on your lap. “Where are we going?” you asked, changing the subject. You pretended not to notice when Heeseung stared at you, opting to look straight ahead.

“Somewhere I frequent. I’ll give you some leverage over me.” You peeked at him as he made a left turn, tracing over the lines of his arms. “Sound good, princess?”

You could only scrunch your nose in confusion. “Why would you want me to have leverage over you in the first place?”

Heeseung shrugged. “It’s clear you don’t trust me. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t bring us up again in front of your dad, but I don’t think you believe me ‘cause you’ve barely looked at me since you got in the car.” You winced, not liking how he read through you so easily when you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “So, I’m bringing you somewhere that I’ve kept secret. You’ll be the only one who knows who could actually, you know, get me in shit with my dad.”

Unsure of what to say, you stared at his side profile in shock. “You are so confusing,” you muttered, leaning over to look out the window. You rested your chin on your palm to cover your warming face.

Before long, Heeseung pulled into an indoor race track’s parking lot. You looked out the window in confusion. Even from outside, you could hear the revving of engines and the squeaking of tires against asphalt. You spared Heeseung a look, climbing out of the car wordlessly. He nodded his head at you, guiding you to the entrance. 

When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the yelling. Specifically, the sounds of fifth graders screaming as they circled the track in their go-karts. “Heeseung, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but a kiddie go-kart track isn’t exactly a best-kept secret.” A kid zoomed by on his kart, screaming at the top of his lungs as he pressed hard on the gas.

Heeseung only rolled his eyes at you, “So impatient.” Taking your hand in his, he tugged you along the back wall until you reached a staff-only door. Before you could argue, clearly neither of you was staff, Heeseung pushed the door open as if he owned the place. You gawked at him, whipping your head around to see if any staff were coming to kick you out.

To your surprise, the man behind the front counter only nodded in acknowledgement before going back to his morning coffee.

Heeseung kept walking, his large hand never leaving yours. You subconsciously balled them, swallowing thickly when Heeseung untangled your fingers to interlock them with his. Sneaking a look at you over his shoulder, he cheekily stuck his tongue out. The hallway beyond the door was empty, aside from a few bulletins with weekly events posted on them. 

Once you reached the end of the hall, a staircase leading to a basement came into view. You pinched your eyebrows together in suspicion, rooting your feet on the ground before Heeseung could pull you any further. “Look, I’m not really in the mood to be murdered today, so I think we’ll have to reschedule—”

Rolling his eyes at you for the nth time that day, he pulled harder on your hand, almost knocking you off your feet. He caught you with ease, his warm palm pressing against your waist as he waited for you to steady yourself. “Trust me a little, please? I promise you won’t get murdered.” At the end of his sentence, he held out a pinky. You stared incredulously at him, decked out in office attire yet holding out his baby finger to you like an adolescent.

“Are you five?”

“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m six, actually,” he teased, wiggling his pinky at you as he silently urged you to follow through with it. Heaving a sigh, you latched your finger with his.

After following Heeseung down the dingy staircase, you were met with a similar sight. A large racing track encompassed the room, looping and curving in a way that filled the space. However, unlike the track you saw upstairs, this one was occupied by cars you’ve seen in racing movies. A deafening rush of cars drove past, sending a gust of wind your way.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, staring at the cars drive uncomfortably close to one another as they made another harsh turn.

Heeseung smiled at your awed expression, a sense of pride blooming in his chest. “Well,” he exhaled, “this is my secret.”

You turned to him quickly in disbelief. “You race?” As surprising as it might’ve been, the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe it’d be hard to believe that the Heeseung in front of you was a racer, but the one from last night? With his dark demeanour and fancy car, you’d believe it in a heartbeat.

“Only on my work breaks,” he winked. “I’ve been coming here for years. This is where loads of the street racers in town come to get their fix when there are no races going on up top.”

“Street racers?” you echoed. “Like… the illegal ones?”

“Totally like… the illegal ones.”

You slapped his shoulder at his remark, bristling as you turned away. Heeseung only laughed, a loud laugh that stemmed from his tummy as he threw his head back at your displeasure. Ruffling your hair, he walked away, leaving you standing at the bottom of the staircase. You sputtered, moving to follow him, but before you could take another step, a man blocked your view of him.

“You must be Heeseung’s girl.”

You frowned at the assumption, even if it was technically true. “What on earth are you talking about?” you combatted, looking over the man with disdain.

He threw his arms up in surrender, silently telling you he meant no harm. “Relax! I just assumed because Heeseung has never brought anyone down here before.” He paused for a moment before smiling at you with a glint in his eye. “But you were also holding hands just now, so…”

Your face flushed at the prospect of getting caught. “Shut it. Who are you, anyway?”

The man’s smile widened into a grin, showing off his pearly whites. “I’m Jake. I run this place, so I’ve known Heeseung for forever. You, on the other hand,” he jutted a finger in your direction. “You’re a new face. Usually, newbies need clearance before coming down here, but I’ll trust Hee on this one. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you on a few posters here and there.” He whistled lowly, looking over his shoulder at the direction Heeseung left in. “I knew he was some hotshot, but I didn’t know he could actually pull someone like you.”

“Like me?”

Jake raised a brow at you, scanning your face as if you’d just insulted him to his face. “Uh, yeah? You’re a model, right? You’ve got the looks, so don’t be so bashful down here.” The sound of loud engines cut him off. The excitement seemed to burst from within him as he immediately ushered you over to some bleachers. “C’mon, they’re starting soon.”

He sat next to you as you tried to make yourself comfortable, feeling jittery from being left alone with a stranger. Not that Heeseung was any less strange to you, but it was better than being sat thigh-to-thigh with someone you’d just met.

“Purple car’s Yang Jungwon. The silver one is Park Jongseong,” he listed off to you as if you would know who either of those people were. You couldn’t help but nod along, his golden-retriever-like excitement rubbing off on you. You’ve never watched a car race in person before, nor have you ever gone to any event like it. “Green is our baby, Riki Nikimura. He just started racing a few months ago.”

As he talked, a familiar red car pulled up next to the others, revving its engine loudly as if to proclaim I’m here. “You probably know,” Jake continued. “But that one’s Heeseung.”

A whistle blew, and suddenly the four cars became blurs. It was as if you’d miss half the race if you even dared to blink. You watched, astounded, as the racers circled the track with ease, not bumping into each other a single time. 

The race was over before you knew it, four laps around the large track driven in a matter of minutes. The victor, Heeseung, erupted out of his vehicle with a large grin on his face, pulling at his cheeks in pure joy. The other racers met him on the tracks; their car doors opened as they joined together on the asphalt. 

You watched from a distance as they conversed excitedly, too far for you to make out any of their words. Beside you, Jake nudged you with his elbow. “Cool, huh?”

You breathed out, making eye contact with Heeseung as he beamed at you, sending you a wave before turning back to the other three. “Yeah,” you said simply. “Really cool.”

After Heeseung showed you the race track, you ended up seeing each other more often than you first thought you would. Turns out your father was serious about your engagement. True to his words, wedding planners met with you the day after the meeting. And the one after that. And the next.

A whole week of wedding planning sped past, and by the end of it, you were exhausted. You had one more stop on your schedule for the day, a simple cake tasting with Heeseung. You made it to the bakery first, standing outside idly on your phone as you waited for your husband-to-be to arrive. Your driver and security guard waited in the car parked nearby.

An engine revved twice, something that you’ve come to know as Heeseung’s way of greeting. When you looked up, he was already locking his car across the street, jogging across the empty road to meet you. “Hey,” he breathed, running a hand through his locks. “Sorry, I’m late. Riki’s engine was busted, and the kid doesn’t know how to fix ‘em yet. Normally we get Jay or Sunghoon to do the mechanic work, but they’re out scouting for spots.”

The mention of a possible race piqued your interest. You shook your head, smiling softly at him. “I just got here. You’re fine, Hee. Let’s head in?” He nodded, opening the bakery door for you before following you in.

The smell of fresh cake invaded your senses the second you stepped in. You closed your eyes in delight, taking in the scent blissfully. Heeseung chuckled at your antics, using his hand to guide you further into the building by the small of your back.

Before long, a head popped out from the back, a rather young-looking boy with a tall chef’s hat placed neatly atop his cotton-candy pink hair. His eyes were bright as he caught your gaze, cheeks pinkening at the sight of you. “Hi,” he greeted the both of you, dusting off leftover flour on his apron. “You must be Lee Heeseung and—” the boy turned to you, awestruck as he sputtered out your name. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare,” he apologized bashfully, bowing his head. “You’re just prettier in person. The magazines don’t do you justice.”

You had the gall to blush at his words, turning your head in slight embarrassment. “Thank you,” you paused to read his nametag. “Kim Sunoo. That’s very sweet of you.”

If possible, he turned redder at the sound of his name coming from your cherry lips. Beside you, Heeseung watched the interaction with displeasure soaking into his skin. “We’re here to taste your cakes,” he cut in before Sunoo could say another word, knocking him out of his reverie. “For our wedding.” If Sunoo noticed that Heeseung had stressed the last word, he didn’t say anything. You nudged him gently, telling him with your eyes to behave. 

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his lips together.

The two of you followed Sunoo to the back, where an assortment of cake slices were laid on the counter. Your eyes bulged at the sight, counting over twenty cakes. “Your wedding planners gave me a list of what flavours you both had mentioned wanting,” Sunoo introduced, gesturing to the cakes with a wave. “There were… quite a few between the both of you, but luckily some overlapped.”

A few seemed to be an understatement. Heeseung looked over the variety of cakes before pointing at one. “Is this one strawberry?” he asked, inspecting it closely. You hovered by his side, gazing down at the many plates. Sunoo nodded in confirmation, clasping his hands in front of him. “Are any of the other ones strawberry-flavoured?”

“We have a few, yes—”

“Take them away; we won’t be choosing those.”

You blinked in surprise at his firm standing, as did Sunoo, who tilted his head in confusion. The movement reminded you of a puppy, and you fought the urge to giggle at it. “But the strawberry flavours were on your profile.” 

At his words, you turned to Heeseung with a frown. “If you picked them, shouldn’t we at least try them first?” You surveyed the many strawberry cakes that Sunoo was in the process of putting away. “You obviously like them.”

Heeseung didn’t even spare you a glance. “You don’t like them.”

You stared open-mouthed at him. “How do you know I don’t like strawberries?” At your question, Heeseung finally met your gaze, only smirking at you as he rested his weight against the countertop, leaning on his palms.

“Do you really want me to get into that story here, princess?” You frowned in confusion. However, when you looked over at Sunoo, it seemed as though a light bulb had gone off for him, as his face became redder than the strawberries on the cake he was holding. A second passed before realization dawned on you, and you refrained from smacking Heeseung upside the head.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, ignoring the heat pooling in your tummy. “Let’s just taste these cakes and go home.”

Heeseung chortled, not even minding the fact that he may have left a rather lewd image in the younger man’s mind. “Whatever you say.”

After the first hiccup, the cake tasting went smoothly. You and Heeseung had finally decided on a cake with multiple tiers, allowing for multiple flavours. All of the bigwigs will be invited, Heeseung argued. Might as well appease them all.

A long hour had passed before the final order was set, and Sunoo told you to come by a couple weeks before the wedding to finalize the cake. Before you left, Sunoo came up to you, notepad in hand. “Sorry to bother you,” he spoke lowly, looking at you with a pretty smile. “Could I get your autograph?”

You agreed wordlessly, taking the pen from his outstretched hand. After signing it, Sunoo didn’t even give you the option of returning the pen on your own, instead taking your hand in his fondly. “I did mean it,” he said with sincerity dripping from his honey voice. “You really are prettier in person.”

You didn’t get to reply before Sunoo’s hand was slapped away. Heeseung’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you close to his side as he stared daggers at the baker. “Might I remind you that the woman you’re talking to will be my wife?” He spoke firmly, leaving no room for questions as he turned, dragging you out of the bakery. Your driver and security guard were long gone, having left at Heeseung’s promise to bring you home. 

“What was that?” You asked in disbelief, glancing over your shoulder in time to watch Sunoo disappear in the back. “He’s just a fan, Heeseung.”

He said nothing, opening the door for you before promptly slamming it once you were situated. You flinched at the aggression, eyes trained on the man as he made his way into the driver’s seat. He started the engine silently, the keys jingling as they hung from the ignition. His left hand wrapped around the steering wheel, but he made no motion to pull away from the curb.

Instead, he leaned over the middle console and pulled you closer by the chin, three fingers gripping you tightly. You gasped at the sudden forceful movement, staring widely into his dark eyes. You felt his breath tickle your skin as he stared at you, eyes fixated on you as if you’d disappear if he looked away.

“You’re driving me mad,” he uttered, lips just barely brushing over yours as he spoke. He had his lip ring in today, and you shivered at the feeling. “Ever since that night, you’ve been on my mind. And it’s driving me insane because I can’t do anything about it,” he hushed, his tone torturous as he bore into you.

“When I walked into your father’s office last week, you have no idea how happy it made me knowing that you were going to be mine,” he hissed, fingers digging into your skin almost uncomfortably. “You’re mine, and yet you’re here entertaining other men that shouldn’t even matter to you.”

“Heeseung,” you mumbled breathlessly, eyes darting down to his plump lips. He narrowed his eyes at you harshly, his normally rounded eyes growing sharper as irritation swirled in his dark hues. 

“You’re mine, princess,” he rasped, leaning forward. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss, his body moving fervently against yours to convey his turmoil. You moaned loudly when he bit down on your lower lip, his tongue licking into your mouth as he kept his hold on you. Unlike his other kisses, this one was messy. Your teeth clashed as he shifted closer, spit dribbling down your chin and onto your pressed clothing. 

The hand that gripped your chin moved to wrap around your neck. He didn’t press down, but the heat that surrounded you sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take you home,” he almost begged, moving to bite at your ear. “Wanna show you who you belong to.”

You whimpered at his words, pressing your thighs together fruitlessly. “My apartment’s closer,” you gasped when he bit down on your jugular, his hot tongue shooting out to lick at the teeth marks. “Go there, please.”

The ride passed by in a blur, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself pressed against another elevator wall. It was hard to contain your moans as Heeseung made his way down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was available to him. He fisted your breasts through the fabric, eliciting a lewd groan from you. 

“Such a whore,” he jeered against your lips as he kissed you again. “Letting me touch you like this, undress you like this. You probably want to get caught, don’t you?” He groaned, grinding his growing hard-on against you through your clothes. You let out a noise at how hard he’d gotten, your mind swirling as continued to press himself against you. “Fuck, baby. You’re driving me crazy,” he sucked your earlobe, the sensation making you squirm.

When the elevator dinged, Heeseung made haste, tugging you into your apartment after fumbling with your keys. The door slammed behind you, and you felt the cool touch of wood against your back as he pressed you against it. He wasted no time kissing you deeply, hands roaming your sides as he pushed your shirt off completely. Your bra followed soon after, his expert hands unclasping it with ease. You barely caught sight of it being thrown haphazardly across the hall in a haze.

He tugged down your pants after popping the button, shoving them down your legs unceremoniously. You whined into his mouth, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Letting go of your lips, he pulled the shirt over his head before coming back for more. You could get addicted to the way he kissed you, needy and full of desire. His lip ring pressed against your skin, the contrast making you sigh.

“Jump,” he mumbled against your lips before claiming them as his own once more. With ease, he hoisted your legs around his slim waist, pressing you harder against the door as he ground into you. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his clothed dick, your thin panties doing little to mask the sensation. You briefly wondered if your neighbours could hear you, but the thought left as soon as it came when Heeseung cupped your breasts roughly. “You remember the safe words?”

You nodded impatiently, moving your hips against his desperately. “Yes! Please, just fuck me,” you begged, trying and failing to feel more of him. Your hands dragged down his toned front, grasping onto his warmth like a parasite.

“Where’s your bedroom,” he asked, pulling away to look you in the eye. His bare chest heaved, his skin turning pink. The sight of Heeseung’s bruising lips and glossy eyes had you falling apart in his arms as you directed him to your bedroom.

You were less-than-gracefully dropped onto your mattress as Heeseung stood over you, unbuckling his belt. The light from the hallway illuminated him, casting a glow around his figure. His eyes never left your body, eyes roaming up and down as he rid himself of his trousers. You trained your sight on his bulge, his boxers doing little to hide his length.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, climbing over you slowly. “Mine. Your smile is mine. Your laugh is mine.” He cupped your boobs, circling your nipples with calloused thumbs as he watched you carefully. “These are mine.” Heeseung leaned forward, pressing his clothed cock against your cunt. “Fuck—this pussy’s mine too, yeah? You were made for me, all mine.”

You could only nod, not trusting your own voice, as he moved to pull your panties off. You whined when you felt the fabric stick to your folds, your slick acting like glue. Heeseung balled up the fabric, unceremoniously shoving it in your mouth. You whined, the noise coming out muffled as Heeseung pulled off his boxers, revealing his hard dick.

“You don’t need to talk,” he growled, leaning down to bite at your neck. “Clearly, you’re just a stupid bitch who doesn’t know when she should speak. Why else would you let that fuck flirt with you in front of me, huh?”

You shook your head adamantly, attempting to speak through your cum soaked panties. 

“You think he knows that you’re laying here, spread out for me like this? Do you think he knows just how fucking wet you are for me?” He slapped your cunt as he spoke, causing you to jump. A sick look of pride took over his features at the sight of your glassy eyes, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. He dragged two fingers up your cunt from your weeping entrance up to your puffy clit. 

“Shit,” he groaned at the touch. “Gonna make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum, so everyone knows, yeah?” Using your slick as lube, he rubbed his shaft slowly, never taking his eyes off you. You lifted your hips off the bed, wanting nothing more than for him to rail you, but he was quick to push your body down, his large palm pressing against your tummy firmly.

You cried out as best you could when he rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds, collecting your juices as he fucked against your clit. He pressed the fat tip into your entrance, the familiar burn causing your eyes to roll back. He groaned lowly as he pressed himself into you, heaving when his hips met yours.

He watched as his cock slipped in and out of your clenched hole with ease, your heat sucking him in. Pushing your legs up against your chest, Heeseung steadied himself on his knees as he buried himself in your pussy. “Fuck,” he drawled out, his head thrown back in pleasure. Your eyes trailed down his neck, his Adam’s apple jutting out deliciously as he swallowed. 

Pushing down on the back of your thighs, pressing your legs almost uncomfortably against your body, he moved with the same passion he used to kiss you in the car. You almost screamed, biting down on your soaked panties as he drilled into you. The sound of your wetness slipping against his cock was obscene, but God did Heeseung love it. He moved faster and faster, pistoling into you with an unrivalled enthusiasm.

Releasing one of your legs, he reached down to circle your clit, making you jolt up from the bed. You threw your head back, loud cries escaping your throat even through your improvised gag. “So fucking good for me,” Heeseung groaned, draping his body over you as he shoved his face into the crook of your neck. His pace never faltered, strong and hard thrusts pushing your body up the bed. “Fuck—! This fucking pussy was made for me.”

Without warning, he pulled your panties out of your mouth, now dripping with saliva. He dropped them somewhere on the bed, his hips slamming against yours as he kissed you. You moaned into the kiss, hands grabbing blindly at his back. “H-Heeseung!” You cried, burying your face into your comforter as hot tears burned the corners of your eyes.

“Come on,” he hushed, pressing against your clit faster. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you cream around my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” You blabbered out nonsense, unable to make any coherent words as his hardness dragged along your gummy walls. You could feel the rope in your stomach tightening as his thrust became more desperate. His rhythm stayed constant, even as the back of his thighs burned and his cock twitched.

“F—uck,” he almost sobbed, his voice breaking as he fucked into you ruthlessly. “God, baby, feel so fucking good. Gonna cum inside, yeah?” His voice echoed in your ear, leaving goosebumps on your skin. You couldn’t tell if you were nodding or shaking your head to his words, your mind a mess, as all you could focus on was the feeling of his cock. “You’re gonna take it for me—shit—take it all. Don’t want any of it coming out.”

You felt something snap as you arched your back, your orgasm washing over you in brutal waves, like a tsunami crashing against your body over and over. You sobbed as Heeseung kept moving, never relenting in his pace as he chased his own release. His fingers kept circling your clit, even with your feeble attempts to push them away. “Heeseung,” you cried as overstimulation racked your body.

Heeseung swore under his breath, kissing you gently, contrasting his harsh thrusts. “I know, baby,” he sighed, sweat rolling down his face as he pecked your lips. “Just a bit longer for me, shit, you’re taking me so well.” He moaned loudly as he neared, gripping your hips tightly as he plunged into you.

He bit your shoulder as he came, ropes of thick cum painting your walls white. His hips stuttered, a quiet fuck, fuck, fuck spoken into your shoulder. Heeseung didn’t stop thrusting into you gently until his orgasm faded away, pressing his softening cock deeper into you. You could feel his cum seeping out of you, soft whimpers rumbling in your throat at the feeling.

His breath was heavy as he all but collapsed on you, using what little strength he had to hold himself up so he didn’t crush you. He left gentle kisses on the marks on your neck, making you shiver in sensitivity. He pressed a lingering peck against your lips before leaning back slightly to look you in the eye.

Heeseung shifted to move a stray hair out of your face, and you couldn’t help but melt at the way he was rubbing circles on your hip. Leaning up, your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him, wrapping tired arms around his nape as you brought his body flush against yours. The movement made him accidentally press against your clit, and the both of you moaned into the kiss. You swiped your tongue over his lip ring, sucking it into your mouth as you moved your hips slowly.

“You’re insatiable,” he mumbled against your lips. Despite his words, he felt himself grow hard when he glanced down at your shifting hips and the ring of white around his shaft. 

“You love it,” you countered, holding him against your body tighter.

He scoffed, pressing a kiss against your forehead before rolling you over so that you were sitting on his lap, dick still inside. You squeaked when he took your hips and rolled you back and forth over his cock, your cunt still sensitive. “No more running away,” he rasped as he fucked up into you slowly.

You leaned down to kiss him once more in silent agreement.

©WONLOVIE please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

[diyahatnight]

Warnings: NSFW, Modern au

Choso kamo x f! reader

Summary: JUST a friendly kiss right? nothing more? best friends make out occasionally right, that’s not weird.

Notes: I got this idea from my friend getting freaky on character ai, like the bot was saying ALL the freaky words not replacement words just getting into it without it getting flagged at all and I was just shocked… so i’m turning this into a oneshot!

I don’t re read so if you see a mistake just lemme know in the comments.

“Do you wanna kiss?” Choso said giving you a side glance.

You snap your head at him almost giving yourself whiplash. “Uhm�� what?”

You and Choso were snuggling under the blanket for your weekly movie night. Every saturday either Choso came over or you went over for movie night, to keep the “friendship” alive.

He shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth before pointing at the tv, “Like what they’re doing” on the tv played a hot make out session, “We should try it.” He looked at you again “Just for fun… as friends.”

“Just for fun?” You asked, confusion played out on your face, almost looking like a real life question mark.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Just for fun…”

You sat and thought about if for a second, maybe a good 3 seconds, “I mean… i guess…”

Choso softly chuckled not actually expecting you to agree, he sat aside his popcorn and faced you, “So… you really want to try this out?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and remain a stoic expression on your face but in all honesty you were already excited. “I guess…”

“Alright then.” He tossed the blanket somewhere in the living room and fully faced you leaning in, “Come here then.”

You shuffled closer, closing the already small space. When you two got face to face your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips. He chuckled and did the same, he picked up his hand and rested it on your cheek, caressing your cheek with his thumb he asked. “You nervous?”

You softly smile, “Why would I be? just a friendly kiss…”

He holds your head with his hand and puts his hand on your knee, “Just making sure…” he slowly pushed you back onto the couch, following between your legs. “Just a friendly kiss…”

When your head made it to the couch pillow he wasted no time to meet his lips to yours. Your lips moved together for a solid 3 seconds before he pulled away and already started to get carried away like you walked right into his trap. He moved his hand up to your wait and started pressing kisses to your collar bone. When he noticed that you were comfortable with what he was doing, he started to nibble and lap at your sensitive skin.

He made sure to attack both sides of your neck and leave love marks before he started trailing down. As he was trailing down to your chest he was stopped by your shirt, “This is in the way.” He tugged your shirt off and threw it where the blanket was, he thought he’d have to fight your bra off but luckily for him you weren’t wearing one.

He continued his journey down, you expected him to pay some attention to your breast but he kissed right passed them. To make up for ignoring them he grabbed one with his free hand, he continued his kisses down to your stomach. Pampering your stomach with his kisses, feeling your shivers under his body.

He continued his journey further down, being stopped by your jeans, he pulled slightly away. “Why are you so… dressed…” He took his hand off your breast and un zipped your jeans and tugged them off, your panties along with them and tossed them where your shirt was.

He gave you no time to feel awkward about being the only one naked before he started to kiss again, skipping over your core and to the sensitive inner skin of your thighs. When he finally made it to his destination, he hooked his arms around your thighs and finally relaxed his body as he bit and licked at your thighs, leaving hickeys behind as evidence.

He traveled his kisses up to your heat, just one kiss away. He lifted his head to look at you for reassurance. You were staring hard. When you noticed him asking for permission with his eyes, you slowly nodded faintly saying, “…please…”

He slightly smirked lowering his face while holding heavy eye contact, he could feel your heat radiating on his face. He didn’t break eye contact until he licked a slow stripe up your slit, his eyes giving his undivided attention to your bud as he slowly circled his tongue around it, his nails gripping into your thighs.

He continued his onslaught, his tongue exploring every inch of you, tasting you fully, his breath coming in heated pants against your skin. He teased and licked, his touch both gentle and rough. He felt you shiver under him, trying to move your hips at his pace, but he wanted all control so he tightened his grip on your thighs, steadying you as he continued to eat you like you were his last meal. He hummed, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

He pulled away slightly, staring you in the eyes, your slick covered his mouth. He licked his lips, making sure he doesn’t miss a taste of you, “You’re so quiet, i’m not sure how you feel… make some noise for me.” He slowly lowered his head back to where it belonged, before he attacked your bud once again he said “please.” before continuing his previous actions.

His tongue finding your sensitive bud once more, swirling around it in slow, deliberate motions. He bit down gently, applying just the right amount of pressure, his teeth sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. When he successfully finally got a sound out of you, he was now satisfied and his final goal was to make sure you finished right on his tongue. He wanted to taste you, make sure that your flavor was drilled into his mind so when he was asked what his favorite meal was, he could say your name.

He continued his torment, devouring you like he’s never tasted anything like you, like he was going to ask for seconds, maybe twelfths. He could do this all day, your moans filled the room and the sound of him sucking at your clit. It was like music to his ears, he was now wishing he recorded an audio to play in his headphones while he was at work.

He could tell that you were already close, he was sad that this was going to end so soon, but at the same time he was very excited to taste you on his tongue. You tried to move your hips once again but his grip was too strong. He noticed how eager you were for this and he was just as eager.

He pulled his face away slightly for a quick second to say, “Cum for me…” he continued to suck and lick at you, with a slightly quickened pace. Your moans started to get louder and he pressed his face more into you giving you more pressure.

You finally reached your high and came down on his tongue, spasming in his grip. He sat there with his tongue poked at your entrance to making sure he got every drop. He lifted his head to look at you with a smirk on his face, his lips glossy as he licked them.

The two of you laid on the couch together after you got dressed again, him behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. The Raku home screen playing in the background because the movie was long gone over.

You sigh, “You said a friendly kiss… you kissed me for all of 3 seconds Cho…”

He chuckles, “I never specified what lips i’d be kissing,..” He said with a smile on his face as he snuggled closer and nuzzled his face into the crease of your neck.

“Then i guess it was just friendly ora-”

He cut you off and lifted his head, “If you still think that this relationship is still “friendly” then I will take you to your bedroom and fu-”

You cut him off back, “Okay Choso I get it, a simple “no we aren’t friends anymore I want to be more than friends, like girlfriend boyfriend.” Would have been fine…”

He softly chuckled and lowered his head into the crook of your neck and softly said, “Good.” before placing a gentle kiss on your neck.

Anywho, good bye!

[reidsworld]

The Time We Have

Summary: Logan struggles with the fear of dying and leaving Laura alone, but meeting you helps him find peace. Set in an AU where Logan does not die at the end of Logan (2017).

Paring: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Angst, Fluff

Content Warnings: Talks of death.

Word Count: 1.4k

Mars speaks… gif is from pinterest!

Masterlist

Logan’s knuckles ache, the bones beneath his skin creaking with every movement as if they’re finally giving in to the wear of time. It’s a pain that never quite leaves him anymore, a constant reminder that his body is failing him, betraying him in ways he never thought possible. He’s lived more lifetimes than most, fought more battles than he can count, and somehow, it’s this—this slow, inevitable decay—that feels like the cruelest blow of all.

He’s not afraid of dying. That’s never been something that scared him. He’s seen it too many times, come too close to it on too many occasions, to feel anything other than a resigned acceptance when he thinks about the end. But this… this slow, agonising decline is something different. It’s not the swift, clean death he always imagined for himself, the kind that comes in battle, in the heat of the moment. No, this is something that eats away at him bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but a shadow of the man he used to be.

And that scares him. Not the dying part—he’s made his peace with that—but the idea of leaving Laura alone in a world that’s anything but kind. He’s fought so hard to keep her safe, to give her a chance at a life he never thought he’d have to walk away from before it was time. The thought of her being alone, without anyone to protect her, has kept him up more nights than he can count.

He doesn’t talk about it. He’s never been one to share what’s on his mind, to let anyone see the cracks beneath the surface. But it’s there, every time he looks in the mirror and sees the new lines on his face, every time his claws take just a little longer to come out, every time he feels the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones.

It’s a bitter realisation, knowing that his time is running out. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he’s slowly dying and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. The adamantium that made him unbreakable is now his undoing, poisoning him from the inside out. And there’s no one left to save him, no one who can stop the inevitable.

He’s spent his life fighting, surviving against impossible odds, but this is a battle he knows he can’t win. It’s a fight he’s destined to lose, and it’s not something he’s ever been good at accepting.

And then, he met you.

You came into his life like a breath of fresh air, a light in the darkness that had consumed him for so long. He didn’t want to let you in at first, didn’t want to admit that you could make any kind of difference in the mess that his life had become. But you were persistent, stubborn in that way he’s come to admire, and somehow, without him even realizing it, you slipped past all the walls he’d built up around himself.

You weren’t like anyone he’d ever met. A mutant, yes, but your powers weren’t about brute strength or regeneration. Instead, you had the ability to manipulate energy, to create barriers and shields that could protect those around you. It was a power that reflected who you were—a protector, a guardian. And it was exactly what he and Laura needed. Before he knew it, he found himself drawn to you in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was Laura who first noticed the change in him, the way he seemed lighter somehow, less burdened by the weight of the world. She’d always been perceptive, too smart for her own good, and she didn’t hesitate to call him out on it.

“You’re different,” she said one day, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “You’re… happier.”

Logan had grunted in response, not wanting to admit that she was right. He wasn’t used to being happy, wasn’t used to feeling anything other than anger or pain. But with you, it was different. You didn’t change his purpose; you just made the burden lighter, made it easier to carry on knowing you were by his side.

But you didn’t push him. You let him come to terms with it on his own, never demanding more than he was willing to give. You were patient, understanding in a way that made him feel like he could finally breathe, like he didn’t have to be on guard all the time.

And slowly, without even realising it, Logan found himself accepting the inevitable. He was dying—there was no denying that. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a death sentence. It felt like… closure. Like maybe he could finally find peace, knowing that he wasn’t leaving Laura alone, that you’d be there, that you’d spend the rest of your life with him.

One night, as you lay curled up against him on the couch, your head resting on his chest, he found himself speaking the words that had been weighing on his mind for so long.

“I’m not gonna be around forever,” he said quietly, his voice rough with the weight of the truth. “I’m dying, and there’s nothin’ I can do to stop it.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your head to look at him, your eyes full of understanding and love. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

He let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I’m scared,” he admitted, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I’m not used to this… to not knowin’ what’s gonna happen. To not bein’ able to fight back.”

Your hand moved to cup his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Logan,” you said, your voice full of warmth. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re not alone in this. Laura and I… we’re here for you, for as long as you need us.”

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know how much time I have left,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But whatever time I do have… I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You smiled, a soft, loving smile that made his heart ache with something he couldn’t quite name. “Me too,” you said simply, as if there was no question, no doubt in your mind.

And in that moment, Logan felt something shift inside him. The fear, the uncertainty that had been gnawing at him for so long, began to fade. It didn’t disappear completely—he knew it never would—but it didn’t seem as overwhelming anymore. Because he wasn’t alone. He had you, and he had Laura. And that was enough.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he could hold on to this moment forever. You settled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his, and he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in the scent of you—something that had become so familiar, so comforting.

And then he thought about Laura, about the future he’d once feared she’d face alone. But now… now he had hope. You were by his side, and together, you could give Laura the life she deserved. She’d have you to guide her, to be there when he was gone. And maybe, just maybe, she’d have a sibling to watch over her when both of you were long gone.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt like he could finally accept what was happening to him. He was dying—there was no escaping that. But it didn’t feel like the end. It felt like… a beginning. A chance to live the life he’d never thought he’d have, with you by his side.

And when the time came, when the poison inside him finally took its toll, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. He’d have you, and he’d have Laura. And that was more than he’d ever hoped for.

So, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of your presence wash over him, and for the first time in his long, tumultuous life, Logan felt at peace.

Mars speaks… (again) Thank you for reading, any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[candyeager]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART TWO 10.1k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano never hurts you—not physically, at least—though the emotional havoc he's wreaked has left you unraveling. But what you face now is something entirely different. 

Haruchiyo Sanzu's grip is iron-clad, dragging you away from Mikey's door with no regard for your protests. His fingers dig into your wrist like vices, the pressure biting deep into your skin until the pain is sharp and throbbing. It radiates up your arm, but even that ache is dull compared to the hollow devastation gnawing at your chest. The image of Mikey with her—so close, so intimate—burns behind your eyelids every time you blink.

It's as though the world around you has ceased to exist. You can't even register the hallways passing by as Sanzu hauls you through them, his erratic pace nearly causing you to stumble. You feel like a ragdoll in his grasp, powerless, your heart beating out of sync with reality.

Kakucho's voice filters through the numbness. "Sanzu... what are you doing?"

There's concern in his tone, but he stays planted where he is, as if crossing that line would be dangerous. 

Sanzu doesn't slow, doesn't even glance at him. His lips curl into a sneer as cold as the concrete walls. 

"Taking care of a stray," he bites, yanking you closer as though you might slip from his grip.

The words sting, but not as much as what follows.

Kakucho's frown deepens, but he's hesitant. "You sure you wanna do that? She's—"

Sanzu cuts him off, sharp and merciless. "She's nothing. A nobody. Mikey made that pretty fucking clear, didn't he?"

Nothing. A nobody.

Each word hits you with the force of a physical blow. Whatever you were to Mikey, whatever you thought you had—it's been ripped away, stripped down to these ugly truths. 

You're nothing now.

Kakucho's gaze flickers to you, sympathy and uncertainty mingling in his dark eyes. But you can't meet them. You drop your head, staring at the floor as though it holds all the answers you need. Maybe if you don't look, you won't have to acknowledge what Sanzu just said. Maybe you can pretend you didn't hear it.

Mikey doesn't want you anymore.

"Stop this," Kakucho urges, stepping forward now, his movements careful, deliberate. "You're high. This isn't going to end well, you know that."

Sanzu's eyes snap up, wild and feral, like a predator guarding its kill. "Exactly." His voice drops to a venomous whisper. "So back the fuck off before I kill you too."

The tension between them is palpable, but Kakucho eventually steps back, his jaw tight with barely suppressed anger. He's seen what Sanzu is capable of when he's in this state. They all have. 

"Just don't go too far," Kakucho mutters, his voice tight, his eyes flicking to you one last time before he steps aside. His reluctance lingers, but in the end, he's still letting you be dragged away.

Ran, sprawled lazily on the couch, barely lifts his head as he calls after Sanzu. "Mission's at nine. Try not to be dead before then."

Sanzu pays no mind to either of them. His grip tightens, and you're dragged deeper into Bonten's labyrinthine corridors, every step taking you further from any hope of intervention.

He pulls you into a small room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle your bones. A click follows—the lock sliding into place—and you're alone. Alone with him.

The room is stark, clinical, a conference table dominating the space with its polished wood surface and neatly lined chairs. But there's nothing neat about what's happening now. The moment Sanzu shoves you against the table, hard enough that the edge bites into your lower back, the sterile, formal atmosphere of the room is obliterated.

His hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your throat. The pressure is immediate, your breath catching in your throat as your vision blurs at the edges. You gasp instinctively, hands flying to his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, but he's too strong. His hold tightens further, cutting off more of your air, and panic grips you.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, laced with the stench of drugs. His expression is wild, unhinged, pupils dilated and blown wide with intoxication. But beneath the drugs, there's something else—an anger, a bitterness that has nothing to do with you, but is aimed at you all the same.

"Now..." His voice is low, almost a growl. "What the fuck do I have to do to make you understand that you don't belong here?"

Your lungs burn, your head spinning as your fingers claw at his hand. I don't belong here? The thought pierces through your fog of fear. Maybe he's right. You're not sure of anything anymore—not after Mikey, not after what you saw. 

You can't breathe, and everything is turning dark. Sanzu's face, his mocking grin, is the only thing in focus.

Tears well up, spilling over your lashes. But you're not crying because of the physical pain. It's the emotional torment that's killing you. The crushing realization that you are utterly, completely alone. No one's coming to save you. 

Sanzu watches as you choke on your own sobs, and he laughs, low and cold. "Already crying?" he mocks. "I haven't even started yet."

But the tears won't stop. The dam inside you breaks, and you're gasping, sobbing uncontrollably in front of him. You can't take it anymore. Not this. Not after what Mikey's done to you.

"Just..." You choke on the words, your voice broken and hoarse. "Just fucking kill me already."

For a moment, there's silence. Then, his grip on your neck loosens just enough to let you breathe. You gasp, sucking in precious air, coughing as your lungs fight for life. But the relief is short-lived.

Sanzu's face hovers inches from yours, his smirk growing, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "Kill you?" His tone is soft now, condescending. "Nah. That's too easy."

His fingers trace the curve of your jaw, rough, possessive. "I think I'd rather play with you a little longer." 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands pressing against your face as tears continue to spill down your cheeks. This feels so stupid. So, so stupid. Mikey's across the hall with his wife, living his perfect life, while you're stuck here with Sanzu—his insane, drugged-up number two. 

What a fucking downgrade. 

Suddenly, without warning, Sanzu grabs your face roughly, forcing you to look up at him through your tear-filled eyes.

"You're pathetic," he sneers before crushing his lips against yours. 

The kiss is brutal, possessive, and filled with an overwhelming heat that makes your skin crawl. You try to push him away, but his weight presses you into the table, your wrists pinned beneath his hands. It's suffocating, just like his grip on your throat.

And then you taste it. Something bitter and foreign sliding past your lips. Your eyes widen in horror as you realize what he's doing.

He pulls back, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, "Swallow."

You shake your head, panic rising in your chest. No way. You're not going to swallow that. You try to spit it out, but his hand clamps down over your mouth, smothering any attempt to resist.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he murmurs, his tone soft but filled with menace. "Be a good girl... and swallow."

His words slither into your ears, so sweet and venomous all at once, poisoning what little willpower you have left. You want to fight him. You want to scream and tear away from him, but you can't. Your body is too sluggish, too weak to resist, and part of you doesn't want to. 

It wants him to be right.

It's easier, isn't it? To let him take control. To stop resisting and just give in, let the numbness wash over you. Maybe then the pain of everything—of Mikey, of the betrayal, of this twisted mess—will fade, even just for a moment.

"I said swallow," Sanzu hisses, his patience thinning. "That. Shit."

You finally swallow the pill, the bitterness lingering on your tongue like a promise you'll regret. The drug settles deep inside you, blooming warmth spreading through your chest like wildfire, but there's no comfort in it. It only intensifies the chaos swirling in your mind—the betrayal, the loss, the desire to escape. It all collides in a sickening wave, leaving you gasping, clinging to the edge of the table as your body betrays you.

Sanzu watches you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl, his eyes dark, wide, and hungry. He's waiting. Waiting for the drug to take hold, waiting for you to crumble.

"Good girl," he breathes, and the words slide over your skin, soft and menacing. His gaze lingers, tracing every tremor in your body, every stifled breath. 

The drug spreads quickly—too quickly. The next thing you know the room is spinning violently, the floor tipping beneath your feet, and you're stumbling as warmth floods your limbs. You try to steady yourself, but your body feels too light, too hot, like you're floating, disconnected from reality. Your breath quickens, panic swelling in your chest as your senses sharpen, every touch, every sound amplified to unbearable levels.

Sanzu's hands are still on you, his touch electric, sending jolts through your skin. You gasp, your heart racing as the euphoria spreads, tangling with the devastation inside you, turning everything into a dizzying blur of sensation. You can barely breathe, and yet, in the haze of it all, a part of you is aware of his gaze, watching you intently, reveling in your reaction.

"How does it feel? Hmm?" His voice is low, almost a purr, and you can feel his breath against your ear as he leans in closer. 

"First time's always the best." He laughs, a quiet, sinister sound that rattles through your bones. "You'll feel good soon... or maybe you'll just cry harder. Who knows?"

You choke on a sob, the tears spilling over as the drug overtakes you, drowning you in heat and haze. Your body feels foreign, your mind too foggy to comprehend anything other than the intensity of it all. You want to fight it, fight him, but there's nothing to hold on to—nothing but him.

And that terrifies you.

"Let go," he murmurs. "Let it take over... Forget about him. Forget everything. Just feel."

Your body acts before your mind can catch up, your hand clutching the front of his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric. It's an instinctual, desperate motion, driven by something deep inside—a need for warmth, for something to hold on to. You can't explain it, but you crave him now, the heat of his body, the solidity of his presence. You pull him closer, though you don't even understand why, though it feels all wrong.

"Look at you..." Sanzu's chuckle is dark, amused. "Hanging onto me like a lost puppy." 

But he leans in anyway, his breath brushing against your neck as he speaks. His proximity feels like a lifeline, shielding you from the blinding lights that seem to intensify with every passing second. The room tilts, but his voice anchors you, even as it weaves dirty, degrading things in your ear—things that make your stomach twist, yet ignite something you don't want to acknowledge.

Your heart races, breath coming in ragged bursts. Everything is too intense—his touch, his words, the sensation of your body betraying you. You don't understand this feeling, this mixture of euphoria and humiliation. It's confusing, overwhelming, and yet, you can't shake the craving. The need for more. 

His touch, his heat.

Then, without warning, he steps back.

The sudden absence of him is like a cold slap to the face, leaving you breathless and cold. Your body aches for the warmth he took with him, for the closeness that you didn't even know you craved. You hate it. You hate the emptiness he leaves behind.

He adjusts his waistcoat with a casual smirk, like this was all just a game to him, like your unraveling was just another form of entertainment. 

"You're on your own now," he says, his voice detached, distant. "Enjoy the ride."

And just like that, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You're left sprawled across the table, the world spinning, lights burning into your skull. Your limbs are heavy, useless, and you try to move, to escape the overwhelming heat and dizziness suffocating you, but your body won't cooperate. You tumble to the floor, the carpet catching your fall with a soft thud.

A giggle bubbles up from your throat, though you don't know why. Everything feels distant, like you're floating, detached from reality. The warmth of the drug mingles with the cold ache of abandonment, creating a disorienting swirl of emotions that you can't make sense of.

And so you lie there, lost in the haze, your body sinking deeper into the plush floor as the laughter fades, leaving only the hollow emptiness behind.

Until, finally, the world pulls you into the darkness of sleep.

Manjiro Sano never cheated on you before. You've known him for nine years—nine long years where loyalty was never questioned, not once. He's never strayed, never looked at another woman the way he looks at you. That was the truth you clung to through all the chaos, the violence, the bloodshed. But tonight, the foundation of that truth crumbles before your eyes.

When you catch him with his wife, it's not exactly cheating, is it? Not when she's the one wearing the ring. Not when she's the one he made vows to. And yet, it feels like betrayal. If anything, you're the other woman now. Your position, the one you held so dearly, has shifted, without your consent.

He's the one betraying her, not you. But that logic doesn't make the pain any easier to bear. It still cuts deep, searing through you with what you had just witnessed in Mikey's office. You thought you were strong enough to endure it, thought you could compartmentalize the ache gnawing at your insides. You were wrong. The sight of them together burns itself into your mind like a wound that refuses to heal.

Until Sanzu forced that pill down your throat. 

The memory floods back, vivid and suffocating. His twisted grin, the roughness of his hands, the way he made you feel so helpless. But now? Now you feel the strangest relief. The aching wound in your chest—the one Mikey and his wife carved out—fades into a distant blur, replaced by a creeping, unnatural numbness. Your mind is hazy, clouded, but in that haze, you find comfort.

The world felt kinder in that numbness. And for a moment, you were almost grateful for the relief Sanzu gave you. Almost.

When you wake up, the high is gone, leaving behind a pounding headache and a body that feels stiff, heavy, like someone drained the life from you. The floor feels strange under your hands, cold and unfamiliar. You blink, trying to orient yourself, and realize you're not on the floor anymore. Someone moved you—you're sprawled across the couch in the executive lounge, a blanket thrown haphazardly over you like an afterthought.

Your body screams in discomfort, muscles sore, your skin aching where his hands had pressed too hard. But the pain is secondary to the memories—Sanzu. That damn pill. The way he—

"You're awake."

The voice cuts through the fog in your mind, and your head snaps to the side. Mikey sits in a chair not far from you, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He's watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are different. Tired. 

The night stretches behind him through the window, a dark sky lit by city lights. The office is quiet. Everyone else is gone. Even Sanzu.

It's just you and Mikey now.

You don't answer him. The ache in your chest resurfaces, sharper this time, suffocating as the image of him and his wife flashes in your mind again. It hits harder now, with Mikey sitting right in front of you, looking at you.

You push yourself up, your body swaying under the weight of exhaustion and leftover dizziness. Your throat is sore, bruised, where Sanzu's fingers had pressed too hard, too rough, forcing. You reach up instinctively, wincing at the tenderness, and you catch Mikey's gaze drop to your neck.

His jaw clenches. The air between you shifts—heavy, tense.

"He won't touch you again."

His voice is low, soft, but there's a dangerous edge beneath it, one that sends a chill through your veins. You know that tone. It's the tone he uses before someone dies.

You swallow, the reality sinking in. What has Mikey done? What did he do to Sanzu? The thought twists in your gut, unease settling deep inside you, but part of you pushes the thought away. Sanzu deserves whatever he gets, doesn't he? After what he did?

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "Forget about that... He gave me something. A pill."

Mikey's face shifts, unreadable for a moment, then he shrugs. "A pill? X, probably. He does that sometimes. Are you alright?"

That makes sense. No wonder you passed out so quickly. But it doesn't ease the anger boiling inside you, doesn't take away the humiliation of letting Sanzu drag you deeper into his twisted games when you were already at your lowest.

"I'm fine," you bite out, though it feels like a lie. 

Fine? You're far from fine.

The words hang in the air, sharp, bitter, and when you look at Mikey, the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. You're not sure if it's anger or heartbreak that makes it so hard to breathe.

"Mikey..." you begin again, your voice cracking slightly, the words lodged in your throat. It's harder than you thought to say it, because once it's out, there's no taking it back. 

"We can't just pretend like nothing's changed."

He doesn't look at you at first. He just stares at the floor, his jaw clenched tight, as though he's trying to force himself to say something, but can't. The silence stretches on painfully before he finally speaks, his voice so low you almost don't hear him.

"I know things are different." Each word sounds forced, like it's taking every ounce of strength for him to admit it. "But..."

Your heart clenches, your breath catching in your throat. There's always a 'but' with him, isn't there? Always some excuse, some reason why things can't go back to the way they were.

"But what, Mikey?" you ask, unable to stop yourself. It's not anger that drives you this time, but the desperation clawing at your insides. "You have feelings for her now, don't you?"

You watch him as he exhales slowly, his face still calm, almost detached. You wish he would say something, anything, to ease the ache in your chest. But he doesn't.

"I do," he says, his voice distant. It's a confession that feels like a knife to your heart. "I can't deny that. She's... she's gonna have my kid. It's not simple anymore."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You knew it, deep down, but hearing him say it aloud makes it real in a way you weren't prepared for. The sharp, bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the back of your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions from spilling over, but your voice wavers when you speak again.

"And us?" 

The question slips out, soft and fragile, but it cuts deeper than anything you've said before. You're asking about more than just your relationship—you're asking about the nine years you gave him, about the promises he made, about the love you once believed was unbreakable.

Mikey's eyes finally meet yours, and for a brief moment, you see the boy you once knew—the boy who swore he'd never leave you, who promised you forever under the stars when you were both too young to understand what that meant. His gaze softens for a second, a flicker of something almost tender, almost apologetic.

"I still care about you," he says, his voice low but steady. There's no hesitation in his tone, no doubt. But it's not the answer you were hoping for. "That hasn't changed."

But it has. 

The truth of that slams into you with crushing finality. You shake your head, the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating you. 

"Oh, it has, Mikey," you whisper, barely able to get the words out. "You know that."

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with everything left unsaid. Mikey doesn't argue, doesn't try to convince you otherwise. He just leans back in his chair, his hands falling limp at his sides, as though he's too exhausted to fight anymore. There's a defeat in his posture that wasn't there before, as if even he knows this is the end.

You want to scream at him, demand why it took him so long to be honest, why he let things fall apart so silently. But the words won't come. All that's left is the ache, the unbearable knowledge that the man you've loved for nearly a decade is slipping further away from you with every passing second.

Mikey looks like he's about to say something, his lips parting slightly, but then he falters, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he's holding back. 

"Maybe," he murmurs after a moment, his voice so soft you almost miss it. For the first time, he sounds vulnerable. "But I don't want to lose you. I can't..."

His voice breaks, just a little, and that cracks something inside of you too. Because it sounds like the truth, like the rawness of his feelings is finally breaking through the cold exterior he always wears. Nine years together, and this is where it's come to—a place where even his honesty feels too late. Too hollow. You know it's not enough. It never will be.

You don't want to lose him either. You don't want to believe that all those years meant nothing. But deep down, you know it already has. The moment she became his wife, the moment he chose her, you lost this battle. The war in your heart is over, and all that remains is the wreckage of what once was.

"You're already losing me," you whisper, the finality of it sinking in. Each word feels like a dagger in your own chest. "When you started choosing her, Mikey."

Mikey doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He just sits there, silent and still, like he's frozen in time. Maybe he doesn't have the strength to argue. Maybe, deep down, he knows it's true. He's losing you, and there's nothing left he can do to stop it.

You don't wait for his answer anymore. You've spent too long waiting for him to decide, too long hoping for a future that's already gone. The pain in your body—your aching muscles, the soreness from Sanzu's rough touch—it all fades into the background, drowned out by the unbearable weight of your broken heart.

You push yourself to your feet, your legs shaking slightly under the strain. But you don't let yourself falter. You can't, not now.

"You need to figure this out on your own," you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. Your words are an ultimatum, a final plea for him to understand what he's done. 

"Because I can't keep waiting for you to choose me. I'm not meant to be an option. I'm worth more than that."

There's nothing left to say. The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of goodbye. Mikey doesn't move, doesn't speak, and that hurts more than anything else. He's letting you walk away.

Without another word, you turn and head toward the elevator. Each step feels like a thousand miles, like you're walking out of his life for good. And maybe you are. Maybe this is the end you've been dreading for so long.

The elevator doors close behind you with a soft click, and in the quiet of the enclosed space, the tears finally come. They fall silently at first, warm trails down your cheeks, but you don't wipe them away. 

As the elevator descends, you let the tears flow freely. The weight of the years, the memories, the love you poured into him—it all hits you at once, and you don't stop it. You don't need to hide from the truth anymore.

Manjiro Sano has killed before. The thought of it had once terrified you, the cold certainty in his eyes when he spoke of violence always chilling. 

You know this because you asked him, point-blank, one night when the weight of his world became too much to ignore. He didn't tell you directly, but the silence that followed, the coldness in his eyes, was answer enough. In that moment, the boy you knew, the boy you loved, disappeared into the shadows of the man he had become.

Still, you accepted him. Loved him anyway. You convinced yourself it was the only way to keep him—by accepting all of him, even the parts you couldn't bear to understand. You've always found a way to justify it—his actions, his choices, the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. Because loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. It became an instinct, a reflex, something that felt inevitable.

But now, the uncertainty gnaws at you, harder than ever before. Not just the heaviness of knowing who he is, but the gnawing question of what he's capable of—what he's done to the people around him. 

What he's done to Sanzu.

Your mind races, replaying every detail of your last conversation with Mikey. The hard edge to his voice, the finality in his words. If Mikey killed him, it's because of you, isn't it? Because of what Sanzu did to you. 

If Sanzu's dead, then his blood is on your hands. 

That thought lodges itself deep in your chest, a weight too heavy to shake. Even after everything—after the drug, the violence, the way he pushed you to the edge—you can't stomach the idea of Sanzu dying because of you.

Which is why you find yourself here again, standing outside Sanzu's condominium in the middle of the night, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. 

Mikey's words echo in your mind—his cold, distant voice, the final crack in everything you thought you knew about him. The realization had shattered you in ways you hadn't been prepared for.

It's over.

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but they ring with a truth that you can't deny. The boy you loved, the man you thought you'd stand beside forever—he's gone. And in his place is someone you no longer recognize.

Your feet move almost on their own as you approach Sanzu's door, but a hesitation stops you just before you reach the doorbell. Do you even know what you're doing here? What you want? You aren't sure. But the pull toward him, toward finding out what Mikey's done, is stronger than your doubts. 

With a shaky breath, you press the doorbell. The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by the racing of your heart. Each second that passes feels like a lifetime, until finally, the shuffle of footsteps inside tells you someone's there.

The door swings open with a creak, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. Relief washes over you—but only for a second. What replaces it is a sharp stab of pity. 

Sanzu looks like hell. His one eye is swollen and bruised, a fresh bandage covering the right side of his face. His lips are split and caked with dried blood, a sight that twists something deep in your chest. 

His trademark sneer is still there, but it's marred by the pain that's evident in the way he stands, slightly hunched, favoring one side. There's an anger in his eyes, but behind it, you can see the weariness, the vulnerability he would never admit to.

"What the fuck do you want now?" Sanzu snaps, his voice sharp despite the obvious discomfort he's in. He's trying to sound like his usual self, but you can tell the fight has been knocked out of him. He's hurting. Badly.

Your mouth opens to respond, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they die there. Seeing him like this—broken, battered—it's not what you expected. It shakes something loose inside of you. Your eyes scan his injuries, your mind reeling with the knowledge that Mikey did this. The boy you loved did this.

Mikey isn't supposed to be this brutal. Not with his own.

The thought makes your chest tighten painfully, and before you can stop it, the tidal wave of emotion crashes over you. Tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had to give tonight, but this time, they come from a place deeper than heartbreak. This time, you're crying for everything—for Mikey, for Sanzu, for the person you've become in all this mess.

Sanzu's sneer fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, replaced by an annoyed scowl. He's trying to hide his discomfort, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. 

"The hell are you crying for? Stop that now!" His words are rough, but there's an edge of bewilderment in them. 

He doesn't understand why you're here, why you're crying.

But you can't stop. The sobs come hard and fast, tearing through you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. You're overwhelmed, consumed by the realization that Mikey is no longer the man you fell in love with. When did he start to change? When did the violence become more than just a part of his world, but a part of him?

Sanzu watches you, his irritation growing as your sobs continue. He's never been good with emotions—especially not yours.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face and wincing as he touches the bruise. "You're crying over him, huh?"

His words hit you like a slap, and more tears fall, a pitiful, uncontrollable mess. And in that moment, you don't care. You don't care that Sanzu's dangerous, that he's hurt you before, that he's the reason you ended up here in the first place. All you can think about is the fact that Mikey—your Mikey—is gone.

He's no longer the boy who used to hold you late at night, whispering promises of a future that now feels like a distant dream. He's no longer the man who looked at you like you were his entire world.

He's no longer yours.

Sanzu scoffs, the sound harsh in the quiet hallway. "Fuck's sake, stop crying. You're acting like a kid." 

But even his sharp words don't reach you. 

When you don't respond, don't even acknowledge him, something in Sanzu snaps. He can't stand it anymore—the emotions, the tears, the fact that you're standing here crying over someone else while he's falling apart.

"Goddammit!" he snarls, and before you can blink, he slams the door in your face. 

The sound echoes in the empty hallway, a loud, final punctuation to the moment. You're left standing there, your body trembling as the sobs finally start to quiet, though the tears continue to stream down your cheeks. You're alone again, and the weight of that reality hits you harder than anything else.

Mikey is gone. And so is the life you thought you'd have.

Manjiro Sano hated seeing you cry. Every time your tears would spill, it was like the world stopped spinning. His face would twist in pain, even if the tears weren't his fault. He once said that when you cried, it felt like he had failed—like he should have protected you from whatever caused them. 

He always pulled you into his arms when you broke down, his touch so gentle it was almost unreal. He would stroke your hair, whispering that everything was okay, hiding you in the crook of his shoulder so you wouldn't feel so exposed.

But that Mikey? That Mikey is long gone.

Now you're standing outside Sanzu's condo unit, your fingers shaking as you try to dry your tear-streaked face. The cold air bites at your skin, or maybe it's the weight of what's happened tonight that chills you to the bone. 

The second time you've cried in front of Sanzu today. 

The first time, his hands were around your throat, forcing a pill past your lips, his eyes distant and clouded with drugs. The second time, there was no pill, no high to hide behind—just bruises, pain, and a door slammed in your face.

You shouldn't have come here, but at least you know he's alive. Mikey hadn't killed him, though something in the pit of your stomach told you it could have easily gone that way. You should feel relieved. Instead, the relief is mingled with anger, a deep-seated frustration that makes your heart pound even harder.

Just as you wipe away the last tear, the door swings open again. 

Sanzu stands in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the dim light inside. His scowl deepens as his eyes land on you, scanning your face like he's surprised you're still standing there. 

Then, without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. His grip is rough, but it loosens as soon as you're inside, leaving you stunned and blinking in the middle of his condo unit.

He disappears into another room and comes back with a box of tissues, shoving it toward you without a word. You take it, still in shock, as your eyes land on the bandage on his cheek. It's crooked, slapped on without much care, and his busted lip is still untreated, blood crusting around the edges, making him look even more broken than usual. You flinch inwardly at the sight.

"Did you get that wound treated?" Your voice is softer than you intended, concern slipping through the cracks in your resolve.

Sanzu glares at you. "What's it to you?"

You ignore his harshness, stepping closer. "You need to clean it properly," you say as your eyes fall to the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, scars you've always tried not to stare at too long. 

"Or it'll leave... a scar."

"Yeah? So what?" he mutters, brushing off your concern as he walks away.

You stare at him, the words catching in your throat. The sight of him—bruised and bandaged sloppily—somehow makes your chest ache in ways you don't fully understand.

"Don't you have any antiseptic?" you ask, turning toward the door. "I'll go buy some if—"

"I have it," he grunts, cutting you off. "Top shelf, next to you. You'd think I wouldn't know how to deal with a damn wound in this line of work?"

You glance at the haphazard bandage on his cheek, clearly not impressed by his self-care. Still, you open the shelf and retrieve a small emergency kit. 

"Then why didn't you treat the cut on your lip?" you ask, your voice a little firmer this time as you sit on the edge of his couch. "Surely you know you need to put antiseptic on it."

Sanzu grumbles under his breath, looking away. "Because... it fucking hurts, alright?"

You freeze for a second, blinking at him in surprise. Sanzu—the man who seems to thrive on chaos and pain—can't handle the sting of a simple cut? It's almost absurd, and yet, in that moment, you glimpse a flicker of something real beneath his usual mask. Vulnerability.

"I didn't think you were afraid of pain," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"I'm not afraid of it," he snaps, his voice rising defensively. "I just fucking hate it."

There's a childishness in his tone that catches you off guard, like he's throwing a tantrum rather than admitting weakness. The outburst lingers in the air for a moment before you decide to ignore it, reaching for the antiseptic in the first aid kit.

"Let me treat it." Your voice is calm, quiet. An olive branch, if only he'd take it.

Sanzu stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing. "Forget it," he mutters, brushing you off. "I don't need you all over my business."

"You're a dick, you know that?" you say, watching him limp slightly as he heads toward the pantry. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach.

He doesn't even glance back as he opens the fridge, retrieving a beer. "And I get paid for it," he replies, voice flat, devoid of his usual smugness.

You roll your eyes as he cracks the can open, lifting it to his lips, his pink hair a mess, like he's been through more than just a fight with Mikey. The black shirt and sweatpants he's wearing make him look almost... domestic. It hits you, suddenly—this familiarity, this strange sense of calm despite everything. It reminds you of Mikey, the way he used to walk around your apartment. The way things used to be. 

Your heart twists.

"We broke up," you blurt out, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. It's like ripping off a bandage—quick and painful, but it has to be done.

Sanzu pauses mid-sip, his back still turned to you. You watch as he downs the rest of the beer in one long gulp, crushing the can in his hand before tossing it aside. 

"'Bout time. I'm surprised it took him this long to figure it out," he mutters, but his words lack bite. There's no usual mockery, no cruelty, just... hollow indifference.

You study him, sensing the weight of his own pain, the bruises left by Mikey—not just on his body but somewhere deeper. You want to ask, to probe at the cracks in his usual defenses, but you don't. Instead, you take a breath and shift the conversation.

"I know, right?" You force a smile that feels thin, brittle. "I'm so heartbroken." The sarcasm coats your words, but it can't hide the tremor in your voice. 

"You must be feeling pretty good right now, so why not do me a favor?" You motion for him to sit beside you. "Sit here and let me treat your wounds."

Sanzu turns slowly, his eyes scanning you as if weighing your request. You can tell he's torn, that a part of him wants to accept the help, even if his pride keeps getting in the way.

You sit there, waiting, knowing that if he needed to push you away, he would've already done it. You don't say anything, just hold your ground, offering him something he's clearly not used to—genuine care.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, he mutters, the words almost begrudging, "Fine. But don't expect me to thank you."

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hold out the antiseptic. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He walks toward you, but instead of sitting next to you, he drops down on the opposite couch, legs sprawled out carelessly, almost as if daring you to come to him instead. You raise an eyebrow, the familiar exasperation rising within you.

"You could at least make it easier for me," you grumble, standing up and walking over. 

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes as you sit down in front of him on the coffee table, closer now, the scent of alcohol faint but present on his breath. He watches you carefully, eyes following your movements with that predatory focus he always seems to carry, even in moments like this.

When you peel back the bandage on his cheek, revealing the jagged scrape underneath, he winces, trying but failing to hide it. You smirk despite yourself, dabbing the wound with antiseptic. 

"You're such a baby," you tease, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

The reaction is immediate. "Am not," he snaps, his voice cutting through the space between you. "Don't fucking call me that again." There's a sharp edge to his words, but you can hear the vulnerability beneath it, the bruised pride of someone who's used to fighting, not being taken care of.

You ignore his outburst, focusing on his wound. This time, you're more careful, your touch gentler as you apply the ointment. His lips press into a thin line, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to sit still. There's something oddly endearing about it, watching him struggle with the idea of being vulnerable, even for a moment.

He really hates being called a baby, doesn't he?

When you finish with the bandage, you move on to his split lip, focusing on the dried blood caked around the cut. He avoids your gaze, scowling as if pretending this isn't happening. 

As your fingers brush against the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, curiosity gnaws at you. Before you can stop yourself, you press a thumb to one of the scars, feeling the jagged line beneath your skin.

Sanzu jerks back, his eyes blazing as he swats your hand away. "What the hell?" he growls, the vulnerability from a moment ago vanishing beneath the weight of his anger.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back. "I got distracted." 

The air between you shifts again, tense and fragile. You can tell you've touched something he doesn't want to share, a part of him that's still too raw, too guarded. And yet, you can't help but wonder what it would take for him to open up—to let you see more than just the surface.

You watch him stands abruptly in front of you, like he's about to bolt. "But I'm not done yet," you lie, trying to keep him there, keep the moment from slipping away.

He hesitates, glaring at you, but after a second, he sits back down with a grunt. "Whatever, just get it over with. I don't have all night to wait around."

You stay still, your hands resting in your lap as you stare at him, not moving to pick up the first aid kit again. "Can I ask you something?"

Sanzu slouches deeper into the couch, his eyes narrowing at you. "What now?"

You take a breath, steadying yourself. "How did you get those scars?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. For a moment, you expect him to laugh it off, to mock you for even asking. But instead, he just stares at you, his gaze cold and distant, like he's weighing whether or not to answer.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. "Mikey gave them to me."

The admission hits you like a punch to the gut. Mikey? Mikey did that to him? You feel your heart sink, your stomach twisting in disbelief. Judging by the faded look of the scars, it wasn't recent—this happened years ago. Long before Bonten. So why...?

"Why?" Your voice cracks, betraying the flood of emotions rising inside you.

Sanzu's eyes darken, his expression hardening. "I don't fucking remember," he snaps, his tone sharp, like he's daring you to push further. 

But the look in his eyes tells you more than his words ever could. This isn't something he wants to talk about—not with you, not with anyone.

You lower your gaze, staring down at your hands as the weight of everything threatens to crush you again. The urge to cry surfaces, hot tears stinging your eyes. You've cried so much today, and in front of him of all people. It's humiliating at this point. 

You stand, trying to escape the overwhelming weight of it all. "It's done. So I'll just... go," you mumble, stepping toward the door.

Before you can make it far, Sanzu's hand wraps around your wrist, his fingers cool against your skin. His grip is light, almost hesitant. You look down at where his fingers hold you, then back up at him. 

"What is it?"

You can feel your voice trembling, on the verge of breaking. You're so close to falling apart, and he's just... watching.

"Want this?" he asks suddenly, holding up a bottle filled with colorful pills. 

He gives it a small shake, and the pills rattle softly inside. The smirk that spreads across his face now is familiar, predatory. This is the Sanzu you know, the one you hate. 

"This shit's the real deal. Remember the other stuff I gave you earlier? That was just a trial run." He laughs, that low, mocking sound that makes your blood boil.

Your chest tightens as you stare at the pills, your mind flashing back to the euphoria from earlier. It had felt so good, so easy, like all the pain had vanished for a while. And yet... you narrow your eyes at him, anger replacing the temptation. How could he think you'd ever take anything from him again after what he did?

Sanzu sees the anger flash across your face, and the smirk fades. He lets go of your wrist and looks away, his expression hardening again. "Forget it. Just leave."

For a moment, you almost do. You almost walk out the door and leave him behind. But something makes you stop. The way his hand had felt around your wrist, the way his voice had softened when he realized what he was offering. You glance back at him, his body tense as he stares ahead, avoiding your gaze. And suddenly, you don't want to leave anymore.

"I want it," you say quietly, turning fully to face him. "Give it to me."

Sanzu's eyes flick back to you, surprise flashing briefly before his usual sneer returns. "Fuck no," he grunts. "You think I'm gonna give you this just to watch you walk out the door?"

There's a pause. His words hang in the air, and for a split second, his eyes widen slightly, like he's just surprised himself with the admission. He hadn't meant to say that, but now it's out there—he doesn't want you to leave. Not yet. 

He actually wants your company.

You can't help the bitter smile that tugs at your lips. "What, are you gonna choke me again?" you ask, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

His head snaps toward you, confusion etched into his features. "Huh? No. That's—" He stumbles over the words, almost defensive, like he hadn't considered how far he'd gone before.

Without waiting for him to finish, you plop down on the couch beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. You extend your hand, palm up, eyes fixed on his. 

"Fine. Give me that, Sanzu."

For a moment, he doesn't move, his gaze searching your face. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips again—the same smug, infuriating expression you've come to expect from him.

Manjiro Sano has warned you more than once: avoid Sanzu when he's high. The fact that you were Mikey's girlfriend has always been enough to keep Sanzu from crossing certain lines when he's sober, but when the drugs took over, his already fragile self-control shatters. 

The warning always carries weight, like a veiled threat that lingers at the back of your mind, but tonight... tonight, you don't care. You're too numb, too broken, and the reckless part of you craves the release Sanzu offers. The part of you that wants to forget Mikey. 

The pill between Sanzu's fingers gleams like forbidden fruit, a dual-colored capsule that promises escape. His grin is lazy, predatory, as if the thrill of watching you self-destruct is part of his form of entertainment. Without a word, you reach for the pill, swallowing it down without hesitation. The bitter taste lingers at the back of your throat, but the anticipation of oblivion drowns out any second thoughts.

Within minutes, the edges of reality begin to blur. The room shifts, the walls breathe, and the floor ripples like water beneath your feet. Colors bleed into each other, swirling in dizzying patterns that make you feel weightless. The cool marble floor presses against your cheek as you lie sprawled on the ground, your limbs heavy yet disconnected from your body.

Above you, like a ghostly shadow, Sanzu lounges on the couch, watching you with an intensity that both unnerves and thrills you. He takes a pill of his own before the next wave hits you—stronger this time, pulling you under completely.

For a fleeting moment, you let everything go—the pain, the heartbreak, the memories of Mikey's distant eyes as you walked away from him. All the weight of your unspoken love, of your shattered heart, evaporates in the fog of euphoria. It's terrifying how easy it is to forget, to lose yourself in the numbness. But somewhere, deep in the pit of your soul, the fear lingers. 

What will be left of you when the high wears off?

When you wake the next morning, reality presses you down like a vise. Your head pounds, each throb a reminder of the drug still pulsing through your system. The soft morning light filters through the unfamiliar room's windows. You blink, disoriented, trying to piece together what happened. 

Right... Sanzu. You were in his condo last night, and this—this must be his bedroom.

As you shift, the soft rustle of sheets draws your attention, and your heart leaps into your throat. Sanzu lies beside you, his face buried in the pillow, his hair a wild mess of pink strands. He's half-naked, the blanket draped loosely over his hips, and for a moment, panic seizes you. 

Your fingers instinctively brush over your clothes—still on, thank God. Relief washes over you, but it's fleeting. The haze of the previous night is still there, muddy and unclear, and you have no idea what happened between the two of you after you'd lost yourself to the high.

Whatever it was, it doesn't seem like you had sex with him. At least... you hope you didn't. Two people who are really high wouldn't bother to put their clothes back on after sex, right? 

You sit up carefully, the bed creaking softly beneath you, and that's when you notice them—his scars. Lines of jagged, raw skin crisscross his back like a violent roadmap of his past. Some scars are old, barely visible against his pale skin, while others are fresh, still healing from whatever recent chaos he's endured. 

You know that Sanzu lives in violence, that it clings to him like a second skin, but seeing the marks so intimately, so vulnerably laid bare before you—it stirs something inside you. A deep, unsettling pity, but you quickly shove it down, pushing it past the ache in your chest.

Your shift your gaze to the floor, where the bottle of pills lies tipped over, colorful capsules scattered across the marble floor. How many did you take last night? Too many, you're sure. You feel their lingering effects, the way they dull the edges of your thoughts, how they slow your movements. 

Shaking off the grogginess, you move toward the door, eyes landing on the katana propped up against the wall. A glint of steel in the early light. 

You pause, your hand gripping the door handle. The memory of what Sanzu did before flashes through your mind—the way he choked you, forcing the first pill down your throat. Mikey has punished him for it, but still, you felt guilty enough to treat his wounds. Then, stupidly, you let yourself get high with him again. Willingly.

But the anger still simmers under the surface. All those cruel words over the years, the taunts, the smirks, the way he looks down on you. He's infuriating. And this... this is your chance to get back at him.

Without thinking, you walk over to the katana. The hilt feels cool and foreign in your hand as you lift it, the weight of it surprising you. But you don't hesitate.

As you drag the katana behind you, the metal scraping loudly against the floor, the sound reverberates in the silent hallway. Each step feels like defiance, like a rebellion against everything Sanzu represents—the control, the twisted power he holds over you.

In the basement, you find the garbage bin. Without a second thought, you dump the katana in, the clang of steel against metal echoing in the empty space. It isn't enough to truly hurt him, but it's enough to piss him off, enough to make him notice.

And that's what you want, isn't it? To get under his skin the way he always gets under yours? To make him feel something—anything—that isn't amusement at your suffering?

As you walk away, a small, bitter smile tugs at your lips. You know this won't end well. You're playing with fire, and Sanzu is dangerous when pushed. But the part of you that's still reeling from Mikey, still wounded and desperate, craves this chaos. You want to see what will happen when Sanzu finds the katana, want to watch the fury flash across his face. Because for once, you aren't the one falling apart.

Maybe it's madness, or maybe it's something deeper—a need to reclaim some form of control in a world that's stripped you of it. Either way, you aren't running anymore.

You'll face whatever comes next, even if it destroys you.

Manjiro Sano haunts you everywhere. He's with you in the empty bed, a ghost beside you as you stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the dark. When you’re in the kitchen, his voice echoes in your mind, teasing, laughing, pulling you into memories that make your chest tighten with an ache that hasn't dulled. In the mirror, you see him staring back, his familiar, cold gaze mocking you as you brush your teeth, as if daring you to forget the life you shared with him.

It's been weeks since the breakup, but the weight of nine years doesn't just vanish. You were naive to think it would be easy to let go. After all, you didn't just lose Mikey—you lost the future you had envisioned, the dream of always being by his side, no matter what. 

You'd never loved anyone else, never felt the safety of another person's arms. You never had a reason to think you'd need to. And when you first learned about the arranged marriage three years ago, you foolishly believed that nothing could ever come between you and Mikey, that love would always win. However, reality had other plans.

Eventually, it all became too much. So, you made a decision. You packed your things and left the apartment you had once shared with him, that place filled with memories—of laughter, of love, of a time when he was truly yours. But now, those memories felt like weights pulling you under, drowning you in a past that you could no longer live in. 

So, you found a new place, a smaller apartment far away from that suffocating ghost. You didn't tell anyone from Bonten. Not a soul knew where you were now. It was supposed to be your clean break.

But fate never lets you escape that easily.

Weeks after you've settled into your new life, you find yourself out for a casual walk, basking in the simplicity of a quiet day. An ice cream cone in one hand, a plastic bag of snacks in the other—small, ordinary comforts in an otherwise chaotic life. You're beginning to breathe again, to feel the freedom of being on your own. And then you see him.

Mikey.

He's sitting outside a café, his silver hair catching the sunlight, his posture as calm and unreadable as ever. But next to him is her. His wife. The sight of them together makes your stomach lurch, your heart clenching as if gripped by an iron fist. She's laughing, and though Mikey's face is still as cold and impassive as always, there's something different about him. Softer. He looks at her in a way that sends a sharp pang through your chest. 

He's moving on.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it's tilting on its axis. You need to get out of here. Now.

Before you can make your escape, though, you spot them. Ran's lazy, amused expression is the first thing you notice, his sharp eyes locking onto you with that all-too-familiar smirk. 

"Well, well. Look who it is," he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. But it's the presence next to him that makes your blood run cold.

Sanzu.

The moment his gaze lands on you, the air around you thickens. His eyes narrow, his lips curl into a sneer, and you know. He knows. You can almost feel the anger rolling off of him, simmering beneath the surface. You've crossed a line with him, and now, you'll pay for it.

Your heart hammers in your chest, panic seizing your throat. The plastic bag slips from your hand, the ice cream falling, forgotten, as it splatters against the pavement. You don't even care. All that matters now is getting away.

You turn and run.

"Oi!" Sanzu's voice slices through the air, sharp and dangerous. "Stop running!"

Like hell you will. 

You know what he's capable of, and you know there's nothing holding him back now—not Mikey, not anyone. Not after what you did. The memory flashes in your mind—the clattering of metal, the weight of his katana in your hands as you threw it into the trash. The reckless satisfaction of it all.

You can hear his footsteps behind you, the sound growing louder with each passing second. He's faster than you remember, and your chest tightens in fear. Sanzu is dangerous even when he's calm, but this? 

This is personal.

The crowded street is a blur as you dash through it, weaving past confused onlookers, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. Dignity is the last thing on your mind right now—you're running for survival. And yet, amidst the chaos, a ridiculous thought crosses your mind: If I die today, I'll die looking like shit. No makeup, no cute clothes, just sweat and terror.

You can feel him gaining on you, the heat of his rage practically burning at your back, and desperation grips you. You need to think fast, or you won't make it. That's when you spot the riverbank up ahead, the water glistening in the distance. 

Without a second thought, you sprint toward it, your feet barely touching the ground as you throw yourself into the icy water. The shock of the cold steals your breath, but you don't stop moving. You swim, forcing your body through the water, the chill biting into your skin. 

When you finally break the surface, you gasp, a fleeting moment of triumph swelling in your chest. You've escaped.

Or so you think.

Your heart sinks when you see him standing on the riverbank, his figure dark and ominous against the bright sky. Sanzu is already peeling off his blazer, his eyes fixed on you with a predator's focus. There's no hesitation as he tosses it aside and kicks off his shoes. Of course, he's going to follow you. Of course, he's not letting this go.

You should have known better.

Sanzu dives into the water without a second thought, cutting through the current with frightening speed. And that's when it hits you—he isn't just chasing you out of anger. He's chasing you because you've crossed a line you can never uncross. Because Sanzu doesn't follow any rules, doesn't have any boundaries. 

And neither of you are sane enough to stop now.

< part two ends >

author's notes. heyy beloved sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so so happy & grateful for all the love you showed to part one of BNT that i decided to bless you guys with twice as long part two hehe :D hope you guys enjoyed it! i've got some fun stuff planned for sanzu and y/n in the next part... so please stay tuned! also, i'd love to hear your thoughts so do leave some notes & comments!! tysm for reading guys! stay awesome ☆(>ᴗ•)

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies @bontenbabyy @risheliette @loveantonnlee @sukunas-bitxh @honeygonebads-blog @r3yk @soilaluna @l1ttl3m1ss666 @novv @slvdsjjk @miffysoo @qyoongi @drakensdarling @ask-the-insect-hashira @awkwardaardvarkforever @thebiggestlovergirlever @shinichirolover @kyyuuuuu @meowww1041 @kiasnotforever (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease. 

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.” 

“She’s here!” 

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms. 

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call. 

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals. 

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes. 

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting. 

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?” 

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this. 

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself. 

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist. 

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.” 

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute. 

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon. 

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves. 

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!” 

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids. 

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens. 

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you. 

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!” 

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow. 

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders. 

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom. 

A tool. 

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!” 

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high. 

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you. 

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass. 

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen. 

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid. 

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic. 

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!” 

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing. 

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.” 

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer. 

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!” 

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think! 

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing. 

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!” 

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin. 

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand. 

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl. 

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control. 

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?” 

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.” 

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny. 

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension. 

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually. 

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment. 

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth. 

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust. 

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood. 

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease. 

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic. 

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart. 

He wouldn’t kill you…would he? 

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate. 

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat. 

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?” 

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes. 

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin. 

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—” 

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth. 

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be. 

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close. 

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter. 

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it. 

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness. 

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table. 

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated. 

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood. 

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches. 

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.” 

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands. 

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers. 

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer. 

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words. 

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly. 

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering. 

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous. 

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?” 

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?” 

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…? 

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that. 

You’d never live like that here. 

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could. 

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist. 

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.” 

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window. 

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think. 

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck. 

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone. 

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.” 

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you. 

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.” 

“...Stay with me?” You ask again. 

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?” 

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood? 

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want. 

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[kookiewithluv]

❥✿ ASHES OF A PROMISE ❥✿

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 4.2k

• GENRE: Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, Smut, Slow burn, Fluff (?), Tragic Romance, werewolf au, Royal au

• TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains mention of abuse, with themes of intense physical desire, possessive (dom-sub) dynamics, and primal, instinct-driven encounters. It also explores deep emotional conflict, grief, loss, and difficult decisions surrounding love and sacrifice. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

• SUMMARY: You were a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a mate who would love you as fiercely as you loved him. But when you finally meet your mate, you discover he’s no ordinary wolf — he’s the Lycan king, the alpha of all alphas. Worse, he neither wants you nor is willing to reject you, leaving you trapped in a loveless bond in his kingdom. As queen to a king who resents you, the mate bond grows stronger, making you more vulnerable with each passing day. Now, you must break through the walls around his heart and make him love you, because staying in this bond without love is unbearable, yet leaving isn’t an option he’ll allow.

• a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

MASTERLIST 01

PROLOGUE: bound by fate forsaken by love

"Careful," Alpha Sebastian growled, his fingers clamping down around your arm like a vice. His nostrils flared, the sound of his shallow breaths prickling your skin as he yanked you upright. You winced, pain flaring in your arm, but he didn’t let go, his grip ironclad. "I didn't bring you here to humiliate me."

Your pulse raced, eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion, but you nodded quickly. His gaze burned into you, his jaw clenched, as if daring you to do anything out of line. His fingers tightened, and for a moment, you thought your bones might snap under the pressure.

Abruptly, he shoved you back. “Behave.” The force sent you stumbling, your feet struggling to find balance. You caught yourself just before falling, your hand instinctively reaching up to cradle your arm, your fingers brushing over the dark bruises already forming in the shape of his fingers.

He turned, striding forward as if nothing had happened, but you stayed a step behind, the sight of the looming Lycan Palace making your stomach twist. The Lycan King, Jeon Jungkook, ruled from there. The heir to the Moon Goddess herself. But even his power felt distant and untouchable compared to the suffocating presence of Alpha Sebastian beside you.

Each step you took felt heavier, dragging you closer to something you didn’t want to face. You’d dreaded this moment—being forced to make a public appearance with Sebastian, to let the world assume you were his. People would talk. They would say you'd given yourself to your Alpha, that you were bound to him. But you weren't. Not yet. You were still waiting for your mate. But how long could you hold on when Sebastian hovered over you like a predator, desperate to make you his?

"Look," he spat, spinning around so suddenly that you collided with his chest. The bitter stench of sweat and something rotten made you flinch, and you recoiled instinctively, your nose wrinkling in disgust. His lip curled as he grabbed your shoulders roughly, his fingers digging in. "You stupid woman. I should never have brought you here."

You trembled, your breath hitching as his hand shot up. You flinched hard, instinctively bracing for a blow. But it didn’t come. He sneered at your reaction, his eyes darting around, scanning for witnesses. "Don’t you dare make a scene. Do you hear me?" His voice dropped to a low hiss, filled with threat. "If you embarrass me, you'll pay for it later."

You swallowed hard, your eyes fixed on the ground, trying to steady your shaking hands. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Call me Seb, my love.” His voice softened mockingly as his rough fingers trailed along your arm, leaving a sickening trail of goosebumps. "We'll be mated soon." His laugh was low and smug, and you fought the urge to shudder as he brushed his lips against your ear.

His hand closed around yours without warning, pulling you roughly beside him. As you crossed through the grand golden gates, your breath caught. The palace was magnificent, towering and glittering in the golden light, its beauty almost blinding. It was like stepping into a dream, something so beautiful, so overwhelming, it felt unreal. But all you could feel was the suffocating grip of Sebastian’s hand, his presence a chain, dragging you deeper into a world you wanted no part of.

But the moment you crossed the threshold, something else took hold of you—a scent, one you couldn’t place but that sank into your senses like fire and silk. It was sweet, yet left a trace of salt on your tongue, like a tease of something forbidden. Your wolf stirred violently, clawing at you, demanding you follow it, to find the source. Instinctively, your feet moved in the same direction the scent was coming from, pulling you toward it, but then, Sebastian’s grip tightened.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, cold. He yanked you back, his eyes locking on yours, hard and blazing with fury. You whimpered, trying to suppress the surge of your wolf's presence, but it clawed beneath your skin, making you tremble.

You weren’t scared. Not of him. But the loss of that intoxicating scent stung like a fresh wound, an aching emptiness you couldn't explain. You glanced down, guilt swirling in your chest, and muttered an apology, though you weren’t sure why.

Alpha Sebastian’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as he glared at you. His nostrils flared as if he was holding himself back. You knew he wanted to lash out, to punish you for daring to act on impulse, but here, at Lycan palace, surrounded by other powerful alphas, his hands were tied. He couldn't do anything here. Not openly, at least. He was smart enough to understand the consequences of disrupting the highly anticipated celebration of the Lycan king.

His grip was bruising as he yanked you close again, his fingers digging into your skin, and without another word, he dragged you forward, his movements sharp and impatient. You stumbled, trying to keep up, your chest tight, the air thick with the scent you couldn't chase. Every step away from it felt like losing a piece of yourself.

The grand hall you were pulled into was nothing short of magnificent—gleaming chandeliers hung like jewels from the high ceilings, casting a golden light across the polished marble floors. The walls were draped in rich, dark silks, with delicate gold accents that made the entire space feel otherworldly. Tables were laid out with decadent feasts, plates filled with dishes you couldn’t name, though their smells mingled together in an overwhelming haze of spices and sweetness.

Wolves of every rank were scattered around the room, their conversations buzzing in the air, their clothes elegant and fashionable. Alphas stood tall, their chests puffed out as if to assert their dominance even here. Lunas, the mates of the alphas, swirled in flowing gowns, their laughter light but their eyes sharp. You could see them dancing together—pairs spinning in perfect harmony, their movements fluid and powerful, exuding grace and strength. For a moment, you let yourself imagine being in that position. How it would feel to be in your mate's arms, not dragged around like a possession, but held close, cherished.

Your heart ached at the sight. You wanted that too—a mate, someone who would look at you the way these alphas gazed at their lunas, with love and pride. The longing inside you twisted, pulling at the raw edges of your soul. The scent that had driven you mad earlier lingered in the back of your mind, making it impossible to forget. It was as if your wolf was howling inside you, desperate for something you couldn’t reach.

As you and Alpha Sebastian made your way deeper into the hall, Royal Beta Kane approached, his posture stiff but polite. His eyes flicked to you, then quickly back to Sebastian. "Alpha Sebastian," he greeted with a slight nod, his voice steady though his expression barely hid the distaste he had for the man beside you. Kane was well respected, a figure of calm authority, but here, in front of Sebastian, there was something uneasy about the way his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Alpha Sebastian barely acknowledged him, his fingers still digging into your arm. “Bee, this man has some serious issues,” your wolf whispered in your head, and you couldn’t help but agree. Alpha Sebastian was undeniably disrespectful. Beta Kane could easily take him down, but you trusted that he wouldn’t; he was strong yet kind. Kane's gaze slid to you again, softer this time, but still cautious. "Welcome," he added, though it was clear the welcome was more for you than the alpha at your side. There was something in his tone that hinted at a shared understanding, like he knew more than he was letting on. "The night’s just begun."

Before you could respond, a woman appeared at Kane’s side, her posture relaxed but her smile sharp. Beta female Shina, Kane’s mate. She greeted you with warmth that almost made you drop your guard, her hand gently touching your arm. "You look stunning tonight," she said kindly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Curiosity, maybe even suspicion. Her words seemed genuine, yet you could feel the weight behind them, like she was searching for something in you.

“Thank you!” you replied, a subtle smile touching your lips. “You look lovely as well.”

Shina’s gaze lingered a little too long before she asked, almost too casually, "Have you found your mate yet?" The question came like a dagger wrapped in silk. Her tone was light, but you could feel the intensity of her interest, the way her eyes seemed to pierce through you, trying to extract some hidden truth.

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it again.

You hesitated, but before you could say anything, Sebastian’s grip tightened, pulling you closer to him. "That’s not a concern right now," he interjected smoothly, his voice cold but controlled, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He didn’t even look at Shina, his eyes staring straight ahead, but his tone was enough to shut the conversation down. "We’re here for the gathering, not to entertain idle gossip."

Shina’s smile didn’t falter, but you could see the flicker of disapproval in her eyes, though she quickly masked it. Kane, on the other hand, openly glared at Alpha Sebastian for a split second before offering a strained smile. "Of course, Alpha." His voice was clipped, and you could sense how much he loathed the man dragging you around like a trophy.

As you continued through the hall, your eyes wandered again. The space was filled with grandeur, but it all felt suffocating, like you were on display for everyone to judge. The music, the laughter, the mingling wolves—it all felt distant, like you were watching from behind a glass, detached from the joy around you. Your focus kept drifting back to that scent, tugging at your mind like a beacon, and every step Sebastian pulled you further from it, the more hollow you felt.

Then, as you glanced back at the couples dancing together, something inside you snapped. Your wolf stirred, restless, a growl rumbling in the back of your throat as you watched their perfect harmony. You wanted that too, but not with Alpha Sebastian. Never with him. The frustration, the longing, everything was becoming unbearable. You could feel your wolf pushing at the edges of your control, wanting to break free, to find the source of that scent that had consumed you.

Alpha Sebastian suddenly pulled you closer, his face hard as he whispered into your ear, his breath hot and cruel. "Keep your eyes forward," he growled. "You’re making a spectacle of yourself." His grip on you tightened again, and this time, you felt your resolve harden.

The night was only beginning, but you were already suffocating.

The night stretched on painfully. Eyes followed you everywhere, and not just because you stood beside an alpha. You could feel the weight of their scrutiny—the whispers, the stares from the other wolves, especially the women. The kind of attention that crawled under your skin, making your body tense and your heart race. But you knew why they looked at you like that.

Alpha Sebastian had lost his mate. Your luna, beautiful, kind, beloved by the pack, was gone. And yet here he was, parading you around like a replacement. It didn’t sit right with the other alphas. Their glances spoke volumes—curiosity, disdain, disbelief. Even the lunas looked at you like you had somehow betrayed your mate’s memory, as if you had willingly stepped into this twisted role.

But they didn’t know the truth. None of them did.

You forced yourself to stand tall, even though their whispers buzzed like wasps in your ears, stinging with every word. They thought you wanted this—power, position. They thought you were trying to become the next luna. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Power meant nothing to you. All you wanted was freedom. To be loved, to be safe, to find your mate and escape this nightmare.

Alpha Sebastian’s hand was still a vise around your arm, his anger barely contained. You could feel it radiating off him in waves, his frustration at being unable to act, his fury at the alphas who dared question him. His eyes burned with it every time someone looked at you for too long, his grip tightening as if to remind them that you were his.

But suddenly, it hit you again—the scent. That same intoxicating smell that had nearly pulled you under earlier. Sweet, but with that strange, salty edge. Your wolf surged to life inside you, snarling, pushing, desperate to follow it, to find its source. You tensed, fighting the urge to tear away from Sebastian’s hold, to run toward it. Your breath quickened, heart pounding as the scent grew stronger, pulling at you like an invisible thread.

Your wolf howled in your chest, clawing to get free. You couldn’t stop it this time. Your body trembled, muscles twitching with the need to move, to find the one who carried that scent.

Alpha Sebastian must have felt the shift in you because he suddenly jerked you closer, his face twisted in rage as he leaned down, hissing in your ear. “Don’t even think about it.”

But, it was too late. The worst was already done. You were the one who had done it.

Your hands were trembling, outstretched before you, eyes glazed over with a wild yellow glow as your wolf surged to the surface. You didn’t even realize what you’d done until you saw him—Sebastian—your alpha, sprawled on the floor. His face twisted in shock, a groan escaping his lips, the pain evident in his expression. But it wasn’t the pain that held his features for long. It was humiliation. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met yours, and then that disbelief turned into something worse.

Rage.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as his eyes burned into you, glowing with that fierce, golden fury only an alpha possessed. You knew you had crossed a line. A line no one crossed and lived to tell about. Panic bloomed in your chest, a voice screaming inside your head, This is it. You’re going to die. Today’s your last day on this earth.

"Really, Bee? You're telling yourself that crap? He won’t kill you." Your wolf's voice broke through, but her words didn’t settle the fear. Not when you saw Alpha Sebastian’s jaw clench, the muscles ticking as his eyes flared even brighter.

He stood, his movements quick and deadly, not even brushing off the dirt on his clothes as he advanced. In a heartbeat, his hand was on you again, tighter than before, pulling you forward with a bruising grip. You stumbled, your feet barely keeping up as he dragged you through a maze of dark hallways. The walls seemed to close in, the darkness swallowing you both, but none of it mattered. The scent—the one that had your wolf clawing to the surface—grew stronger, pulling you closer to it with each step.

But then, he stopped.

Before you could even catch your breath, Alpha Sebastian slammed you against the cold stone wall, his hand wrapping around your throat, cutting off your air. Your back hit the wall hard, knocking the wind out of you, and you gasped, clawing at his hand. His grip only tightened. You could feel your wolf shrinking, her presence slipping away, retreating like a coward.

“How dare you,” he snarled, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and bitter on your skin. His eyes blazed with raw fury, and you could almost feel the heat of it searing into you. “You fucking slut!” The words were venom, dripping with hate as his grip tightened even more. The edges of your vision blurred, your chest heaving as you tried to suck in what little air you could.

"Yuck," your wolf muttered from the far corners of your mind, disgusted. But you couldn’t respond to her, not with the way his hand was crushing your windpipe.

“You dare embarrass me? In front of them? In front of the all? All those people?” His voice was low, dangerous, his wolf rising to the surface as well. The deep growl that followed shook through your chest, sending tremors of fear straight to your core. You had never seen him this enraged before. His wolf was there, just beneath the surface, and you knew the consequences would be dire.

Your hands reached up, weakly clawing at his arm, but his strength was overwhelming. Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up, and your mind was screaming at your wolf to help, to do something, but she stayed hidden, her tail tucked, too afraid to face what she had started.

Coward, you thought bitterly, your vision growing darker as Alpha Sebastian’s grip tightened. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

Your vision began to blur, the edges darkening as you felt consciousness slip through your grasp like water. The pressure on your throat was suffocating, your body giving in, but just before the darkness could pull you under, a thunderous growl reverberated through the palace walls. It was so powerful that even Alpha Sebastian stumbled back, his grip releasing you as he collapsed to the ground.

Gasping for breath, your body slumped against the wall. You barely had a moment to recover when you heard it: "Your Majesty." The words, though whispered by Sebastian, echoed with fear. His head was bowed, his voice faltering despite the forced firmness.

The moment the air returned to your lungs, that scent hit you again, this time sharper, intoxicating, and overpowering. Your gaze, still weak from the lack of oxygen, followed the scent until your eyes locked on him—the Lycan King, Jeon Jungkook. The air thickened around you, and before you could stop it, your wolf stirred, her presence undeniable as she howled the word: Mate.

You had dreamed of meeting your mate countless times, picturing it so vividly that it felt real in those sleepless nights. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, your mind running wild with every possible scenario—bumping into him unexpectedly, his eyes locking with yours, an instant connection that would spark something deep inside you. You imagined feeling safe, cherished, like every piece of you had finally fallen into place. Each night, the thought of him made you smile, and you held on to the hope that your meeting would be nothing short of perfect.

But nothing had prepared you for the way it actually happened. It was nothing like the gentle, romantic moments you had envisioned. Instead, it was raw, overwhelming, and filled with tension you didn’t know how to handle. The reality of your mate was so much more intense, almost frightening, and certainly not what you had expected. There was no softness, no easy smiles or warm embraces. There was only the power of his presence, the way his gaze pierced through you, the storm that surrounded both of you from the moment your eyes met.

And yet, despite the fear and confusion, despite how things had unraveled in the most unexpected way, a strange sense of satisfaction settled in your chest. There was something about him, something undeniable, that made all of it—every sharp moment, every overwhelming second—feel right. You couldn’t explain it, but even after all that had happened, you were glad you were here, glad you had come.

And a broken sob tore from your throat, your body shaking as you instinctively reached out toward him, the one you were bound to. Jungkook stood at the entrance, his broad frame tense, caught between shock and a deep, simmering rage. Despite the anger rolling off him in waves, his presence brought you an unexpected sense of calm. You inhaled shakily, your gaze clinging to him, your wolf desperate to reach her mate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked over your figure, pausing as he swallowed hard, but when they fell on the bruises circling your neck, his expression hardened once more. His entire posture shifted, muscles coiled tight with barely restrained fury. Just as you tried to crawl toward him, Alpha Sebastian’s rough hands grabbed you, yanking you back toward him.

Jungkook's eyes darkened further, his gaze a cold, lethal blaze. The air around him seemed to still, thick with the weight of his fury. His lips curled back, baring teeth in a vicious snarl as he took another step forward. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, and even Sebastian flinched under the intensity of his presence.

"Take your filthy hands off her." His voice was low, commanding, vibrating with power. There was no question in his tone, only an undeniable force. His eyes never left Alpha Sebastian’s, burning with a warning that promised destruction. "Now."

Alpha Sebastian, frozen by the sheer weight of Jungkook's command, released you instantly. His trembling hand dropped to his side as he took a half-step back, but it wasn’t enough.

"I'm afraid I'm unable to understand you, your majesty. She is my mate—" Alpha Sebastian's voice trembled with urgency, his brow furrowed and eyes wide, fists clenched at his sides. He felt the heat of the moment, the tension wrapping around them like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

Before he could finish, a low growl rumbled through the air, echoing off the stone walls like thunder. Alpha Sebastian flinched, his muscles tensing instinctively as he met the piercing gaze of the Lycan king. The alpha’s chest heaved with a mixture of anger and desperation, a primal instinct fighting against the authority before him.

Jungkook's hand gripped your waist, yanking you upright with a sudden, rough motion that left you gasping. His touch wasn’t gentle—it was possessive, and in that moment, you felt like nothing could tear you from him. His body pressed against yours, a solid wall of fury, his scent engulfing you, filling every part of your senses. His eyes, wild and unrelenting, flicked back to Sebastian, voice low, deadly.

"You think she’s yours?" He laughed, a dark, humorless sound, his lip curling in disgust. "I should rip you apart just for daring to speak those words." His grip on your waist tightened as his gaze bore into Alpha Sebastian, his voice dropping to a growl that was pure dominance. "She is mine. Her soul, her body, her very breath belongs to me." His eyes gleamed with a deadly promise. "Touch her again, and I’ll show you what happens to those who cross me."

Alpha Sebastian took another step back, fear flickering across his face. But Jungkook wasn’t done. His smile stretched wider, more menacing, as he tilted his head, eyes narrowing into slits. "You don’t get it, do you?" he spat. "She was never yours. Not for a second. She is mine—my mate, my queen, and you will never touch her again, not in this life or any other."

You felt your heart race at the possessive words, but the weight of them brought you comfort, a promise of safety in the chaos. Jungkook’s hold on you tightened just slightly, and you leaned into him, the warmth of his body pushing away the cold fear that had taken hold of you moments before.

Before Alpha Sebastian could respond, Jungkook scooped you up effortlessly and turned away, walking swiftly to somewhere unfamiliar. But you didn’t care where he was taking you. You exhaled loudly, resting your head on his shoulder. His body, already tense, grew even more rigid under your touch. His eyes darted to you, wide and hesitant—almost scared. Scared?

"Why does he look like he’s seen a ghost? I told you to wear that red dress bee. You do look like a ghost in white." your wolf’s voice echoed in your mind, sharp with irritation. "I’m already furious that Alpha is still breathing, but this? This isn’t something I expected from a king. Not nearly possessive enough."

Her words shocked you, but you had to admit, she had always been bold, unapologetic in her opinions. You didn’t have time to respond, though, as you realized Jungkook had carried you into a room. It was dark and dusty, the air stale, as if no one had used it for months. Gently, he laid you down on the bed, his touch surprisingly careful. You were hurt, but your wolf had healed most of the injuries, leaving you with barely a bruise. Still, you couldn’t help but savor the attention, his attention, as fleeting as it was.

He stepped back, hesitating. You could feel the tension thick in the air, the way his gaze lingered on you, searching, maybe even conflicted. He wanted to say something—you could tell by the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clenched at his sides—but silence stretched between you, suffocating. You finally broke it.

"So, is this your room?" You said shyly, but he only stared at you. His eyes glazed with half longing and half disdain. "It’s not bad, just… not clean." You explained further.

"It’s a guestroom," he replied curtly, his voice hollow, leaving you confused. Before you could press further, he turned, his broad shoulders tense as he faced the door. "I’ll send someone to tend to you."

"Why?" you blurted out, panic rising in your chest. Why is he leaving? Male wolves were notorious for not leaving their mates' side after meeting, sometimes staying close until the bond was fully cemented. He was the Lycan King—shouldn’t his need to be near you be even stronger? Why was he abandoning you here?

His back still to you, his voice came out low, almost growling, "I’m no saint, and this isn’t some fantasy. Being bonded to me isn’t a blessing—it’s a curse. The Moon Goddess punished you, and I’m here to make sure you live through it."

With that, he walked out, leaving the room before you could say another word.

You stood there, stunned, the weight of his words sinking deep into your bones. Your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the bed, mind reeling. Punishment? What had just happened? He had claimed you, pulled you from Alpha Sebastian, protected you—only to throw you away like this?

You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, trying to make sense of it all, but the pain was sharper than any of your injuries. What did this mean? What had you done to deserve this?

Taglist: @jksusawife @nnnnmmmuuiu @jiminismine4ever @freyaniobe @piercidh34rts @furioustrashlover @lola75111 @pitchblack0309 @whoa-jo @teeheewhy13

a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! What's your favorite part of this chapter? I'd love to hear! If you want to be tagged for future chapters, just holler. Also, character asks and drabble requests are open, so hit me up with your wildest ideas.

[runariya]

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 3

pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: angst, being held hostage, repeated sniffing, obsession and possessiveness, OC snaps, JK is twisted and doesn't understand the concept of personal space, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 3.2K

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

For six consecutive long days, the routine repeats itself, a charade of all charades, like the ticking of a clock inside a cage, each second tightening around you. You remain confined to that room, trapped beneath its opulent veneer, while Jimin is your only fleeting connection to anything resembling humanity. Once a day, he brings food, and with it, moments of silence that gradually give way to hushed conversations, the kind that seep into your bones and momentarily calm the tremors within you. 

His words, ringing with understanding and a soft insistence that perhaps this new life is safer, better even, echo in your mind like a lullaby you can’t quite believe in. And yet, they cling to you, especially when night falls, and Jungkook returns to claim the bed beside you. 

Every night is the same – he enters, his presence filling the space like night swallowing light, and without a shred of modesty, he strips, showers, and slips into bed next to you. He always presses a kiss to the back of your head, and though you feign sleep, you know he senses your wakefulness, yet does nothing, only lies there, close enough to feel the warmth of him, his breath against your skin. 

Despite Jimin's persistent reassurances, the soothing rhythm of his voice telling you over and over that this is where safety lies, that it’s time to surrender and accept, there’s something within you that won’t quiet. It claws at you relentlessly, this urge to escape the gilded prison Jungkook keeps you in, the urge to break free from the walls that hold you in their cold grip. And as each day passes, you find yourself resisting more, your defiance growing like a dark bloom, unfurling slowly but surely. 

It begins simply enough, with you speaking those words, softly, unsure at first, each morning before Jungkook leaves “I want to go home.” Each time, your voice grows a little stronger, like an incantation you hope will break the spell, but his response never wavers, always delivered with the same calm and maddening certainty that chills you to your core: “You are home.”

But today, however, is different, as you actively choose defiance. When Jungkook returns from whatever dark kingdom he rules outside these walls, you aren’t curled in bed, waiting like some fragile thing for his presence to weigh down upon you. No, you stand in the centre of the room, your spine straight, your eyes unwavering like steel as they meet his. The air between you crackles for the first time, your pulse quickening as his dark eyes lock onto yours. He towers over you, his height and strength an undeniable force, but something within you surges recklessly. Jimin’s words—'you’re different, he won’t harm you'—echo in the recesses of your mind, feeding you a false sense of untouchability. 

Jungkook stops, his gleaming eyes narrowing slightly, taking in the shift in you, the way you stand as though you might fight back. And for a moment, the silence between you is pulsing with all the unspoken things that have yet to come crashing down.

“I want to go home,” you hiss, the snarl of your voice trembling out of your lips, fury seeping into every fibre of your being as your tail bristles, stiff with the kind of raw anger that claws at your very bones, your fangs bared in a snarl that betrays the storm brewing beneath your skin.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a smirk, a sinister amusement flickering in his dark gaze as his own tail wags lazily behind him, as if your defiance, your venom, is nothing more than entertainment to him—a game. “You are home, kitten,” he drawls, each word dripping with an insidious confidence that grates against your ears like nails on glass.

“I’m fucking not! Let me leave, Jungkook!” you scream, your voice rising in a pitch that borders on desperation, though you refuse to let him see just how deep that desperation runs. You plant your feet, refusing to yield, the ground beneath you trembling with the intensity of your defiance.

His laughter rings out, cold and mocking, as if your resistance is something to be cherished, not feared. “You are home,” he repeats, the laughter still lingering on his lips like a twisted song. “Best you accept it.”

“No!” The word tears from your throat, a battle cry, as you snatch the nearest objects—ornate vases, delicate sculptures—and hurl them at him with all the strength your body can muster. They fly through the air with reckless force, but Jungkook’s reflexes are a cruel thing, too swift for your own good. He dodges them with an effortless grace, catching a few in his large hands, his laughter never faltering, only growing darker with every failed strike.

“Fucking asshole!” The words spill from your lips like the objects flying his way as you charge at him, wild and untamed, your small frame launching forward in a futile attempt to claw at him—to tear at his chest, his face, his eyes—any part of him you can reach in your blind rage. But it’s no use. His reflexes are sharper than your anger, and in a single, effortless motion, he captures you in his arms, his strength overwhelming you with ease as he holds you against his chest, his grip nevertheless careful, your limbs thrashing in vain against him.

He grins down at you, that same dangerous glint dancing in his eyes, his tail swaying in satisfaction. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “Knew there was fight in you somewhere.”

“You’re sick,” you spit in his face, neck bend upwards, your voice laced with disgust, your body shaking with the effort to free yourself from his grasp, though every movement only serves to tighten his hold.

“Sick? Only when you’re not near me.” He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest into yours. “But I think it’s time you finally got out of this room, don’t you think?”

For a brief moment, hope flickers within you, a fragile thing, but it shatters almost immediately, splintering into jagged shards.

“You’re going to get dolled up,” Jungkook continues, his voice laced with an almost playful malice, “and you’re going to stand by my side, like you belong there. Understand?”

“Where are you taking me?” The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it, though you already know the answer will not offer you any comfort.

He smiles, that dark and twisted thing that never quite reaches his eyes. “You’re mine. It’s time the world knows it.”

His words are a poison that not only tastes bitter in your throat but settles deep in your gut, twisting your insides with a repulsion so visceral it nearly makes you sick yourself. But you know you must play along—there’s no other choice. You need time, space to think, to plan, to escape, maybe use this opportunity right away. 

As he leads you to the bathroom, his hand never leaving your waist, he hands you a box, its contents revealed to be a dress of the deepest black, the silk of it shimmering as if it holds the very night sky within its folds. The heels, impossibly tall and elegant, glint with the same ethereal quality.

“Twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and commanding as he brushes it against your temple. “Not a second more.”

And with that, he disappears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of the dress in your hands. It feels like something from another world, its silk as soft and black as your own fur, as if it’s been spun from darkness itself. When you slip it on, it moulds to your body as though it was made for you, each line and curve crafted with an almost haunting precision. You catch your reflection and it’s unnerving—you look powerful, ethereal even, a creature of shadow and elegance, yet it’s not the kind of power you want to feel. You paint your face with the same false obedience, styling your hair just as much, even as the fear of what might happen should you fail to escape gnaws at your bones.

When you step out, Jungkook stands waiting, phone to his ear, but the moment he sees you, he cuts the call without a word, his eyes darkening with something far more dangerous than desire. “My goddess,” he breathes, striding towards you with that same unrelenting confidence, his arm slipping around your waist as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent while your body recoils, revulsion too strong deep within you.

He keeps his grip strong as he leads you down to the underground garage, his hand possessive against your waist, his fingers biting into your flesh as he speaks in low, measured tones. “We’re heading to a meeting,” he explains, “and you’re going to stand by my side, silent and still. It’s not a game, kitten. It’s a trial, a test to see if you’re truly capable of being who I think you are. No running. No words. You keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, do you understand?”

You say nothing, your silence the only answer you’re willing to give as you approach his sports car. But Jungkook is not a man who accepts silence. He turns you towards him, his fingers gripping your jaw with a force that leaves no room, his eyes flashing with anger. “Do you understand, kitten?” he growls, the name dripping from his lips like a curse.

“Yes,” you growl back, the word forced through clenched teeth.

Jungkook’s grip loosens, his fingers trailing gently over the skin he has just bruised, his voice softening into something almost tender. “Good girl. Now be a darling and get in the car.”

He opens the passenger door for you with a sense of chivalry you didn’t expect from him, before rounding the car and sliding in behind the wheel. His dark eyes gleam in the shifting streetlights as he navigates the roads with ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the window ledge, his tattooed arm flexing with every corner he takes.

When you finally arrive, it’s not the seedy underworld you expect but an ordinary nightclub, at least on the surface. A valet opens your door as Jungkook steps out, tossing the keys carelessly into his hands before guiding you inside, his grip never once leaving your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip from his grasp the moment he lets go.

But you don’t enter the club. Instead, you’re led down a narrow staircase to a dimly lit room where a poker table waits, surrounded by other predator hybrids, their eyes gleaming like hungry beings beneath the haze of smoke and the tang of alcohol, one chair conspicuously left empty, waiting for the king and his captive queen.

„Didn’t know you’d bring a to, Jaykay,“ the panther hybrid sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Not a toy, Yoongi,” Jungkook remarks, though the usual venom in his voice is conspicuously absent, replaced instead by an unsettling glimmer of amusement that softens his otherwise brutal demeanour, a macabre joy lurking beneath the surface as if he revels in some private joke only they are privy to. 

The python hybrid leans forward, his eyes gleaming with serpentine curiosity, tongue darting out as he mutters, “She your mate, then?” His voice, slow and sibilant, carries a weight of knowing far more than he lets on. 

“No scent of him on her,” observes the bear hybrid sitting the closest with a low grunt, his tone laden with certainty, as if the absence of that primal mark renders everything clear and undisputed in his mind. 

Jungkook’s laughter spills from his lips, a dark melody of possessiveness, as he slowly unfastens the buttons of his jacket and sinks into his seat, pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. His fingers dig into your side, a casual but deliberate reminder of his control, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs, “Not yet, but we’re getting there, aren’t we?” His grip tightens with every word, a thinly veiled threat masked as affection.

You are not permitted the luxury of speech in this twisted theatre, and even if you were, the oppressive weight of their gazes—five pairs of predatory eyes stripping you bare—leaves you frozen. A simple nod is all you manage, the tremor in your chest betraying the steady composure you desperately try to maintain.

“What’s your name?” Yoongi, the jaguar hybrid, asks with a drawl, his eyes too sharp, too intent, the curiosity in them unnerving. 

Silence hangs heavy, your lips pressed together in defiance or obedience, but then Jungkook’s fingers dig into your flesh once more, not a painful gesture but a warning nonetheless. So you force the words past your lips, your voice sickly sweet, dripping with the obedience they all crave.

Satisfied, Jungkook introduces the others with a casual air, as though this grotesque gathering is nothing out of the ordinary. The python hybrid, the one with the slithering tongue, is Hoseok. The bear hybrid with the piercing gaze is Taehyung. Seokjin, an orca hybrid, watches you with an unsettling glint, while Namjoon, the lion hybrid, is the last to meet your eyes, his quiet intensity wrapping around him like a shroud. Their names carry a strange familiarity, as though they belong to men who live in worlds too dangerous for you, their wealth spilling carelessly across the poker table, every hand played with reckless abandon, their conversation laced with humour and hints of illicit dealings that linger just out of reach for your understanding.

You sit still, a mute observer, cataloguing their movements, their mannerisms, but most of all, you watch Jungkook as best as you can—the way he commands the space without effort, without hesitation, a king among beasts. His weaknesses, however, are elusive, hidden beneath layers of calm arrogance. Yet it’s Namjoon who eventually hands you his vulnerability wrapped in a careless taunt, his voice a low rumble as he speaks: “Why don’t you bet her, Jungkook? Spice things up a bit, yeah?”

The growl that reverberates through Jungkook’s chest is primal, a deep warning that vibrates through your very bones. Yet he remains composed, his fury tightly controlled, a stark contrast to the savage violence he once unleashed upon the crocodile hybrid without hesitation. “She’s mine. Not for bet,” he replies, the possessive claim woven through his words unmistakable.

“Let her choose,” Seokjin suggests, his voice like velvet, a smile playing on his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. “Don’t you want a way out, love? Any one of us would be more than willing to take you home, far away from this world you clearly don’t belong in.”

Your instincts scream warnings louder than any temptation his offer might hold. You feel it in the way Jungkook’s grip tightens around you, his muscles stiff, his senses flaring with something darker than mere possessiveness—something protective, as twisted as that may be. There’s no escape here, no safety in the arms of these men who gaze upon you with more hunger than mercy. The truth is bitter in your throat, but unavoidable. 

“I’m Jungkook’s,” you say, the admission falling from your lips with the cold, hard finality of a sentence passed down from on high. It’s not what you desire, nor what you ever would have chosen, but it is the truth—the only truth left to you in this labyrinth of power and control.

Seokjin exhales with theatrical disappointment, his voice an exaggerated sigh of regret, “What a shame,” while the others laugh, the sound hollow and sharp like glass shattering in the air. Beneath you, Jungkook relaxes, his hold softening ever so slightly, his hand tracing idle circles across your abdomen as if to soothe the tension he’s caused, though the unease in his body remains like an invisible tether wrapped tight around you both.

The night concludes with a quiet resignation as Taehyung stands, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he speaks. “Nothing more to win tonight,” he declares, the others rising one by one, exchanging their goodbyes with that careless friendship shared only by those who live just outside the law. 

They each take your hand in turn, brushing their lips across your knuckles in a grotesque parody of civility, their eyes never leaving yours. And with every kiss pressed against your skin, you feel Jungkook’s anger smouldering beneath the surface, simmering hotter with each unwanted touch.

When the room empties, when it’s just the two of you again, the atmosphere shifts drastically. His hand wraps around your arm, and in one quick motion, he spins you around to face him, his eyes dark and dangerous. Before you can react, he pushes you back against the table, lifting you effortlessly, stepping between your legs, his body a barrier to the only escape route, his presence overwhelming. One of your arms braces you against the table, the other futilely pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, to create space where none exists.

His hands travel up the length of your thigh, the fabric of your dress inching higher under his touch, his breath warm against your face as he leans closer, his voice low, a growl of dark amusement.

“Good girl,” if he could purr, he would, his lips ghosting against your ear. “Finally accepted that you’re mine, haven’t you?”

“Never,” you bite back, the defiance in your voice brittle as glass, your body trembling with a high-pitched growl that dares him to step back, to respect the boundaries you both know he will never acknowledge.

His grin is devilish, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Never say never, kitten,” he whispers, leaning closer until his lips hover just above yours, the mere breath between you both heavy with tension, a maddening dance of proximity without touch. The scent of him, pure dominance, floods your senses, the base instinct to submit warring with the ironclad resolve to resist, to defy.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not in retreat but in command, his hand gripping yours as he pulls you to your feet, forcing you to stand beside him. “Let’s go home,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You speak, not because you expect anything to change, but because the words are a final act of rebellion, the last shred of control you can cling to, even if its just to annoy him. “My home?” 

He doesn’t even glance your way, his voice steady and cold as it always is. “Our home.”

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 3: taglist is sadly closed

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

taglist: @jksusawife, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @justjkkkkk, @staytinyville, @jaiuneamesolitaiire , @ericawantstoescape , @mjuser, @sp1derk0ok , @fluttershyvanilla, @lachimolalajeon , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @llallaaa , @m00njinnie , @passionandsuga , @scuzmunkie , @lerasi , @11thenightwemet11 , @bts-ruu , @metalheadfangirl2001 , @unadulteratedwitcher , @qmsvpx, @minghaosimp, @kittycatkrissa, @weareatthebadlands, @fluttershy-vanilla,

[forthelostones]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #5

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. yall! life has been crazy. your girl is finally back. I'm so sorry I love you all for loving me. lets geeettt etttt. x (this chapter is loosely proofread)

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. change your mind by moonchild ♫

I kick the duvet off my bed onto the floor, leaving my skin frozen as the blue sky begins to make an appearance like an oil painting on my bedroom walls. My throat is dry and my muscles are tight. I cried before I went to bed but this time it wasn’t over the business, it was about me. When was the last time I cried about me? A deep yawn allowed a stretch to be released from my stiff body. I don’t remember falling asleep here but my back thanked me for it. What happened yesterday? In-house client consultations weren't unpopular just not as common as they used to be. Most days, folks want a Pinterest-made bathroom cutting out the middle price of my creativity. Like I say, who am I to complain?

My phone was crowded with email notifications of applicants. I was one step closer to taking a huge load off my shoulders and that felt good. So good, that I brewed a pot of coffee because I had the time. I reached under the kitchen sink and among the disorganized cleaning products a Mr. Coffee Pot was birthed. I had switched to a fancy automatic dispenser but there’s nothing like a cheap hot drip. I perch my lips on the edge of my mug before opening my mouth. Across the yard, through the window is my neighbor Nora, the lemon lady, as I call her. Just about this time of the year, she would leave a small brown crate of lemons on my front porch. Our conversations were short and awkward but she was a pretty lady to look at. She was heading to work in a blue dress that suctioned her body and extenuated the light brown fro flourishing on her scalp. I wonder how she's doing, my wonder would never be strong enough to open the door and ask that.

Hair and teeth were brushed promptly before opening my laptop and scheduling interviews. The most recent application was from the woman who stood in my house just last night. My first instinct was to pick up my phone and send a photograph with a witty sentence accompanying it. However, I refrained and stared at the email. I could hear her voice describe the elements of her resume. It was a sweet delusion and ghostly experience to recall her rasp but it eased some tension to know I could possibly have her around more.

I didn’t know what to do with the time I had magically acquired this morning. The possibilities seemed vast and the anxiety I felt from the thought of breaking my routine made me just sit in silence. A silence that was paired with fantastical grandeur from a childish part of my brain. Daydreaming about her was a great way to begin my morning.

Over to the loudest street on the west side with two clients already secured, I felt accomplished with the direction both projects were going. A turn down the road revealed a paramedic hauling away a gurney. Without worrying about the parking situation I pull the keys out of the ignition and jog over to the scene. All my men were crowding around the truck and I pushed through them to see pale bone breaking through the flesh of my roofer. I winced at the sight and looked up quickly to meet the eyes of the victim. 

“Boss,” He chuckled in a stupefied state. “ I fell down.” 

We all shared a moment of happiness that the injury didn’t result in any other damage. I took pride in knowing workers comp was going to take care of him for the healing. If it ever did. My back pocket floods with vibrations and I finally interrupt them. 

6:55 am: paramedics? what’s happening abby? 

7:04 am: hello? are you okay?

7:05 am: I don’t see you. where are you? 

As I begin to type and move out of the road to allow the paramedics to leave then I see her, standing on the sidewalk with her house shoes on and draped in a short robe. I could see a bit of relief on her face as I approached her. The closer I got the more nervous I felt but she didn’t have to know that. 

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” She brings her hand to her forehead. 

“So, you were worried?” I poke. 

She chuckles lightly, “My mom made me come outside and check.” 

“Oh right.” I laughed to hide my embarrassment. 

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” She mentioned but her feet didn’t move. 

“Long night?” 

“Longest. It should be illegal to get into arguments after 10 p.m.” 

Her girlfriend was stressing her out again and now that I looked closer, her under eyes were puffy and darkened. She kept her up all night, hopefully not arguing about something concerning me. 

“I agree, that’s a good rule.” 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” 

I nod and turn back towards my truck, wishing we were going in the same direction instead of the opposite one. 

Well into the afternoon I saw her glint in her front yard tending to the blossoming flowers. The old, form-fitting grey sweatpants were dirtied on the knees with brown and green alike. I was leaning against the truck and secretly watched her clean her forehead with her matching shirt, darkened by sweat. I couldn’t stop thinking about how to approach her about the application. Once she had enough digging done she sat in the grass on her behind, leaning on her hands, with her head tossed back. 

I mustered the courage to step away from the car and got a clear view of the most toned parts of her body. My mouth became dry and I had to find the moisture again by lolling my tongue over my lips. She lifted her hand to wave slightly and then to hide her eyes from the sun, even though I am sure she knew it was me. My shadow covered her with a temporary coolness under the fiery sun to which she audibly sighed. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” I smile. 

She opens her big eyes and follows my belt buckle up to my face. She looks glorious in that position, dominant yet completely able to be persuaded. The curves on her body were muscle as much as they were fat. A glorious mixture that made me crave her more — especially when I’m not supposed to. 

“Ms. Anderson,” She giggled playfully. 

“I saw your application, post-graduate life got you desperate?” 

I wasn’t much of a tease toward women I liked, but in the moment it felt good to watch her face contort in a false sense of temporary anger.

“Don’t think I’d be a good employee?” 

I shrug at her comment but inside the vision of her in business casual clothing, debriefing clients, and leading weekly meetings painted my cheeks red. A woman in charge of me was something I didn’t often relish enough. The facade I give off is the opposite of what’s expected but if she gains my trust… Suddenly, she stood up with her hands clasped around her hips breaking my lewd thoughts. The tips of her fingers slightly perched under the fabric of her loose top. 

“I’m not sure,” I grin. “Isn't that what the interview determines?” 

She rubs her glove up the side of her forearm, leaving traces of soil on her skin. The sunshine reflecting from her body is nearly blinding. I fought off the urge to clean away those imperfections on her.

“Does this mean I have an interview?” She perked up on her heels in excitement. 

The motion triggered a reflex to wrap my hands around her hips and pull her inward as I bent her backward for a passionate kiss. I unknowingly took a step forward as the screeching of a '98 Cadillac Seville pulled quickly into the driveway to separate us. The car hummed and scrapped against the pavement causing me to wince. It was her girlfriend, Ellie. I should move. I should lift my feet and walk back down the street and drill a nail into some wood, but I don’t. 

Ellie slams the door to her car with her greasy hair tucked behind both ears and a slouch on her spine. Her eyes avoid my face and I’m glad that they do. 

“Woah, you’re all dirty,” Ellie smirks. 

“Gardening.” Her one word answer even stings me. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, hm?” Ellie’s hand gently clasps her elbow but she pulls away. 

“After I’m done talking to Abby. Why don’t you go up to my room and wait for me?” She asks, sweetly. 

I felt a bulge of confidence wave through my body knowing Ellie was going to listen because of my presence. She cuts her eyes towards me briefly before walking up the driveway to disappear into the house. 

“You okay?” I ask. 

“We’ve been arguing more and more since I moved back home. She’s so sensitive,” Her face crinkles in distress. 

A genuine, heavy pool of laughter escapes my throat. The way she contorted her face to say sensitive showed her disgust of Ellie which I was overly pleased to know. I cover my mouth slightly until she grins too. 

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this.” She adds. 

“It’s fine. I’ve been in your position before.”

“And what happened?” 

I inhale. “We broke up and it was messy.” 

An oh slips her lips filling the silence between us. I pulled my mind from the clouds to stop its wandering tick of floating into the past. I’ve had many girlfriends but my final relationship, five years ago, was the most mentally taxing years of my life. ‘We broke up and it was messy’ was a simple reduction to a very complex situation. 

“I’m sorry to hear that Ms. Anderson.” Her fingertips rise gently to my arm. The glint in her eyes showed a sincerity that I had never seen before. Most people say sorry to things as a formality but she actually meant it. 

“You’re young, these things happen, you have time.” 

“I hope so.” She mutters as she removes her gloves and tosses them angrily into the grass. 

“All right, sweetheart, if you need me you know where to find me.” 

She mouthed a humble thank you and followed behind her girlfriend. 

The team was disoriented, tired, and lazy upon returning from their first break. Losing my finest roofer was going to cost me time and money. With such short notice, it wouldn’t be particularly difficult to find someone willing to fill in. Men in this industry are always hopping from job to job but I want someone reliable and will stay.

I chuckle in disbelief of what I’m about to do. Contact Ellie, to be my new roofer. 

12:00 p.m. Bad timing to ask you something?

She walked towards my truck as I forced a chip into my mouth. I brush the crumbs off my chest and check my face in the rearview as she boldly pulls the handle to sit in the passenger's seat. She avoided eye contact with me and slammed my door with an angry force.

“Hello,” I say, chewing off the last bit of my food. 

“Was your text a joke?” She snaps, her voice holding a begrudging tremble.

“A joke? No, I would never, not at all I was—” My words were tumbling over each other breaking my cool facade. She did not seem phased by my current display. 

“You want Ellie to work for you.” 

The statement was supposed to come out more like a question but there was no rise in tone at the end of her sentence. 

“I don’t have time to hire someone and test them out. You said she was good, right?” 

“She’s one of the best.” She groaned. 

“Well, to be honest, I’m desperate.” I sigh a little more pathetic than I want. 

She turns her head towards me and melts into the cushions. Her legs widen to touch the door with her kneecap. She twisted her head upwards to admire the black upholstery on the ceiling, exposing her kissable neck. I feel a zing of warmth travel from my cheeks to my thighs and I twitch at the unfamiliar feeling. One that I haven’t felt in ages. I run a lingering thumb against the seam of my pants and relish the sensation I feel through them. She turns and looks at me, leaving me frozen. Those eyes were dark with a desire that awakened a sleeping part of me. 

Why did my body suddenly feel like a flowering opening upon first bloom? I was no teenager discovering the female body for the first time but why did it feel like that?

“Fine. I’ll tell Ellie to call you.” Absentmindedly she tugs her lip into her mouth and I cross my ankles because crossing my legs would be too obvious. 

“I owe you.” My voice sounds strained as I exhale into the air. 

In her bedroom, I had my tape measure in hand with a small notebook and golf pencil. The boxes in the room had been cleared since the last time I was here. I had to redo the farthest bathroom wall three times as a tender need pressed against my zipper. The pressure of the metal alone was making my legs wobble. When was the last time I was truly aroused? Her perfume coaxed the walls in the same sickeningly sweet warm musk that followed behind her. My concentration was drained.

"Ms. Anderson?" She asked lightly in the door frame.

I swivel my head like a cartoon character, not particularly shocked by her presence but at my lack of bodily control. "Hey."

"Just wondering how you're doing?" She asked.

Her gardening top had become soaked around the collar and the cuff under her arms. Those sleeves were now folded inward displaying a vast spread of skin. I was going to be thinking about this interaction all day.

"Done." I lie.

"Good, I'm overdue for a shower," She giggled as she walked into the room in what I saw as slow-mo. "See you tomorrow."

"Thanks again. I seriously owe you." I repeat.

"I know," she smiles, starting to lift the hem of her shirt up. "Just make sure I have an interview next week and we're good."

The last thing I saw before leaving the room was a rousing glare, over her right shoulder, in my direction.

DONATIONS FOR DR CONGO

[skeletonsfortea]

which skeletons would be eager to teach nsb! yn how to battle if they showed a teeny tiny interest in knighthood and being a knight, not necessarily in a literal sense ofc! but maybe they made a small comment about it while they were all watching a movie together in the living room.

Blue, Edge, Vanilla and Black.

The others might be willing to, but those four would thrilled at the idea ;)

[sixpennydame]

Part One: The Feint

Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]

Word count: 4.5k

Summary:

Choso's life is simple: eat, sleep, train, fight. But everything changes when a mysterious doctor comes into his life.

Author's notes: This is me, branching out and writing for something other than Attack on Titan! But I just love me a dark-haired, misunderstood man. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.

Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

AO3 | Playlist

Line dividers: @saradika-graphics

The first time you meet Choso, he’s covered in blood.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’re a doctor.

Or rather, you used to be. It was all taken away from you. Now you’re forced to treat fighters in an underground fighting ring, patching up broken bones and open wounds.

This was your life now, and you’d resigned yourself to that.

You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.

“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.

“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...” 

You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.

“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”

“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.

The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.

He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”

“Ah,” is all you can think to say.

You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”

He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.

“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion. 

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.

You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.

“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”

He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you. 

“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”

“And how long have you been fighting here?”

He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”

There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.

You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread. 

He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.

He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.

“Any pain?”

“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.

This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.

“Am I good, Doc?”

“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”

“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.” 

He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.

But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.

“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.

“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”

At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”

“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.

But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.

“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.

“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.

He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.

You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise. 

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He furrows his brow at your statement.

 “Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”

Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.

Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”

You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.

“And what’s yours?”

“Choso. Choso Kamo.”

Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.

“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.

“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”

That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.

So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.

He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”

There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.

“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.

“Yeah.... thanks.” 

Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.

The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room. 

By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone. 

Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.

But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment. 

Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently. 

You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”

”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”

You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.

”How’d you get that one?”

“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”

He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and  now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations. 

The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.

Slightly masochistic, but impressive. 

From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.

Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.

He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time. 

You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door. 

Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.

And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.

And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.

“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.

The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting. 

Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.

“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.” 

He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.

There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.

You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?

There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But it’s true.”

”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.

“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.

Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”

”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”

”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”

”You purse your lips when you concentrate.” 

You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”

 He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”

As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.

”See?”

”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”

His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”

”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”

”I… sigh loudly?”

”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”

”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”

“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”

Snip.

Silence.

“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”

“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”

Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”

“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”

You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding. 

“I’m a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”

“A challenge? In what way?”

“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you.  But there’s some things I can tell.” 

His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face. 

“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”

“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”

“That’s not what I meant -” 

He walks toward you, but you turn away.

“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”  

You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.

It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.

There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.

——

“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”

Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment? 

That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.

This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.

Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”

Shit. 

The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster. 

Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away. 

(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)

Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.

”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”

Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.

”Doc…” 

He cautiously walks towards you.

”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.

Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”

That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.

Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”

You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.

He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”

Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.

“What happened?”

You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”

”What kind of trouble?”

You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.

”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days.  “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”

He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.

But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.

Or maybe he is.

He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours. 

“Let me in.”

Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself. 

Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.

”Choso...”

That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you - 

“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.

Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.

“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”

This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it. 

“Alright,” is your answer.

And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath. 

“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”

He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.

You’re gonna wait for him.

He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.

”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”

He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.

But right now, all he wants is you.

”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”

——

You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow. 

Let me in… he’d said.

You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both. 

You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…

And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats. 

Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind. 

But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.

And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him. 

It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes. 

The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.

”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”

”Choso! Choso! Choso!”

The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring. 

In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood. 

You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.

——

True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night. 

You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.

When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.

You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.

”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” 

His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.

An offering. And a surrender. 

You decide to accept.

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

Join my taglist!

@amywritesthings @nube55 @delirious-donna @moonchild-angel @littlerequiem

@mrsackermannx @romantichomicide95 @youre-ackermine @q-p-mayo @levispersonalslave

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (03)

chapter three: puzzle pieces

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; unprotected sex (this is fiction, not real life. don’t do it kids), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), fingering, cum eating, praise kink if you squint???, could’ve been edited a bit more but oh well i tried lol word count: 3.2k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › series masterpost › taglist

If loving you’s a crime Cuff me up, I’ll do my time for you, girl When I make you mine (when I make you mine) Didn’t come all this way just to waste your time

Over Some Wine - RINI ft. Maeta

It wouldn’t have taken that long to walk to your apartment. And normally, you would welcome the brisk night stroll with friends, basking in the chilly but pleasant air as you wander the empty streets, with nothing but the glow of everlasting youth for warmth every time the wind breezes by.

Though tonight you had opted to hail a taxi back to yours after leaving the club. You’re not an impatient person and neither is Minho, but whenever you’re around him, waiting always seems to be the hardest thing to do.

The entire time you were in the car, his hand was on your leg, the touch seemingly innocent at first, until his fingers started trailing higher and higher, until his hand was gripping your inner thigh. His knuckles brushed against your core at one point, and you had to summon every last bit of control not to jump his bones right then and there.

Once you're finally within the comfort of your own home, Minho's got you hoisted up with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips instantly chasing yours while his hands settle on your ass, squeezing you as he carries you to your bedroom. He knows the layout of your apartment well enough that he doesn't have to break away from the kiss for more than a second to navigate the place and reach his desired destination.

It's only when he has lowered you on the bed that he stops kissing you, latching onto your neck while his clothed erection grinds against you. You choke on a breath as Minho sucks on a sweet spot, his favorite place to mark you. You love it, even though you always end up complaining to him that you have to cover it up when you go outside.

His hands knead you roughly, one still on your ass, the other having moved to your chest. You tug on his shirt, desperate and impatient, and he complies almost immediately. He finishes his work on your neck with a particular hard suck, his tongue soothing the skin before he pulls away from you just far enough to get rid of the shirt.

Minho dives in to kiss you again but you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly before your lips could meet. “Take off your pants,” you demand restlessly.

“What?” he simpers, though his hands are already reaching to undo his belt. “You don’t wanna kiss some more?”

“You can kiss me while you fuck me.”

It’s easy to tell that your words affect him, judging from the way his eyes glaze over with lust and the retort that he swallows back down. While he kicks off his jeans and boxers, you work on stripping yourself bare for him. You’re both naked in record time, and then he’s gravitating toward you once again.

It’s routine at this point; Minho likes to make you come at least once or twice before he fucks you. He’s about to descend your body before you’re stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not gonna let me have a taste?” he pouts.

“Later,” you tell him. “I just need you now.”

He bites his lip like he’s contemplating it, then slots his body between your open legs, his bare cock positioned on your inner thigh. “You sure? Don’t want me to prep you first?” he asks.

“No.” Your hands slide up his neck, pulling him closer until he’s resting his forehead against yours. “Can’t wait. Want you so bad...”

You’re practically whimpering, positively dripping with need as you tell him this. It makes Minho lose his mind a little bit, makes his breath hitch. He kisses you again as his fingers slip through your folds, pleased to find that you’re already beyond wet.

The sounds that you make, muffled by his lips, go straight to his cock; the length throbs, hardens impossibly more.

He dips his fingers into your entrance regardless, burying them to the hilt, scissoring you open. You buck against his hand instantly, your pliant cunt soaking his digits as you whine - or try to, anyway. It’s good, the way he’s fucking his fingers into you, but you need more.

“Min, just fuck me...” You break the kiss to look at him with darkened eyes, full of desire. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Then he’s pulling out, making a quick show of sucking his fingers clean, humming contentedly at your taste. The sudden emptiness that he leaves you with almost hurts, but it dissipates when he aligns himself with you, rubbing his tip against your clit a few times before he’s finally pushing in.

There’s a stretch but it’s not unpleasant. It’s delicious, how he fills you up so perfectly like he was made just for you.

That thought crosses your mind again.

My puzzle piece. My perfect fit.

You let out a drawn moan as Minho bottoms out. You can’t think straight, not when he’s this close to you, not when you can feel all of him. Not when it’s practically suffocating you, just how intimate the moment is.

You know it’s not exactly what you signed up for, or at least you still try to remind yourself that. And yet...

You two don’t use condoms anymore; you haven’t in a while. It’s a little reckless and stupid, you know that. Maybe if someone else had come to you and told you that they were forgoing protection with their close-friend-turned-friend-with-benefits, you would scold the shit out of them. But this is your situation, and people don’t tend to be very wise when it comes to their own dilemmas, do they?

Minho always pulls out, and you never forget to take your birth control. Of course, there’s always some concern, but it isn’t really on the forefront of your mind right now. There hasn’t been any scares so far.

“Okay?” he asks, brushing his lips against your cheek as he holds your waist.

You nod fervently. “More than okay. Please move.”

He chuckles at your impatience, giving your sides a tender squeeze before rearing his hips back. The drag of his cock along your walls makes you sigh, and when he plunges back into you, you almost shudder from how fucking good it feels.

“Minho...” His name falls from your lips hoarsely, brokenly. The pace he sets is fast, makes you see stars from the get-go. He would’ve preferred to play with you a bit more to ease the stretch for you, but he knows you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t think you could handle it.

You pull him closer with your arms around his neck until your chest is pressed tightly against his. He kisses you again, slowly, sweetly, while he thrusts into you hard and fast.

You know he likes it when you’re loud for him, because of him. He’s told you that much himself. But more often than not, Minho would kiss you a lot during sex, swallowing the moans trying to escape from you.

Maybe he’s just looking out for your poor neighbors.

Or maybe he just likes kissing you that much.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, breaking away momentarily to let you breathe. His cock nudges your g-spot on every stroke and it feels like heaven. “You’re doing so good, baby. Always take me so well.”

You don’t know if it’s the pet name that makes your heart skip a beat or if it’s just the praise in general, but either way, it fills you with an indescribable warmth.

You clench around him, your thighs instinctively hugging his waist tighter and that’s how he knows you’re almost there. “Gonna come for me?” he asks, his hips never easing up on their brutal pace because goddamn Lee Minho and his fucking stamina. One of his hands sneaks down to meet your clit, drumming it like he’s playing the freaking guitar and it makes you want to scream.

“So close,” you cry out. He’s brought you to that edge already, and all you have to do now is... fall. “Min, I’m...”

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And so you do. You fall. You let yourself tip over the edge and into the sea of pleasure that awaits you. It’s stars exploding behind your eyelids, wonderfully devastating. It’s rapturous euphoria, the way Minho holds you through it all, how he peppers kisses along your jawline, how he never ceases his movements, making your high last as long as possible.

He holds out until he’s seen your orgasm through. When your bliss subsides, his hips stutter, turning more erratic.

“I’m close,” he rasps out.

You hold his face and mimic his actions just a couple minutes ago, kissing his cheek, the bridge of his nose and the cute mole on the side, then finally his lips. “Where do you want it?”

“Your mouth,” he asks gently. “Please.”

When Minho pulls out, you move toward him, settling on your hands and knees until your face is level with his bare cock. He lets out a breathless moan as you take him into your awaiting mouth, humming contentedly when you taste yourself on him. He has both hands on you, one tangled in your hair, the other stroking your cheek affectionately, all the while his hips thrust into your mouth slowly until he hits the back of your throat, only to pull back and do it again repeatedly.

You peer up at him through your lashes, and Minho just thinks you’re so fucking pretty like this, looking at him with innocent eyes, yet you’re doing downright obscene things with him, letting him do the filthiest things to you.

You place your hand on top of his own, the one that’s on your face, caressing your cheekbone. “Baby,” he whimpers brokenly as you hollow out your cheeks to try and suck him off better. His heavy length throbs on your tongue, pulsating with the need to come. He’s aware that he sounds beyond needy and desperate, but you’re just so warm and wet and a fucking goddess that it makes him short-circuit, wiping his mind clean until all he knows is you.

Nothing else, no one else but you.

It takes him only a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s calling out your name in a drawn-out moan, spilling his hot cum down your throat, coating your tastebuds with him. You bop your head along his length for a minute longer, until you’re certain that he has nothing left to give you. When you’re done, your tongue wanders from the base to the tip, lightly sucking and licking the head like a kitten, before you open your mouth to show him that you’ve been a good girl.

Minho is dazed as he stares at you, his lips parted as he tries to even out his breathing. You smile triumphantly as you watch him try to get his bearings, but after a moment, he’s still quiet. You’re about to poke his side to get him to come down from the clouds, but he’s suddenly pulling you up by your arms and kissing you hard. You let out a surprised gasp, muffled against his mouth, before you relax against him, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

He moans when he tastes himself on your tongue, and the vibration caused by the sound makes you press your thighs together.

One of his hands gropes your bare ass before his fingers find your core again, rubbing your slit, gathering the moisture there.

“Did sucking me off make you wet again?” Minho pulls back slightly to ask, a smirk evident on his lips. You don’t say anything; you just look at him with bashful eyes. “Want me to make you come again?”

At this, you nudge his nose with yours. “Will you?” you ask coyly. “Just a quick one.”

He kisses you once more before he gently pushes you backward, motioning for you to lie on the bed as he settles with his head between your legs.

He sucks a faint mark into one of your inner thighs. “Anything for you,” he says.

His lips latch onto your awaiting clit, sucking it into his mouth gently and instantly making you sigh in pure bliss. Your fingers thread themselves in his hair, tugging on it when two of his fingers dip into your entrance without warning. The digits enter you easily, aided by your excess wetness, fucking you fast, determined to make you come again.

You feel like you’re floating.

There’s something about today. Some lines, blurred.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself nearing the edge again. You’re still a bit sensitive from your previous orgasm after all. “Ah, shit… There…” you keen out, your greedy hands trying to push him further against your cunt, which he happily obliges. 

When you come in his mouth, your thighs shaking around his head, Minho laps it all up, taking his sweet time to lick you clean. You feel him moan against your core, and it isn’t until you start wincing from the overstimulation that he releases you.

A smug grin blooms on his lips as he crawls up the bed, lying down next to you. You take a couple of minutes to catch your breath, thoroughly enjoying the warmth that settles deep in your belly and the satisfying sensation between your legs. You cover your body with the duvet before you roll onto your side to face him.

Pillow talk isn’t your forte.

You just watch him as he watches you carefully, neither of you saying anything as the electricity in the air settles. You wait to see if he would speak, but after a moment, your eyelids start getting heavy. Exhaustion catches up with your body quicky.

“Tired?” Minho asks.

“Mhmm.”

He waits for another beat, reaches a hand out to stroke your hair softly before he gets up and goes to the bathroom. The aftercare is routine, and you cannot express how much you appreciate him for it. He returns with a damp cloth, then peels the duvet from your bottom half to clean you up. He does all of it quietly, and the silence makes you even drowsier.

When Minho is done, he pats your leg and covers you up again. He goes back to observing you and your sleepy face for another minute. You keep your eyes open as you try to maintain eye contact but it’s hard; you feel like you could pass out any second now.

Nevertheless, even in your exhausted state, you still sense the light somberness that befalls the confines of your walls. Usually, this is the part where he leaves, and you can tell that he doesn’t like the realization that he has to go now.

You see it in his face and it makes you a little sad because you know he wants to stay.

Then, it strikes you that you don’t really want him to leave either. At least not tonight.

“It’s late. You can stay the night,” you say quietly, “if you want.”

The same excuse that you used to kick him out the last time, now you’re using to get him to stay.

Minho seems surprised. “Are you okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Oh.”

You catch the tip of his ears turning red. It’s endearing, for some reason.

He puts on his boxers from where they were abandoned on the floor earlier, but opts to remain shirtless. His movements are a bit graceless, like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

This is a first for the both of you. The first time he’s ever stayed over.

“Do you want me to grab you a shirt?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Yes, please.”

Minho wanders over to your wardrobe and rummages through your t-shirt drawer. He picks one out from the bunch, holding it up for you to see. It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with you, but when it does, you realize that it’s not your shirt at all. It’s Minho’s, one that he left here some time ago and you were just never reminded to give it back.

“Oh,” you say. “You can wear it if you want. It’s yours anyway.”

“I think I’d rather see you wear it.”

You don’t argue because you’re tired and it’s just a shirt. You throw it on when he hands it to you along with a clean pair of underwear.

“What?” you ask when he just hovers over your bed and stares at you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to the shirt covering your body, his lips curling upward before he tells you, “Nothing.”

After turning off the lights, Minho climbs into bed with you. You’re lying on your back and you suspect that he’s in a similar position, though you don’t turn to look at him to make sure. It’s awkward, and you don’t really know what to do about it.

A couple minutes later, he brushes his fingers against yours. “Can I?”

You don’t know what he’s asking, but you agree nonetheless. “Okay.”

There’s some shuffling from his direction, like he’s rolled over onto one side to face you in the dark. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, until your back is flushed against his bare chest. The godforsaken thing that you call a heart starts beating wildly for a reason unbeknownst to you. It’s difficult to breathe properly when he’s holding you like this.

Like you’ve never been held before.

You think Minho feels the stiffness of your body in his arms because he starts rubbing odd patterns on your skin, up and down your sides, trying to soothe you.

It helps a bit, but then again it’s probably the sleepiness seeping in more and more too.

“Hey,” you start. “About what Hyunjin said at the party tonight.”

Minho pauses the movements of his fingers a second. “What did he say?”

“The thing he said about the girl…”

He laughs his cute laugh then, his chest vibrating with the sound. “You know the girl is you, right?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, patting your stomach with affection. “What about what Hyunjin said?”

You take a breath. “I don’t know. What if everyone finds out?”

“They won’t,” Minho reassures you. “They’re not the brightest bunch.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious,” he protests, then his voice gets smaller, full of hesitation as he asks, “Even if they do find out, would it really be that bad?”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you tell him, “but I don’t know, it’s…”

Then you trail off, not really knowing what to say. It’s what? Embarrassing? Scary? What?

“Come on.” Minho presses a kiss into your hair after a moment of dead silence. Maybe he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep, or maybe he’s trying to keep you from overthinking everything. The gentle kiss would’ve made you weak in the knees if you aren’t already lying down. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”

Your mind takes you back to what he said just now. You can’t help but think how that sentence would sound better if only he’d switched out one word for another.

My girl…

You know my girl is you, right?

It makes your heart skip a beat, then you’re snuggling further into the warmth of his embrace, where he welcomes you with no reservation.

You drift off to the sound of his breathing, dreaming about you and him.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 12.01.2024]

[arc-misadventures]

First of all let me tell you that I love Cinder's entry, so full of lore. but here I come with something for Vtuber au; So, for Ruby, Weiss or maybe some other vtuber that you want to introduce, react to the information update of one of the most important events of The World of Remnant: Hunter's and Monsters. Because the way cinder and jaune explained it, it was an important event at that time. PS: Your work is always amazing, so don't worry about how long it takes to do something as long as you feel good about it.

The VTuber: The Lady of the Grimm

Fall4Me had a plan for today’s stream, a plan she had been looking forward to implementing for quite some time now. Today she invited a special guest, and she was all to forward to once again meet her, Lady.

~~~

Fall4Me: Hello my underlings, how are you this fine day~?

~~~~~~

Kinder79: Our lady is here!

Judicatorsbanana: All hail the, Grimm Princess!

Linxder: Hi, Ember!

H3LL3R: Been better.

Rangerlion: Can’t complain really

ICSTARS: What’s the plan for today?

~~~

Fall4Me: That’s good to hear chat. Now then, for today’s stream we’ll be joined by a very special guest. And no, before you ask it is not, Errant.

Her body fell back in her chair, her body adopting a tired, and weary posture as she lamented the fact that her darling wolf would not be joining them.

She quickly brushed this aside as she resumed her stream.

Fall4Me: Now then, today we will be joined by a friend back from my days of playing, World of Remnant: Hunters, and Monsters. Today will be joined by my, Queen; The leader of the Cabal, the Queen of the Grimm: GrimmMonarch!

Appearing from the side was an elegant lady with skin, and hair as white as bone. Eyes as red as fresh fallen blood, and nestled in a black void, smiling enchantingly at the stream. For this was the LadyofDarkness, the GrimmMonarch.

~~~~~~

H3LL3R: Whoa momma

ToxickBattery: Why are all the ladies in Remnant so hot!

Piggu910: Is that a bad thing?

ToxickBattery: Just an observation.

Judicatorbanana: This going to be good!

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Why hello everyone it is a pleasure to meet you all this fine day, and hello to you as well, Ember, it is a pleasure to meet you again. How have you been my dear?

Fall4Me: I am well my, Queen. How are you feeling?

GrimmMonarch: I am quite well today. Well, bar the fact that my tea has gone cold, but that is nothing to really concern myself with.

Fall4Me: I shall get you a new cup of tea at once my, Lady!

GrimmMonarch: Ahh~! Ember my dear, you’re doing it again.

Fall4Me: EEEP!

The chat exploded into a choir of hearts as they heard the cute squeak escape, Fall4Me’s lips.

To those chosen few that knew; back in the days of, World of Remnant: Hunters, and Monsters, GrimmMonarch had adopted a stern, but caring motherly attitude to dealing with the, Cabal, and its members. A demeanour that, Fall4Me instantly gravitated to.

For, GrimmMonarch adopting such a demeanour had become a coping mechanism to dealing with the lose she could barely endure, and as to why, Fall4Me stuck so close to her was to have what she never had when she was young.

They were simply two broken people cleaning to each other to mend their broken hearts. And, while their hearts had mended, some old habits were hard to break.

GrimmMonarch: It’s been years since we last play, WoRHM, and yet you seemingly still haven’t shaken off that loyal subject persona of yours.

Fall4Me: I can’t help it! It’s reflex at this point!

GrimmMonarch: We will have to fix that bad habit of yours. But, in the meantime, what are we doing on this fine day?

Fall4Me: Well, my chat has been pestering me for quite sometime about something, and because you had more… involvement with this situation, I thought it would be best to have you around to tell everyone what happened.

GrimmMonarch: Situation?

The Lady’s eyebrow shot up as she mulled over the word, until her mouth opened as a hum of realization escaped her lips.

GrimmMonarch: You are referring to the, ‘Scorpion Incident,’ aren’t you?

Fall4Me: Yes. During a video where, Errant was…

GrimmMonarch: Errant? Do you mean, ErrantryPaladin by chance?

Fall4me: Yes, do you know him?

GrimmMonarch: We spent some time together after the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’ Do continue my dear.

Fall4Me: Of corse; Before I did my first stream, Errant saw my announcement video, and regaled his viewers with the tale about my character, his interactions with the cabal, and the bloody retribution he wrought upon the, Cabal.

GrimmMonarch: Oh, so it was him who unleashed that half baked, Grimm-Titan upon us.

Fall4Me: You didn’t know? No wait, he never told anyone until that stream, of course you didn’t know.

GrimmMonarch: No, but I always had this stinking suspicion that he did. There was something about, Errant’s behaviour that that told that he knew something about the, Titan attack, but he never said what that something was.

Fall4Me: I never suspected a thing, I had no idea that, that, Titan was encouraged into attacking the, Cabal. I thought it was mere happenstance that it attacked us.

GrimmMonarch: It shows you how effective, Errant’s plan was that we all were none the wiser to his scheming. But, enough talking about our, Rusted Knight. Let me regale you with the story of the rise, and fall of the, Grimm Cabal.

GrimmMonarch: I played WoRHM, for a long time. From the beginning to the end… I believe I had over four thousand hours on the game…

~~~~~~

KinofPenguin : 4000 hrs?!

buggermeoldchap: WoRHM was around long enough for someone to have played that long.

ICSTARS: Most of the top plays averaged 4-5 k hrs

RaverKitty: The highest was around 7 k

ToxickBattery: Was it, Headmaster Ozpin?

Meol’mucker: Who else would have played it that long?

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Because I played so long, my level was… two hundred and, thirtyseven. I was nearly around three hundred by the time I stopped playing.

Fall4Me: Two hundred, and thirty seven?! I guessed you were over level one hundred, but to be double that?

GrimmMonarch: The leaders of the academies, and well as myself, the former leader of the, Cabal each had an average level around two hundred, and fifty. It was part of the reason I was scouted to be the, Queen of the Grimm. I could have been the Headmistress of, Mistral Academy, but the idea of leading the, Cabal was an oh so much more tantalizing idea~!

Fall4Me: Who had the highest level; Headmaster Ozpin?

GrimmMonarch: You would assume, Ozpin, and you would assume wrong.

Fall4Me: Wrong?! But, he was the best headmaster among the five of you. How come he isn’t the strongest?

GrimmMonarch: You forget how the experience points is distributed. Ozpin mostly fought in teams, so the exp from a quest, or Grimm slaying was distributed among the team. If, you primarily fought alone however, all the exp would go to you. So, care to guess who had the highest level now, Dear?

Fall4Me: Uhhh… E-ErrantryPaladin…?

GrimmMonarch: Ding~Ding~Ding~! That is correct my dear.

Fall4Me: ErrantryPaladin?! He had the highest level…?! How high?

GrimmMonarch: At the closing of the servers, Ozpin had a level of three hundred, and sixty three. Errant however, he had a level of four hundred, and eighty two.

~~~~~~

RangerSnake: 482?!

emptythrone: It was nearly 500?!

Seventwothreepie: Probably played for at least 6k hrs

PlacatedBadger: Explain why he never joined in the tournament matches.

TheBadgers~!: He’d whipe the floor with an entire academy

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Why did he bother sending that, Titan after us? He could have levelled the guild single handedly…

GrimmMonarch: Considering what happened during the, Apprentice Massacre, I believe, Errant wanted to make sure we suffered. I’ve seen him be rather vindictive to rather cruel players in the game.

GrimmMonarch: Now then, while I was in charge of the, Cabal, I had several powerful members join the, Cabal. Yourself included, Ember. But, while I had several powerful members under command, we were all jokesters, and bullies to a certain extent. Until the massacre happened, the worst the Cabal did was have, Grimm attack settlements, and teams of, Hunters. We were seen as a general nuisance that added spice to the game.

GrimmMonarch: But, after the massacre many of the, Academies started a witch hunt for our members, their attempts to find us mostly ended in failure. Until, Errant evidently sent that, Titan after us we were fine, but that, Titan crippled the, Cabal. Instead of causing Grimm attacks on settlements, and Hunter teams. We were stuck doing raiding missions in an attempt to recoup our strength. Many members left the guild because they couldn’t deal with the pressure the, Academy’s were mounting on them. And despite our best efforts, it seemed we were getting nowhere.

GrimmMonarch: That’s when several players decided to meet together irl, and discuss what they could do to fix the problem. And, this enters in stage left, the culprit of that fateful day… Tyrion Callows…

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: Man that name sounds evil.

H3LL3R: Sounds creepy.

DaSting: I don’t like where this story is going.

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Wait, Tyrion Callows is his actual name?

GrimmMonarch: Yes it is. Most players use an alias while playing instead of their real name, however, since no one would know that it is his real name unless he told someone, well it worked at the end of the day.

Fall4Me: I remember the few missions I did with him, he was always seem unhinged. Wasn’t the, Apprentice Massacre his idea?

GrimmMonarch: It was indeed. He was sorely reprimanded when I discovered it was his plan. I should have taken that as a sign…

Fall4Me: A sign? A sign for what?

GrimmMonarch: Of things to come…

She hummed to herself as she contemplated what she was about to say; about how she could say it, and how her audience would talk what she was about to say.

GrimmMonarch: It was seven of them at a diner, including, Tyrian. There were several humans, and faunas there. While they were there, they discussed several ways to revitalize the, Cabal. But, peoples view of the, Cabal was ruined by the events of the, Apprentice Massacre, so it was neigh on impossible for us to recruit new members. And, because we had been raiding so many towns, dust depots, and general supply trains in order to rebuild the, Cabal after the, Titan attack, the Academies started making more missions to protect those assets. The Cabal was at a standstill, we couldn’t push forward with any plans because we were so broken. At that point, the Cabal was a dead man walking…

Fall4Me: Then what happened?

GrimmMonarch: One of them suggested that it would be best to abandon the, Cabal then. Everyone should abandon the, Cabal, me included. We couldn’t get any more supplies, we can’t get any new members, more were leaving every day, it was just a matter of time until the, Cabal was disbanded. The six of them agreed that this was the only course of action. They decided they would bring it before me at the next meeting. But, Tyrian… Tyrian snapped…

Fall4Me: Snapped…?

~~~~~~

DaSting: I REALLY don’t like where this is going!

Judicatorbanana:I’m starting to regret asking what happened.

LevenAngel: I regret a great many things!

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Tyrian started calling everyone a traitor, that they betrayed the, ‘Goddess,’ and that they will all be brought to pay for their transgressions.

GrimmMonarch: They told him to relax, since it was all just a game, but then… Tyrian grabbed a knife, and…

Fall4Me: He didn’t…

GrimmMonarch: Yes, he did…

Fall4Me’s voice fell into a small whisper as realization dawned on her at what that implied. She didn’t want her to continue this story, but she knew that she needed to finish it.

GrimmMonarch: Of the six people, three of them died due to knife wounds… the other three barely managed to survive, however medical personnel managed to come in time to save them. Thought his poison was quite effective.

Fall4Me: And, Tyrian, what about him?

GrimmMonarch: The police were in the area, so they managed to get there quickly, and when they were in the process of attempting to arrest him, he stung one of the officers, while the other one gunned him down.

Fall4Me: So he’s dead, Tyrian’s dead right?

GrimmMonarch: In the police report it indicated he when he attacked one of the officers there to arrest, Turian, his colleague unloaded his entire magazine into him. I can assure you, he is most certainly dead.

~~~~~~

Amogsus: Well that’s depressing.

Kalper: Sounds like he couldn’t differentiate reality from fiction

SuspiciousDucky: Poison? Did he have poison on him?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Yes… SuspiciousDucky…

GrimmMonarch: Oh that’s a cute name~!

Fall4Me: Oh it is… Ahem! Yes that is a good question; What did you mean by, ‘His poison was quite effective?’

GrimmMonarch: What has, Tyrian’s character in game?

Fall4Me: He played this lanky scorpion faunas… wait…? Was he an actual scorpion faunas?!

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he was; Poisonous stinger, and all.

Fall4Me: Whoa… Wait, how do you know all of this? Did one of the victims tell you?

GrimmMonarch: Yes, and no. Tyrian said, they betrayed the, ‘Goddess,’ the survivors deduced that he was talking about me. So, I was called in for questioning by the police about this whole fiasco.

Fall4Me: They arrested you?

GrimmMonarch: No, nothing of the sorts. Just asked me some questions regarding, Tyrian’s personality, and the events that lead to this happening. I got to talk to the others who got hurt, and I learned their side of the story. After I received permission from them, and the police I told everyone in the guild what happened. That was where the end began.

~~~~~~

RangerSnake: Wait, Ember you didn’t know about all of this?

Linxder: Yeah, you were in the guild when this happened

7uwu7: Were you?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me looked away from her stream for a moment, before she replied to her chat’s question with a nervous lint to her voice.

Fall4Me: Uhh… No. I had stopped playing the game before this happened. I would have been there when it happened, but some… things happened.

GrimmMonarch: Best leave it at that chat. Now, I told the rest of the members of the, Cabal at a guild meeting what happened. Their reactions were varied, and understandable to the news of what, Tyrian did, and the loss of their friends. I then brought up one of the notions one of the members brought forward as to what the future of the, Cabal should be.

GrimmMonarch: Wether to continue rebuilding the, Cabal, or to disband the, Cabal. It was a unanimous vote to disband the guild… Even I didn’t vote to continue rebuilding the, Cabal. We were as good as dead anyway.

GrimmMonarch: We had one farewell party among us to celebrate the legacy, the good parts that is, that was the, Grimm Cabal. And, after everyone left one by one… all that remained was myself. I contacted the staff, informed them of what had happened, and then I told them to close the, Cabal. And, with that… the, Cabal died.

GrimmMonarch: You know… I always thought the last death cry of the, Cabal would be felt by the whole server as it fought to the death in one glorious battle for the fate of, Remnant itself!

GrimmMonarch: And, yet we left with barely a whisper…

Fall4Me: …

GrimmMonarch: So, there you have it chat; That is the tale of how the, Cabal fell. If those of you who were once players in, WoRHM, know only that the, Cabal was disbanded. Former members of the, Cabal who left the guild, and either returned to their former academies, or restated their account. Considering the nature of why the, Cabal disbanded the members didn’t want to talk about it, and just said, ‘There was an incident with a scorpion.’ Hence where the, ‘Scorpion Incident’ earned its name.

Fall4Me: Wow… I had no idea… I always assumed, Tyrian did something, but I would have never expected that he did that?!

GrimmMonarch: Yes… he did…

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: Is this the first time, you told anyone about this my, Goddess? Outside of the Cabal that is.

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Oh my~? Calling me a goddess already~? Well, I don’t mind chat, but do show some restraint my dears~!

The chat swiftly exploded into a shower of hearts as the, Grimm Queen smiled sultry at the screen.

GrimmMonarch: But, no, I told the, Headmasters, and Headmistresses of the various academies what happened. I explained to them that the, Cabal was to be disbanded, and the various members would be either restarting their accounts, or simply return back to the academy of their origin. I told them to kindly accept them back in, and to not tell anyone about the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’

Fall4Me: And, you didn’t tell anyone else about all of this?

GrimmMonarch: There was one other who knew; Care to guess who~?

Ember’s model swayed as a brief laugh escaped her lips, she knew precisely who else learned the tale of the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’ After all, he had a knack for finding out about such things.

Fall4Me: Tell me my, Lady. How did, Errant learn about the fall of the, Cabal?

~~~~~~

7uwu7: Ha!

Amongsus: Knew it

DaSting: Who else but him?

emptythrone: That guy really gets around

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Oh, how did you know it was him~?

Fall4Me: My darling wolf had the reputation across the server as an information broker. He had the most uncanny ability to find out about the most minuet of details that happened on the other side of the world.

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he did. Despite never seeing my human form before, he was able to instantly identify me in my human form, and I had not even said hello to him at that.

Fall4Me: ‘Human form?’

GrimmMonarch: What? Did you think that I always had this beautiful appearance you see before you?

Fall4Me: Well… that makes sense. But, I’ve never seen you in any other form, but the one I see before me. I never say you as a…

GrimmMonarch: As a what…?

GrimmMonarch: A human?

At the click of a button, the LadyofDarkness, The GrimmMonarch’s body changed, no longer was she a monster of death, and despair. Now lay before them for all to see was a lady of elegance that exuded an air of royalty that was unmatched by all those who stood before her. And, yet… when one looked into her eyes, one couldn’t help but see a sad little girl, longing for something forever out of her reach.

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: YOOOOO!!!

7uwu7:😍😍😍

Laven: Damn!

ICSTARS: Who said she can be so hot!

RangerSnake: Smash

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Ohh~! You look beautiful your grace!

GrimmMonarch: Thank you, Ember. This was the form I adopted before, and after the, Cabal. It is what I always imagined what, The Girl in the Tower’ looked like when I read that short story.

Fall4Me: ‘Fairytales of the World of Remnant?’

GrimmMonarch: That’s the one, in fact whilst I was using this skin, I went by the name, EVAnora, or EVA for short.

Fall4Me: That’s a nice name.

GrimmMonarch: Thank you~! Now, back to our, Knight. He stumbled upon me as I was slaying some, Beowulfs, small fry, hardly anything to worry about. Anyway, he walked over, and said, ‘I bare glad tidings to the, the LadyofDarkness, the Queen of Grimm.’

Fall4Me: …?

Fall4Me: Pfff! Ah-hahahaha~! Did he really say that?

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he did! It was so ridiculous I couldn’t help, but laugh at it as well. Despite, Errant’s reserved demeanour, he can be quite the endearing character when he wants to.

Fall4Me: Quite so, I’ve seen him converse with fellow players, he can be quite the smooth talker when he wants to. It’s can be quite scary at times…

GrimmMonarch: Are you referring to the time he swindled, Vacuo’s merchant guild into revealing where the slave camps were, or the time he caused the falling out of, Dazzling Spear Hunter Teams?

Fall4Me: Wait?! He did that?! I was talking about the time he tricked the, Crimson Brigade into attack the bandits base during the, Season of Fire event, that triggered a Grimm Horde event?!

GrimmMonarch: He did what?!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 58

part 1 | part 57 | ao3

@steddie-island said i wasn't allowed to cut this lol. cw: angst, canon typical horror, mentions of minor character death

“Lucas called me a ghost today.”

Steve almost laughs, bitter and sharp. Sure. Why not? What’s one more ghost in his passenger seat?

He doesn't really want to talk to her right now, if he's honest. It's been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't apologized for trying to rob him, or explained where they're going, or what spooked her, or why this car ride was so urgent that he had to risk his job for it — a job he actually needs, considering his, well, everything. She's hardly said anything beyond the occasional "turn here" or "next left" while sulking with her forehead pressed against the window.

But he can tell she has something she needs to get off her chest, so he swallows his annoyance and offers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says back. Doesn't elaborate.

He gives her another minute to gather her words, watches her open and close her mouth a few times in his periphery, but nothing comes out. She scoffs at herself and abruptly changes the subject. “Eddie was being extra… well, extra today.”

“Was he?” Steve asks, his bones itching under his skin. He doesn't want to talk about Eddie. Doesn't want to think his name.

“Yeah, he, uh- he was kinda manic? He was, like, running all over the cafeteria and starting shit with Jason Carver...” And he's only half-listening, anger simmering as she goes on and on, because she promised that Dustin didn't put her up to this. Said that this wasn't some bullshit excuse to get him to talk about Eddie or hang out with Eddie or think about Eddie or kiss and make up with fucking Eddie, and now she's just talking about him, and it-

And it hurts; god, it still just hurts—

"....Then he started rambling about how he can’t wait to get the hell out of here when he graduates.”

Searing-stabbing-burning-sharp. Steve clutches at the flare of pain in his chest, the crushed soda-can feeling where his heart's supposed to be. His head pounds. He follows her next direction onto a winding, tree-lined road, the canopy suffocating overhead, and his skin feels too dry — too tight, too small, shrink-wrapping him inside of it, because he knows where they are now. Knows the tilt of the rusted lamp shade, the shape of the weather brick paths. He's tasted the metal tang of this stop sign in his nightmares.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Cool," he grits out as he drives through the cemetery gates. Past stone and wrought iron, past the empty central fountain. He hasn't been here since July. “Good for him.”

“Steve-"

“Why are you telling me this?" he snaps. He throws the car in park under an old oak and turns to glare at her, barking a frustrated, "Huh?"

Immediately, he feels bad for raising his voice. Feels even worse for the way she flinches away. The naked fear on her face, her hand reaching for the door. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. “Sorry. Sorry. Just-" There's a leak inside him somewhere; some infected, gaping hole, and his stupid heart keeps pumping all his blood into the wound. "Why are you-?”

“Look,” she says sharply, "I know it sucks. To talk about him." She's staring at the rows of headstones up ahead, her face gone steely with determination, her shoulders squared, her big eyes wide and a little wet when she turns to meet his gaze. “But whatever you were— whatever happened, it just… it really messed him up.”

Good. "You sound like Dustin."

"Maybe Dustin had a point."

"Since when?"

She throws her hands up, nostrils flaring. "I'm trying to tell you that I think he still cares!"

“Yeah? He’s got a seriously fucked up way of showing it if so!”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t know how to show it!”

And oh.

Oh.

Silence blankets them like dust. Eyes locked; harsh breaths. This has nothing to do with him and Eddie, does it?

Lucas called me a ghost.

Steve sighs and slumps forward, his forearms on the wheel, his chin resting on his wrist. The late afternoon sun is warm through the glass, and his head gives another nasty throb as he looks out over the hill, at the polished stones glinting in the golden hour rays.

His dad is buried here.

A lot of people are.

“Hey,” he murmurs, rolling his neck to look at her. The skin under her eyes is red. "Sorry for yelling."

She sniffs quietly. "Me, too."

He reaches over and gives her hand a quick squeeze, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You know you can just talk to me, right? Max, talk to me. Please.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s nothing, okay?” She sinks down in her seat, crossing her arms to shield herself. “Shit’s just been… it’s just been weird all week. Like- like bad weird, and I don't know if I'm just going crazy, or— I mean, maybe Ms. Kelley's right, maybe's it's just— but it feels like…”

"Like what?"

She holds a hand out flat in front of her; flips her wrist over slowly so her palm faces the sky.

Steve's blood runs cold. He thinks of his own nightmares: the weird visions, the headaches, the persistent haunted feeling.

"I don't know anything for sure," she insists, rushing to reassure him before he can fully start to panic. "Seriously, don't freak out; I haven't, like, seen any gates or anything, it's just— bad dreams. Nose bleeds. I don't know." She hoists her backpack onto her shoulder. "I thought coming here might help."

He catches her by the arm, raking his eyes over her face, looking for any signs of danger. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head no and tugs free of his grip, and then she's slipping out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind her, and Steve watches her crest the hill while sirens wail inside his head.

—

part 59

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 36

Part 1 Part 35

Will’s skin feels tight, stretched over his bones as he tosses and turns into the morning. It’s a relief when the sounds of Mom burning breakfast filter into his room.

“Shit, shit,” she says, pans clattering as she moves them from one burner to another. 

WIll crawls out of his bed, limbs lethargic. His socks have gone wonky in the night – all his tossing and turning making the heels twist to the front of his ankles. He slides them around on the carpet, shifting them around without having to bend over.

He shuffles into the kitchen, settling quietly at the table, feet up on the chair, chin on his knees as he watches his Mom cook. 

She’s scrapping crisp scrambled eggs onto a plate, muttering to herself as toast pops from the toaster. 

Jonathan stumbles out of his bedroom, drawn by the sounds. His pajama pants are too long, trailing across the floor, making him trip on the hems. He grabs the toast without a word, plucking the butter from the counter and coating them liberally before bringing it over to the table.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting down beside Will.

Mom turns, holding the burnt eggs and mushy hash browns on separate plates. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, hurrying over and putting her own bounty in the middle of the table. “How long have you been here?”

“Just got here,” he says, looking down at his knees.

It’s not that his Mom hasn’t always paid attention to him, but it’s grown sharper in the days since he got back from the Upside-Down. Like she needs to catch his every word. Like if he leaves her sight, he’ll disappear. That’s how she’s looking at him now.

Jonathan goes to grab forks and plates, heaping food onto Will’s plate before getting his own. 

The eggs are rubbery, over-cooked and under-salted, and the potatoes are more water than starch. Will eats it all.

There's been a pit in his stomach since he got back, like no matter how much he eats, there’s more space to fill. The doctor’s had said that was normal – just his body's shock response to food scarcity. It’d go away.

“Can I go see Steve?” Will asks.

Steve’s been so still, every time he’s visited. They’d shaved his head, and it made him look young and small and washed out; nothing like the boy with the gun or the boy with the broad back, always standing between them and danger.

But, maybe that’s never who Steve’s been. Maybe he’s always been small, and tired, and scared, just like Will. He just wishes Steve would wake up.

He hasn’t, not since Eddie’d brought him back. No one would tell him what happened, but the way Eddie refused to leave the room entirely said enough. Will isn’t sure he wants to know anything more.

He just wants Steve to open his eyes.

“I have to work,” Mom says, lips pursed. 

She hasn’t been to work since Will got back. Neither has Jonathan, and money’s got to be running thin. 

“I can take him,” Jonathan says, meeting his Mom’s eyes. Something Will can’t parse passes between them, before his Mom slowly nods, reluctance in every move.

Jonathan drops Mom off at work, and then they go, Will crawling between the seats to settle in the passenger seat. 

“Do you think he’ll be awake?” Will asks, staring out the windshield as Jonathan parks the car.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan says, unbuckling his seatbelt, not looking WIll’s way. “I hope so.”

They’ve been here enough that they don’t need directions to Steve’s second floor hospital room.

Eddie’s sitting beside Steve’s bed, like he has been every time Will’s come by. He’s wearing blue scrubs like the nurses do, and there’s no blood on his face. He looks tidier than Will’s ever seen him. 

Steve’s laying down, oxygen tubes taped below his nose.

“Will.” It’s Steve’s voice, scratchy and tired, but Steve’s. 

Will rushes to his bed. Eddie’s blocking access, so Will clambers over his legs, accidentally crushing his toes in the process. Steve looks washed out and tired. But his eyes are open and he’s smiling up at WIll.

Will bursts into tears. Steve holds up his arms in offering, and Will burrows carefully into Steve’s chest, keeping most of his weight on the side of the bed, unsure of where the injuries lie.

“Steve,” he hiccups. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking about the doctors, or his Mom, or Eddie himself.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, clutching the back of his head. “I’m fine.”

Will laughs, “liar.” Someone’s hand runs up his back. Jonathan’s or Eddie’s, it doesn’t matter. Everyone he cares about is safe. Everyone in this room is safe. 

They’re home.

When Will calms down, shuffling back awkwardly from the boy he barely knows, Steve smiles up at him, and it’s like something clicks into place. Steve is Steve. That’s enough.

Jonathan is sitting next to Eddie, shuffling uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “Thanks, man,” he says. When Will looks back, Jonathan’s looking down at his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–” 

His voice breaks, throat clicking as he looks down at his fumbling hands. Steve clears his throat. “Hey, man. Your brother’s a badass. He would’ve been fine.”

Will thinks about the endless hours alone in that dark, quiet place before he’d run into Steve and Eddie, and doubts it. It was like each second there sucked a little bit more out of him, leaving silence in its wake. He’s not sure what would’ve crawled out of the Upside-Down in his place. 

Will smiles down at his shoes as Eddie chimes in, “yeah, baby Byers definitely saved my life.” 

He can feel his cheeks flushing.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says. “Thanks.”

Steve clears his throat. “Anytime.”

Will sits on the side of Steve’s bed, unwilling to leave now that he’s here. It’s like, when he’s with Steve and Eddie, something comes back that the Upside-Down scooped out of him. And everything else is purgatory.

He’ll be trying to sleep, or talking to the party, or listening to music with Jonathan, and it’s all hollow. He’s just waiting.

But right now? Will’s here, and he’s staying as long as he can. 

Part 37