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peachdues · 6 months ago

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COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

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

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

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

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

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

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

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

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

Life debts.

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

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

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

He will never be able to wash them clean.

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

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

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

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

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

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

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

They were late.

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

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

The stupid, greasy fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

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

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

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

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

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

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

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

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

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

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

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

But you owed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

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

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

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

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

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

Take your trouble somewhere else.

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

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

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

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

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

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

The Kizuki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

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

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

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

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

Or so he tells himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

Step.

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

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“This can’t be your dream life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Read that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You look like shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. Curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as it was more than this.

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

———

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

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

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

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

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

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

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

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

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

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

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

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

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

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

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

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

A cop-out, is what it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

True love.

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

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

He wants out.

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

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intimate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he turns and leaves.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in love with Sanemi.

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

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

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

You won’t.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. ��I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

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

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cherrybr4t · 2 months ago

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DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

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cherryheairt · 10 days ago

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Hidden Truths

Cregan x Wife!reader

pt. 1

named reader (aye-leese) no description, from house Glover.

summary - Cregan comes home from war with a scandalous surprise, much to the horror of his wife. Though, it is not all that she expected when she heard of her husband's infidelity.

Inspired by Ned and Catelyn Stark (obviously lol)

It had been four moons since Cregan Stark returned from King's Landing, ending the war and placing Aegon iii on the Iron Throne. Four moons since he presented his bastard for all to see, declaring to his wife that they would raise the boy as a legitimized Stark.

Aelys Glover, now Stark, had never thought her husband would betray her in such a brutal way. To bed another woman down in the South, in a time of war, to father a bastard. To give the bastard his Stark name.

She hadn't even had her first babe yet, due to the young couple deciding to spend their first few years of marriage having each other all to themselves. Had it all been a lie from Cregan? A masterful deceit to make his mistress' son his heir? Perhaps he had regretted their marriage and chosen to disregard any of her future children, thinking her genetics undesirable. Whatever dull excuse he had, it would never be enough to balm her heart.

People whispered about which mother's son might be Cregan's heir apparent.

It was not yet decided, and would not be until years ahead when Aelys showed if she could bear him more sons or not. Until she did, Brandon Stark would be Cregan's unofficially heir as his eldest son.

Aelys had refused to share a bed with Cregan since the night he returned. She would not perform her marital duties anymore, not until she was either dead or he forced her, which she knew he at least had the honor to not. Aelys would give him no children of her own, spitefully intending to leave the Stark line to a bastard who would forever be known to the world as such.

She would make it clear that her husband's stupidity would end the Stark's honorable history streak. The babe would be legit, yes, but never trueborn. It was said that bastards were born nasty and cruel, and Aelys had not believed such rumors until she met the babe herself. Her spite grew in spite of her previous kind and understanding nature, driven to hate the babe without knowing him.

Even with the same House name as his father, the boy was nothing like him. He seemed to carry his mother's traits, instead, whoever she was. Dark black hair and even darker eyes to match, though the Northern pale skin Cregan carried had stayed through the genetic battle.

At least Cregan did not bring her home, too. If he had, Aelys would have thrown herself from The Wall in shame and disgrace. She would not be the other woman in her own marriage.

His words when he returned burned at her heart, even now the dust had not settled nor had the fire quelled.

"It was a one-time tryst, I swear this to you. A night of vulnerability, when it got rough in King's Landing." He said, voice strained and undereyes dark with the heavy weight of guilt and responsibility. She'd never felt such an intense urge to hit a man before.

His bastard sister, Sara Snow, a woman whom Aelys had grown to see as her own sister and close confidante, returned from King's Landing a month after her brother.

She looked even worse than her elder brother, who still could barely hold Aelys' eyes when she wordlessly passed him in the halls. She looked gaunt and exhausted, though she claimed that the journey back was tiring. Sighing, Aelys could only welcome her back into the Great Keep to catch up over all that she had missed. Apparently, Sara had stayed in the Riverlands for most of the moons Cregan had hosted in the Crownlands. She was housed by the Blackwoods, becoming fast friends with Alysanne Blackwood and Davos Blackwood, the fierce aunt and nephew who fought together against the Greens.

No useful information about the whore that Cregan had bedded that night, Aelys bitterly thought for a moment. Then, a wave of guilt and regret hit her. It was not Sara's fault for her brother's mistakes. She was truly glad to have the conpany back, seeing as Winterfell had felt cold and emptier now that Cregan was back than it ever had before. She had been avoiding his for these four moons, leaving only a few rooms accessible for her privacy and peace of mind.

She never entered the nursery room's entire hallway. Even when needing something past it, she chose to go the longest possible route to avoid it. She didn't wish to think about the boy more than she already did. She saw him during dinners, being presented to Cregan by his wet nurse before being put down to sleep for the night. Those mere glimpses were plenty to feed her anxious mind.

Today, the adjacent hall towards the Keep's hotsprings was closed. "A few cobblestone in the wall have cracked, m'Lady. You mustn't enter for one might accidentally fall on you." A young servant boy had informed her, thoroughly apologetic as she sighed and headed him. The nursery's hall was the only one that also held the door outside, lest she chose to go all the way around the outside of the keep in this blizzard.

The thought was tempting but childish. Steeling her courage up, Aelys had fixed herself to stride past the door. She could not help the subconscious glance inside, seeing the glimpse of curly black hair laying alone in his crib, but wide awake and almost flailing around in a fuss.

Looking around, Aelys was surprised to see not one attendant or wet nurse. From her experience with babes, they were rarely left alone unless they were sleeping. Even then, some mothers and nurses liked to hover to ensure its safety while unconscious. Aelys stepped into the dim room, finding that Brandon's attention immediately focused on her. He whined out, reaching out grabbing hands toward her. Grimacing, she reached into the crib to lift him up, holding him at a safe distance from her face.

Up close, she could reluctantly admit that the babe was cute. He was well-doted on in the Keep by all the maids and even visiting Lords. Though his parentage was questionable and whispered about, none actually had the courage to ask why the boy had been legitimized so quickly. Aelys guessed it had been the circumstances. Aegon, the new King, was young and suseptible to influence, so legitimizing a bastard like Brandon was done without question.

"What are you fussing on about, you spoiled thing?" She asked, though her tone was soft and gentle. Brandon smiled a gummy smile, face lifting as he reached out again for her. This time, she allowed him to rest on her shoulder as she supported him, gently rocking back and forth as she stood. The faster he was asleep, the faster she could leave without feeling like a monster.

She already had that feeling nagging at her mind too much. Hating a babe took a lot of energy. She knew it was wrongfully placed, but Brandon's very nature and sire had wronged her more. The physical reminder that his father had not loved her.

Soft snores filled the room as she hummed lowly, the vibrations and comforting sound putting the fussy tot to sleep quicker than she had anticipated. Gently placing him back in the cot, she hands gripped the wooden edges harshly, a sharp contrast to her previous touch. Was she betraying herself for not demanding that the babe be taken away? Warded with another great House until she finally had a son? No. Cregan would never allow it, even as Lady of the House she held no true power over the Warden.

Turning, Aelys was met with her husband in the doorway. Silent as a stalking wolf, he leaned against the doorway and looked upon his son and wife with pools of affection. There was a slight gloss to them as she looked closer that she opted to ignore. "Cregan." She greeted curtly, moving to slide past him and speak no more of her presence in the nursery.

"He has a way of melting one's heart, does he not?" He asked, tilting his chin to look down at her. A branch, left out and hanging by Cregan's strong arms. Too bad that she did not need it.

"He disgusts me." She said instead, shouldering past him and continuing back to her rooms. She changed her mind in the few minutes that she spent with the bastard Stark boy. She could stay here no longer, could not bear for her own husband to bring this embodied lie to live in the very home that she did. Wouldn't raise any children to be in their older brother's shadow.

Ignoring the hushed plea from Cregan, Aelys went straight to the Maester's tower. Maester Parek had been a helpful and understanding ear for Aelys to rant to when dealing with arisen problems, whether with her moon blood, achy bones from the cold, or questioning if any ravens had come from mysterious women. None had, as far as she had been told. That is, if Parek had been entirely truthful to his Lady.

Hurriedly knocking on the man's door, it was soon opened after a grunt of physical labor had been heard from the other side. The Maester had always complained about his bad knees and how they were made worse in the winters.

"Lady Stark?" He asked, shocked to see her at midday. It was a rarity, as she usually made her visits in the morning after she broke her fast.

"Maester." She greeted, shifting on her feet. "I need to send a letter, urgently."

"May I ask to whom?" He inquired, earning a solemn nod from the young Lady.

"I'm sorry, Parek. It is private."

"Of course, my Lady. The room is yours." He bowed and left the chambers to occupy himself while she busied herself as well. She immediately made for the small attached room in the tower, made into a raven nest hundreds of years ago. A few perched black birds squaked or raised her heads at the unfamiliar sight curiously, but they were well-trained and did not spook.

Bending over the crickity desk, she quickly drafted a messily-writen yet vague letter.

Father,

Some troubles have come up in Winterfell, and Cregan Stark has advised me to return to House Glover's protection while he deals with matters here. I will be returning swiftly, though the snow will hinder the horse a few days.

See you soon,

your dearest Aelys.

As soon as she finished, she hastily melted the powder blue wax and sealed the direwolf sigil onto the rolled paper. Tying the scroll to a raven's foot, Aelys sent it off. The bird would reach House Glover's Maester quickly, and in the meantime she would ready herself for departure.

As she was shoving clothes and pelts into various bags, the very ones that carried her belongings to Winterfell over two years ago, Aelys could not stop the hot, angry tears that fell to her cheeks. Wiping away at her face with scruffy sleeve fur, gifted to her by Cregan himself, Aelys felt the frustration and loneliness sting at her soul. The loneliness was a choice on her part, most would say. That she was dramatic and most Lords sired bastards. She should be grateful he did not bring the mother back, too, and house her in his home next to his Lady Wife. All whispers she heard from her ladies-in-waiting, whom she immediately dismissed from service upon hearing such impudent things.

She would not be subjected to the humiliation. She wanted love, and she once had it. Oh, she had it. Cregan treated her like a goddess walking amongst humans for the moons they spent together before his leave to King's Landing. If she could not have Cregan's loyalty or love, she would at least find a man who she did not have high expectations for. An older Lord, perhaps, one who just wanted a young and pretty woman to give him final heirs during his last years of life. Aelys would know her role, then, and would live contently knowing she did not love foolishly while expecting faithfulness in return.

First, this marriage had to be annuled. In Lord Glover's home, she could easily ask for such a thing. The marriage had been commsumated, but there were no witnesses and no babes to confirm this to outsiders. Aelys would simply have to claim that she and Lord Stark never once bedded before he left to find another woman, and then she'd be an unmarried Lady once more. A Glover, not a Stark.

She realized she'd been quite fastidious in her packing. Unlike her carriage ride to Winterfell, her luggage could not be carried easily on one horse. She picked only one of her bags, with the thickest dresses and warmest pelts she had, rushing out of the room while clipping a cloak over her shoulders. Dark blue in color, Aelys almost cursed at the thought that almost all of her wardrobe and fine things had been gifts from Cregan. Her pelts, gloves, and even the horse that she would take home.

Cobalt, she had named the steed, noticing how his pure black coat almost gleamed blue in certain lights. Cregan had a wide and cherishing smile on his face as he walked the young stallion out of the stables a few days after their wedding. They often took walks on trails in the Wolfswood together on horseback, just their muffled conversations filling the still air. She remembered every moment with her husband fondly before he tarnished everything. Now, she knew all of it to be a facade, just like any other Lord in Westeros might have done. At least other men had the decency to be nasty plain to your face, unlike the Stark.

Aelys sneaked into the armory to pick up a few extra things, knowing no one would occupy the room when the whether was so unfortunate.

Striding towards the stables with squinted eyes, Aelys shivered at the temperature change. Luckily, the journey would be quick, with only a few days to walk on horseback. Cobalt was a resilient horse built for such harsh weather, and she was a Northern woman through and through.

She attached the bag and waterskin to Cobalt's saddle after she tacked him up. His long and unruly made quivered in the breeze as the light blizzard raged on as it had been for two days now. It did not deter her. She attached her bow and quiver to the other side to keep weight even, knowing she'd have to hunt for herself during the journey.

Steadying herself on the saddle, Aelys glanced once more at Winterfell's Great Keep, where Cregan was surely in his study or councilroom. She squeezed Colbalt's side lightly to urge the percheron onwards, giving herself no room for second guessing her choices.

At the wall's gate, the two snow-covered men regarded her with weary looks. "My Lady, there is a blizzard—" Ron Frasel told her, ginger brow upturned in question.

"I have eyes, Ron. I will return soon, I have buisness in Winter Town." She said tiredly, not wanting to be interrupted by the men at such an important time. It would not be long before a maid reported her missing.

Ernest, the guard's most frequent partner, inquired gently. "Will you require any assistance, Lady Stark? I'm sure Lord Stark would feel more at ease knowing you are escorted."

"He is fine with me going on my own, it is a short ride." She said curtly, anxious for Cregan to find out about her plan.

Ernest nodded and gestured for the iron gate to be lifted. "Safe travels, my Lady." Before bowing his head politely.

As Aelys walked through the opened gate, she urged Cobalt to a faster trot to create quick distance between her and Winterfell before she set up camp.

Ron shared an uneasy look with Ernest as the woman passed. "Lord Stark has never allowed her out without a guard before." He whispered.

His friend nodded, eyes glancing between her fading figure in the snow and the Keep. "Perhaps we should go see Lord Stark himself, just to be safe."

Ron shivered. "If he finds out we let his wife go into the blizzard without him knowin', who knows what'd happen to us."

"Quickly, then." They were both skidding off towards the Keep with no time to waste.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones x reader #stark

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starkeysprincess · 18 days ago

Text

⟢ YOU'RE MINE, NOT HIS

presenting kinktober day 3 ➔︎ stalker!rafe

warnings: DUBCON !! mentions of stalking, harm to minor character, use of restraints + blindfold, praising, oral (f. receiving), fingering, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, & mention of rafe taking pictures word count: 2.1k

kinktober m.list ⟡ rafe m.list

rafe stood in the fifth-level hallway of your apartment complex, digging into his pocket to find the duplicate of your apartment key he had. luckily for him, you were the clumsiest little thing he’d ever seen, having dropped your key one day, which gave him the perfect opportunity to make a copy and slip it back under the doormat in front of your apartment before you realized it was missing.

he looked to ensure your pesky neighbors weren’t around before inserting the key into the lock and twisting it until he heard a soft ‘click.’

the wood floors creaked ever so slightly as his feet carried him throughout your apartment to your bedroom. the smell of your perfume wafted in the air the second he stepped into your bedroom, overtaking his senses and increasing his need for you tenfold. the tips of his fingers traced over the several pictures of you with family and friends that were delicately placed on top of your dresser.

he hummed to himself, moving around, taking in every little detail of your room as he looked through your things. it was exactly how he had imagined it to be.

rafe opened your closet, his attention captured by the baby pink dress you had worn the first time he saw you. he remembered how delicate and angelic you looked, like a sweet little lamb. of course, you didn’t know then that the same dress would be the start of his obsession, but he couldn’t help himself, not when you were the definition of perfect.

he rummaged through your closet, seeking a souvenir to satisfy him. he squatted down and reached his hand into the laundry basket when a tiny lace thong caught his eye. He dipped his head down, taking note of your scent as he sniffed the dainty material.

rafe quickly stuffed the thong into the pocket of his khakis, and his curiosity peaked at a box pushed far back into the corner of your closet, almost as if you were hiding it.

“what are you trying to hide, angel?” he muttered to himself, reaching for the box. he removed the lid, licking his lips at the sight of a vibrator, but nothing prepared him for the pile of notes under the toy. rafe took the notes into his hand, flipping through each one, recognizing them as the notes he often left for you, “who knew you were such a naughty little thing? gettin’ off to my letters”.

rafe’s ears perked when he heard the front door open, the sound of you, and what seemed to be a man’s voice. he quickly closed the box, putting it back where he initially found it before slipping into your closet and shutting it just as you walked in with a man following behind you.

he looked through the shutters of your closet door, ‘what the hell is he doing here?’ rafe thought, recognizing the mystery man as alex, whom you had gone on a date with a few nights ago. he knew he couldn’t risk getting caught, being forced to stay hidden and watch the scene unfold before him as alex reached into your nightstand drawer, pulling out a fuzzy pair of pink handcuffs with a matching pink blindfold.

his breath hitched, hearing the handcuffs closing around your wrists, his cock hardening as your soft pants filled the room as alex left open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck while his fingers pumped in and out of your sopping cunt–god, you sounded so wet, that should be me making you make those sweet sounds.

his teeth gritted together, his resolve crumbling when alex started to unbuckle his belt. he could no longer watch, quietly stepping out from your closet, closing in on the man standing before him. rafe wrapped his bicep around alex’s throat, putting him in a headlock. alex struggled to fight back the tighter rafe squeezed his throat until his body finally went limp; you were his to touch and please, not alex’s.

rafe wrapped alex’s belt around his wrists to bind them together before using an article of your clothing to tie around his mouth, gagging him in case he stirred awake. he dragged him to your closet, shoving him into the congested area and shutting the door.

you, on the other hand, lay on your bed with your wrists cuffed together, looking like a pretty present waiting for him to unwrap.

as you open your mouth to call out for alex, a small gasp erupts from your throat when you feel his fingers thread through your hair, yanking your head back. you feel soft, plump lips against yours, and you can’t help but think about how different they feel. you ultimately decide to push the thought into your head, eagerly kissing back.

rafe trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh as he worked his way down your body. his large palms grasped your thighs, pushing them apart to settle between them, his broad shoulders keeping you spread open.

he dipped his head down, leaving featherlight kisses on your inner thighs, teeth digging into your skin. his hands planted flat on your upper thighs, holding them down. a shiver ran up your spine, his warm breath ghosting over your core. rafe groans at the sight of your soaked cunt, “been dying to taste you ever since i first saw you”.

you let out a shaky gasp when his tongue ran through your folds. he licked from the bottom to your clit, flicking his tongue against your clit, pulling the prettiest sounds from you. rafe laid his tongue flat, repeatedly licking up and down your sopping cunt. his thick digits prodded against your entrance, plunging them into you as his mouth found your clit once again, sucking it into his mouth.

“taste sweeter than I imagined,” he groans, curling his middle and ring fingers, gently stroking that spongy spot inside you. you squirm under him, your hips bucking forward when he quickens the pace of his fingers in time with his mouth, sucking harder on your sensitive bud.

your brain tried to process his voice and decipher why his choice of words seemed familiar until it dawned on you. you knew those words by heart—having read them from one of the many letters you received that were signed off with a little ‘R.C.’. when you first received the letters, it didn’t take long to put the pieces together and figure out who was behind them. it was none other than rafe cameron, whom you shared a class with last semester.

you should’ve been terrified that the man between your legs was the man who’d been stalking you for months, but you’ve been fantasizing about what it would be like, and maybe, just maybe, you were a little sick in the head for getting off to his letters.

“p-please” you stammered, your back arching off the bed, wanting more as you tried to roll your hips against his fingers and mouth. “hm?” rafe hummed against your clit, gently biting down, his tongue flicking over it to soothe the minuscule stinging he caused.

“please what? can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

“please…need your cock” you whimpered, “please, rafe”.

rafe felt a sense of pride when his name left your mouth; many nights, he wondered what his name sounded like coming from you, and now he’s gotten to hear it. “smart girl, you knew it was me watching and leaving you all those letters and presents, huh?” he murmured against your soft skin, kissing up your body.

his lips brush against the shell of your ear, “never knew you were such a dirty girl, you like this, don’t you? like the idea of me taking what i want while you remain helpless?”. you let out a small squeak when you were flipped over onto your stomach, his hands pulling your hips up and keeping your face squished against the mattress, “don’t worry, angel, ‘m gonna give you what you want”.

he fumbles with the buttons and zipper of his khakis, swiftly pulling them down along with his boxers, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. his hands grasp your ankles, yanking your body closer to the edge of your bed, and his knees nudge your thighs, coaxing them to spread.

“spread your legs, baby. let me see what’s mine”.

he gripped the base of his cock, stroking it a few times and sliding it between your slick folds, coating the head of his cock with your arousal. his fat tip nudges your wanting hole before pushing into your wet cunt, groaning as your walls stretch around him.

“so fuckin’ wet and tight,” he rasps, pushing on the small of your back to keep you down, slowly pulling out before slamming himself back in. he begins to pound his hips into yours, his hands gripping at your waist, the fatty flesh of your ass jiggling with each thrust, “pussy feels like fuckin’ heaven”.

“tell me, sweet girl, all those nights you’d touch this pretty pussy, did you think about me? thinking about what it would be like to be fucked by the man who’s obsessed with you?” rafe grunted.

you tug at the restraints, trying to hold onto something, but it’s no use as your wrists are bound behind your back. rafe’s head lolls back as your body starts to rock back and forth, fucking yourself on his cock, your hips meeting his, “look at you…fucking yourself on my cock. god, you’re so desperate, huh?”.

rafe leans back, sliding one hand to your wrists and grasping the chain between the cuffs. he uses it for leverage, pulling you back as he starts to thrust into you at a relentless pace. his eyes drift to watch his cock sliding in and out of your puffy cunt, “shit—poor thing must’ve been needing some fuckin’ dick, huh? she’s suckin’ me in, swallowing me whole”.

you thrash against the cuffs, moans falling from your lips, trying to pull your wrists away from his hold, and he leans forward, pressing his weight onto your back. his hips snap into yours harshly, craning his neck to bury into the crook of yours, “quit trying to pull away; this is what you were begging me for, remember, sweet girl?”.

“y-yes” you cry out, your jaw slacks, burrowing your face and drooling into the sheets. you let out a sharp gasp as he intertwined his fingers through your hair, wrapping it around his wrist and tugging, keeping your head upright, “don’t hide that pretty face from me”.

your body aches, wrists going numb from being bound behind your back for so long, but nothing compared to the amount of pleasure you were feeling. the mixture of his thumb rubbing tight circles against your puffy clit, and the persistent abuse on your cervix caused by the head of his cock, hitting it each time he slammed into your drooling hole over and over again, was overwhelming your senses.

“f-fuck–” you hiccup, your eyes rolling back under the blindfold. rafe shoves your face back into the sheets, keeping his hand on the back of your neck, his skin slapping against yours as he pistons his hips faster. your pussy pulses around him, tightly gripping his cock.

“shit…squeezing me so tight. c’mon, pretty girl, milk my cock for all it’s worth and cum f’me,” rafe coos. your body trembles, pulling a moan from his lips as your walls convulse around him. you feel the all too familiar tightening in your lower abdomen, your tears staining the pink satin blindfold. your voice becomes hoarse from crying out his name as you’re sent over the edge, creaming all over his thick cock.

he grips your jaw, turning your head to the side to capture your lips with his, swallowing your cry of pleasure. his tongue pushes into your mouth, and he continues to roll his hips into yours, chasing after his release.“gonna let me cum inside this pretty pussy? show me that it’s all mine?” he whispers against your lips.

you whine in response, clenching around him again, “yeah? is that what you want? want me to stuff you full with my load?” his hips stutter, his cock twitching inside your warm, wet pussy as he comes deep inside you, painting your walls white with his thick cum.

rafe pushes into you one more time, his hips flush against your ass as he shoves his cum deeper inside you before pulling out. his hands pull your ass cheeks apart, watching your cunt clench around nothing as his cum drips out of you.

he grabs his phone, using one hand to keep you spread open while he takes pictures of his cum leaking out of your poor abused cunt, “this is just a reminder that you’re mine”.

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pseudowho · 9 months ago

Text

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

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dksfml · 24 days ago

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Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part 2]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

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karinasbaby · 2 months ago

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ENHA HYUNG LINE — YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S DADDY ! (they all have daddy kinks. sorry.) part 1 !!

P. enha hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader (17+) | W. unprotected sex, infidelity (but it’s valid), mentions of cheating, lots of pet names, cervix & womb fucking, enha r jealous & feral, breeding kink, biting & marking, other members from diff kpop groups being assholes & getting fucked over (this is just fiction don’t come at me), lots of other filthy shit i forgot | WC. 12k (idek how that happened) | A,N. this one has been in the drafts since july. and i just finished it up while waiting for my doctor’s appointment, enjoy!

IN WHICH the hyung line (+ jungwon) get addicted to a pussy that doesn’t belong to them in the first place ?!

♡ PS this part contains heeseung, jake & jungwon !! <3

✷ LEE HEESEUNG ⋆ 이희승

the one thing that always stood out about heeseung, a striking trait that he carried was his exceptional ability to hide his emotions.

though this odd trait of his did have its own pros and cons that appeared and made themselves pretty evident throughout his life, heeseung still thought this was a good characteristic about himself.

it helped a lot to hide his emotions when he lied, when he tried to make an excuse as to why he forgot to do his homework. when asked from his friends if he was feeling down and the list went on. to put things short, he was the exact opposite of an open book that was easily read.

but heeseung started to slowly doubt this speciality of his, especially when it came to his bestfriend. and his little sister, you.

jeno has always been a great friend of heeseung, their small age gap making the two feel comfortable with one another immediately after meeting. the friendship had a click of some sort, almost making them feel like they’ve known each other for decades when they’ve only been friends for a handful amount of months.

and heeseung wasn’t stopping his grateful and happy emotions to spill out whenever he was with jeno, the kind hearted guy that he always saw as a solid, constant figure in his life and future.

the issue came for heeseung when you, jeno’s cute little sister that he always seemed to eye for a bit too long, got into a relationship.

your first relationship at that.

jeno, as your older brother was rightfully protective, giving you advice every chance he could after checking up on you and your boyfriend, soobin. whom always rubbed jeno the wrong way. but he didn’t have the courage to point it out to you and potentially break your heart, it was a risk he could never take.

but if there was someone that was even more concerned and even more protective— overly protective even, than jeno. it was heeseung.

there was something about soobin that always seemed to just not settle with heeseung. he couldn’t tell if it was his weirdly ‘forgetful memory’ as you liked to call it, or the way his eyes were constantly glued to his phone whenever you four decided to hang out. not giving you a singular ounce of the attention you deserved.

his behaviour towards you, his own girlfriend, was dry. cold. dismissive. and he couldn’t tell if jeno was purposefully turning a blind eye into this, but it was so clearly hurting you.

especially with the way your shoulders would visibly slump whenever you would excitedly tell soobin about an a new event that happened during your lecture, an interest that had your eyes sparkling while he would just nod mindlessly along to your words. vision obstructed and glued onto his stupid phone screen that irritated heeseung to no end. he could see the disappointment rising in you when soobin would pay you no attention. so passive in his responses, so visible that he did not care.

and it was angering heeseung so tremendously. setting him off like a ticking bomb that would explode at the guy any second but he kept holding himself back.

for the sake of jeno. for the sake of you. after all, he was just a friend.

and he couldn’t tell if soobin’s attitude towards you angered him more, or the fact that he was always going to be stuck under the ‘friend’ title in your life.

heeseung had developed feelings for you way before you got into a relationship with soobin, might even be a mere month after jeno introduced you to him. he had always had his eyes lingering on you. a soft, gentle glint in them whenever your presence was surrounding him in any way.

he believed that it was just him forming a soft spot for you in his heart in the beginning, but as time passed by, especially after soobin ruined everything in heeseung’s opinion, his feelings grew. becoming a solidified fact for heeseung instead of a mere reverie that he cooed about in his head.

yet for the longest time, he knew he had to keep his emotions hidden again. falling back into his old routine of covering, blanketing his feelings. hiding and cowering away in fear of your brother finding out and the dear connection that heeseung held so close to his heart ending.

so he bit his tongue. holding back any words, any opinions, any thoughts and of course any emotions that were related to you and soobin. swallowing back his anger that swirled sombrely in the pit of his stomach. though no one was taking notice of his hatred towards soobin, it was only growing more and more day by day.

like a foul stench that would blind your senses, an evil beast that festered malignantly. his distaste towards soobin became a hardened feeling. a prominent one that settled in the front of his chest. growing and branching between his ribs to only pulse in hatred whenever he saw the guy.

he wasn’t sure how long he’ll be able to hide these feelings though.

because not only was he now dealing with the fact that he had to fight himself back from punching soobin everytime he saw him, he also had his own completely opposite emotions that bloomed like the breathtaking petals of a flower when graced by spring sunlight, his undying and thriving pure love for you.

it made his heart ache in dull pain when he saw the damage soobin was causing to you. his own insides ripping apart whenever you would come crying onto jeno’s shoulder because of another argument with your jerk of a boyfriend, he was growing tired. almost as tired as you were becoming from holding his shaking fists back from marking soobin’s god forsaken face. tired from actually capturing his tongue between his teeth before vile words spilled past his lips towards him.

he was so tired with this routine. so sickened of the way you were struggling and struggling. stuck in a bubble of anguish and pain formed by soobin that no one was able to pop.

but heeseung always carried a needle around, for safe measures.

the rainy day you decided to frantically knock on his door, your sobs echoing in his house when you buried your face into his chest because you actually found another girl’s number in the same phone that soobin had his eyes stuck on. was the day that heeseung finally snapped.

fuck all of this.

fuck soobin. fuck jeno. fuck both of their feelings. he had you, who so clearly needed a massive amount of attention, of care and love to pour all over your fresh wound that ached in heeseung’s embrace. he felt his heart shattering into the tiniest pieces when you sobbed in his hold. the desperate grip your fingers had on his arms pulling at his insides as he felt his own tears aligning his waterline.

he hated to see you like this. so heartbroken and devastated over a guy that didn’t even deserve you one bit. he would’ve never treated you like soobin. not even for a single second. heeseung would’ve treated you so much better if only you had looked at him the way he’s always been looking at you for the past months.

if only you took notice of the longing in his eyes. the yearn that clawed at his heartstrings whenever he saw you in front of him. right within arm’s reach but so so far away.

but that didn’t matter anymore. you were finally away from soobin, that fucker was out of your life and you were in heeseung’s arms. heeseung’s embrace that felt so warm, so welcoming as you fit perfectly in his hold. so right.

so you stayed, feeling the safety and comfort that seeped through your body in heeseung’s presence. a peace of mind that you’ve never felt with anyone, not even with your own brother. that lulled you into calmness, heeseung’s gentle touch that brushed against the skin of your face and neck when he would tenderly caress you as he whispered sweet, calming words to your ear that made the raging storm inside of you sizzle down.

the hurt, the pain and all the agony was pushed aside. stuffed inside of a box discarded into the back of your brain. your head throbbed in pain at the excessive amount of crying you did in heeseung’s arms. a pulsing ache that travelled from the back of your skull to the end of your spine as you sniffled quietly in his arms.

“feeling better, precious?” he whispered quietly, voice barely audible. so soft and delicate as if he was scared that any unexpected move or sound will scare you. make you cower away in fear. he knew how to speak to you. how to touch you and handle you just the right way.

so affectionate, calm and delicate when handling you. touch as soft as a baby bird’s feather as if you were made of glass, the most precious material that could break and crumble with the slightest incorrect move.

he made you feel so seen, so understood and cared for. you weren’t too much for him as soobin claimed you to be. not attention seeking or annoying at all.

“not really..” you closed your eyes, wet lashes heavy with tear droplets that didn’t have the chance to roll down your face, he looked at you. in his eyes an unfamiliar glow. unable to pinpoint or understand exactly what he was feeling, all he knew was that he wanted you close to him.

“what can i do to make you feel better, pearl?” the new petname that rolled off his tongue so easily had your heart leaping in your chest, you opened your eyes. glossy vision landing on his own expectant one, he was implying something with his words. both of you aware of the sharp edge in his tone, an invitation that he had slipped towards you. waiting for you to pick it up and accept.

“make me forget about him..” your warm breath fanned over his face, the feeling of finally having you so close made his head spin. a carnal, hidden urge in him awakening after being discarded and thrown away for so long. stuffed deep inside of him for months, a crippling desire. a wicked desire to have you, has surged forward again.

his emotions, feelings, thoughts everything about you that were invalidated by his rational side. concealed in the name of his morals and beliefs that he’s wrong. he shouldn’t desire a taken woman, shouldn’t look at his own best friend’s little sister wrongly, were all springing back to life. enlivened at your mere presence. your mere existence and attendance in his hold. and heeseung was no longer holding himself back.

he didn’t care if what he was going to be doing aligned with his stupid morals and beliefs anymore. didn’t care if you were to wake up tomorrow regretting everything. didn’t care if he wasn’t going to be able to look at jeno in the eye again. he was finally given a taste of you.

not a whisper of you, not a piece of you, you were entirely served on a silver platter for him only to devour. to ravish. to feast on with ardour. to finally satisfy and satiate the hunger that always ached in his stomach for you.

you were finally here. between his fingertips. within arm’s reach, looking at him. staring into his eyes and not only looking at the devoted shine in them directed towards you, you were reciprocating it.

“yeah? that’s what you want, pretty?” he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. you closed your eyes at the intimacy. a warmth spreading inside of you before settling into your core. dripping. that’s what you were. absolutely soaked.

“i want you.” you spoke, hit with an unknown urge to only speak the truth. removing each and every filter from your mind and mouth as you let your tongue speak whatever your brain formed at that current moment. and you wanted heeseung.

and who was he to deny you of that?

your sultry eyes that looked at him in pure lust asking him that? he was gone. your vixen like manners wrapping him in a chokehold. he was such a weak man for you. determined on pleasing you to the best of his ability, make you lose count on the amounts of times he’ll push you towards your high just so you can think about him and how good your pretty little cunt feels.

and so heeseung started, laying you on your stomach atop his satin sheets with your hands behind you, restrained by his fastened belt around your wrists while you squirmed on his bed. long, thick fingers that worked past your sopping entrance. leaking mushy walls tightened around his digits as if welcoming them for being inside of your needy pussy. fuck you were drenched.

“what a greedy cunt.. sucking my fingers in like this, wonder how long you’ve been waiting for this, pearl.” he laughed behind you, busy taking in the way your slick was drizzling down his palm, the way your puffy swollen folds swallowed in his long fingers entirely. the wet sounds from his abuse against your sweet spot was the cherry on top for him.

he was so fucking hard in his pants. his briefs feeling unbearably tight. heeseung breathed out short huffs of breaths, working his way to stretch your tight pussy open before fucking you on his length that he was sure you couldn’t take.

especially not with the way you were moaning and thrashing in his bed just from his fingers.

but who could blame you? he felt so good. his elongated fingers brushing against all of your sweet spots so deliciously. you could only imagine how mouth watering his cock would feel when he finally decides to fuck you like you’ve always dreamed of.

you couldn’t deny the attraction you’ve held for heeseung. the twinge at your heart that hoped to tug you towards him, an unknown pull that always made you stay up late at night thinking about heeseung. wondering about heeseung. dreaming about heeseung.

and for the longest time, it made you feel so guilty. so ashamed of the fact that you were thinking of your friend more than your own boyfriend. yet at the same time you heard a tiny voice in your head justifying your actions, a small part of you knew that your boyfriend was really anything but a boyfriend.

you did notice his passive behaviour. his curt responses and cold attitude towards you. but did you actually have the courage to confront soobin about it? to bring it up as an actual issue that was clearly building a separating wall between you two in your relationship? of course no. you decided to turn into a blind eye and hold faith in false beliefs that maybe, just maybe soobin will change one day.

except that day never came. it was never going to.

and the rational, logical part of you knew this. knew this so so well that it decided to give up on soobin long before your heart realised the change in your desire. the change in your mind, the way your thoughts quickly turned from being clouded with soobin, to being thundered with your beloved friend heeseung.

you didn’t even realise you had such a drastic change of heart. only coming to the chilling notion of how when you were with soobin, heeseung roamed your mind. when you were talking to jeno. heeseung was filling the back of your head. when soobin was trying to make dry love that lacked any sense of passion with you, you were left to fend for yourself with your fingers, and heeseung in your brain. heeseung on your thoughts, the whisper of ‘heeseung’ on your tongue when you finally reached the climax soobin couldn’t bring you to.

and in the beginning you were scared, terrified even of the thumping in your chest that you were sure anyone could hear if they stepped close enough to you when you were around heeseung. scared of the way your eyes would stray too far away from soobin and remain stuck on heeseung for too long. scared of the way you were only staying in your current relationship not out of love, but out of attachment to soobin when you yearned for heeseung.

hence why the only relief that you found in your love life was in your dreams. your unconscious daydreams that would conjure up a love story, a love vessel that branched between you and heeseung. every night with no fail.

yet you didn’t have to worry about this anymore. no longer tied emotionally to the false, unrealistic images and feelings that only existed in your head about heeseung. not when you had him currently groaning out praises to you, showering you with so much love and attention that you missed out on as he fucked you through your first orgasm on his fingers.

“such a good girl for me.. cumming around my fingers so well. my obedient little girl.” he trailed kisses from the back of your thighs, wet smacks of his lips against your skin till he reached your shoulder, where he traced his long tongue along your neck. “think you’re ready for me, precious?” he whispered lustfully into your ear. and god did he sound so much better. so much hotter than in your dreams.

voice almost gruff, an entire octave lower than his usual tone as he pressed his warm body against yours. brushing the exposed, leaking head of his cock and separating your oozing lower lips after discarding himself from his clothes. he was so menacing. teasing you so much when all your body ached for was to be filled up to the brim with his length.

“so needy for me.. look at your cunt trying to suck me in, pearl.” he hissed, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of the same hole that he just fucked open with his fingers gaping at him. dribbling more of your syrupy nectar down your inner thighs as if to seduce him. winking at him when you tightened around nothing just to entice him further. making a wave of thrill pass through his body just so he would fill you up.

and well, heeseung was a very weak, weak man when it came to you.

he pushed the head of his cock in. the two of you hissing in sync, your pretty plump lips falling in an ‘o’ shape while he bit on his lower lip, your gushing walls wrapped around him so tightly the first time he sunk his cock in you. as if greeting him, their new owner before moulding into his shape.

if heeseung stared at your form any longer, he would’ve came inside of you already, ruining both of your fun. but goodness was seeing you twitching in his bed, plush thighs pushed to the sides so he can stuff his cock inside of you so fully while your arms shook and jerked around his own belt was a divine sight. one he quickly imprinted onto his brain to always go back to whenever needed.

but something told him that that wasn’t going to happen, he doesn’t need to depend on his memory anymore. he felt like he was going to be able to experience the real deal after this.

he pushed his hips forward, thrusting in and brushing right against your g-spot that had you whining his name almost automatically. “found it..” he smirked in victory, “that’s your weak spot isn’t it, pearl?” leaning down just a bit to inch closer to your ear, “your sweet sweet spot, baby.” you felt tears aligning your eyes. glossing over when he continued to nudge his hips against your spot. the one corner in your walls that had you seeing stars.

legs already shaking under him, you mewled his name so adorably. each huff and puff of air past your glistening lips made his heart skip a beat. he was growing even more obsessed with you than he already was. “y-yes seung.. that’s— oh my god.. that’s it!” you whined and sobbed for him.

heeseung sucked a deep breath in, lips kissing his teeth as his body felt like it was lit ablaze. so many months of daydreaming about this current moment that he was in right now paid off. you felt so hot. so pliant. so malleable under him. body reacting to each touch of his so sweetly, like your body recognised his as its other half before either of you did.

“such a good- haah shit.. such a good pussy.. sucking me in so well. you feel fuckin’ divine, pretty.” his eyes rolled into the back of his head from the way your cunt just kept gushing and sputtering out wetness before wrapping around his cock and sucking him back in deep. so so deep he was bruising your insides.

“j-just for you daddy..” a broken, quiet sentence that was almost unheard. almost went unnoticed. but heeseung was so glad he caught it. as the second that endearing name fell past your parted lips, he felt an entire electric shock shoot through his spine.

his mind was reeling, breaths growing uneven as your voice played like a broken record in his head, so pretty. so small. so frail and so delicate. as sensitive and precious as an actual pearl you were. heeseung was sinking in so much deeper in love than he already was with you.

“yeah, little girl? daddy’s making you feel good, isn’t he?” he was so careful. each move of his made solely for the purpose of pleasing you. of pushing you closer and closer to your peak of pleasure. and before you realised it, your climax broke down upon you like a dam. tears rolling down your cheeks and onto heeseung’s pillowcases as he fucked you through your high.

god did it feel so relieving. so alleviating to have someone put your pleasure first, to push you to your pleasure first. to care for you, think about you and make love to you for you. it was so different. so delicious you couldn’t help but ravish in the ecstasy of it all. your first ever experience of pure, arrant love.

it wasn’t only heeseung that was getting high off of the pleasure of experiencing you for the first time, your mind was also reeling from experiencing such pleasure for the first time. “s’good daddy.. too good! you feel so warm.” hicupping and babbling on as heeseung only continued to thrust in more harshly.

he felt so feverish, the temperature of his body rising while his room turned steamier. it was almost as if he could no longer breathe. not that his mind registered that feeling in the first place, the only thing he could process was the way your pussy was trying to suck him back in more and more and more.

he leaned forward, allowing his hot exhales of breath to fan against your ear. hand sneaking between your shaking thighs and circling around your clit. “you can give daddy another one, can’t you pearl?” he whimpered next to your ear. his eyelids droopy as he held back on his own climax.

he rolled his hips in circular motion against yours, no longer thrusting his leaking cock in and out and only pressing his mushroom shaped tip onto your cervix, the sensation of him so close, so deep and so hot on top and inside of you made your eyes roll to the back of your head, his movements incessant as he worked and guided your body towards another release.

“f-fuck..” sobbing under heeseung as he coaxed another orgasm out of you, he cooed besides your ear as his hands quickly unclasped his belt from around your wrists, making your hands grip desperately onto the sheets while his laced around your shaking legs, tongue peeking out to lick against your tears as he felt relief in his chest at the sight of you crying from pure pleasure and not over your ex.

the feeling of being so intimately connected to you, having you entrust him with your body and pleasure made his head reel. you being so close to him was a dream come true for heeseung. and now that he had you in tears underneath him, he was never going to be able to let go of this moment.

every second of this night has already been engraved in his head. every emotion and every fast thump of his heart tattooed itself on his memory, and it made him feel so good. so accomplished, he felt complete.

he buried his face in your neck, relishing in the way your body was shivering because of him, the goosebumps that aligned your skin because of his touch, relishing in the feeling of having you around him in every way. “you feel so good, princess..” he drunkenly spoke, his orgasm creeping up on him as he continued to grind against you.

“wrapped around daddy so well, pearl.” he groaned, every sniffle and whimper that left your mouth due to his lewd words went straight to his throbbing cock, he felt like he was seconds away from releasing and filling you up entirely. the thought alone making his jaw clench in delirium.

“want daddy to fill you up, baby?” he whispered, his smirk evident in his whisper. luring you slowly into his trap that seemed so effective with the way you whimpered for him and tightened around him more. so pleased, ecstatic and needy of the mere idea.

“p-please, daddy! please fill me up.. give me your babies..” you begged, weaker hands wrapped around his forearms to keep him in place while your cunt squeezed around him, gushing around his cock just to urge him to not pull out and fill you up instead.

and fuck heeseung was losing it.

your words almost awakening something animalistic in him, a noxious urge to truly fill you up, give you his babies and keep you just for himself only. in that exact moment, all the worries from heeseung’s shoulders evaporated.

your brother no longer mattered, soobin no longer mattered, he himself didn’t matter anymore. he only needed to have you stuck with him for eternity. by his side forever, and you were asking him to do exactly that. asking him so desperately. how could he refuse?

after all, heeseung was a very weak man when it came to you.

“gonna take all of daddy’s babies, pearl?” he chuckled, sweat rolling off of his temples as the coil in his stomach tightened further, the feeling making his voice crack at the end. you nodded frantically under him, nails digging into his skin yet the pain made him hiss in pleasure.

“please give it to me..” you moaned as you felt another release wash over you, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks while heeseung bit your skin at the overwhelming waves of ecstaty that crashed on him. “i’m your good girl, daddy aren’t i? i deserve it.. please.” fuck you sounded so starved. the mere longing in your voice, you calling yourself his good girl made him lose his mind.

and before heeseung could even realise it, he was pumping you full with his warm ropes of cum, both of you groaning in vehement, blinding euphoria while he peppered kisses around your neck and jaw. “of course you’re my good girl, baby fuuuck— you’re my prettiest girl.” his own legs started to shake in pleasure as he rode out his high.

keeping himself so deep inside of you, pushing his load deeper with each slight thrust while he stayed above you. whispering praise after praise for you just to show you how much he truly loves you. heeseung was ready to die for you.

and once his high subsided, he carefully laid next to you, moving you gently to your side and staying rooted deep inside of you before covering both of your bodies with his blanket.

he placed a loving kiss to your temple, arms wrapped protectively around your weak and spent body. “sleep well, pearl.” he spoke, “don’t think about anything, daddy’s here.” you felt the way his hold tightened around you.

you felt too fatigued to reply, instead tilting your head just enough to kiss his hand that was close to your neck, the small gesture carrying your love for the man behind you, making his heart thunder in his chest as you fell asleep, feeling so protected and loved for the first time in so long.

★ SIM JAEYUN ⋆⋆⋆ 심재윤

sim jaeyun was great at many things. acing his physics exams, being the best captain for his university’s football team and being an absolute sweetheart to his teachers and friends.

the only thing that sim jaeyun sometimes lacked in was his ability to give a fuck. especially when it came to his childhood friend, his one sided enemy and shameless copycat.

lee anton, who’s also a close family friend of jake. has been living in his shadow ever since the two could even walk. countless comparisons between the two young boys drew a very fat, drastic line that only distanced them from one another without their parents’ realisation.

sure, anton and jake might’ve sat next to each other at family dinners, passed each other tissues or salt, but the second they were outside of the dining room or the house that pushed them to be in the same vicinity? it was over.

their so called ‘friendship’ was only a show the two of them had unspokenly agreed on in order to not have their families pry into their lives. and for the longest time, it worked.

jake didn’t care. jake couldn’t even bring himself to care about anything anton related while that clearly wasn’t the case for anton.

call it his insecurities or doubts towards everything, he always watched jaeyun from the sidelines with a glint in his eyes that not even he could decipher, whether it was admiration or envy. the only thing anton was sure he felt towards jake, was resentment.

years and years of all of his actions getting nitpicked and compared to jake’s made him only strive to be more. to be better than jake. to reach heights and places the older one could only dream of. but at the same time his dreams only stayed as that, dreams.

because jake— he was untouchable. a dude that had everything and anything really. he was perfect in every aspect. excellent grades, respected by all the sport coaches, admired by every teacher and fawned over by every girl.

and it sickened anton.

because he had multiple things that now he had to improve on, he couldn’t find the one singular thing that jake didn’t have that he could snatch. the one thing he could reach and claim before his enemy could even think about it. he had to figure out a way to make jake jealous, to pay for all of these years of one sided rivalry that only made anton almost lose his sanity.

and so he did.

he found exactly what would set jake off. the only way to turn the tables around and have jake eyeing him from the sidelines.

his crush. anton managed to date you, jake’s obsession and love that no one except his close circle of friends knew about. he had you wrapped around his finger.

you see now as mentioned before, jake didn’t care. he didn’t care what other opinions people had on him, who were getting compared to him or who he was getting compared to himself. he was content and happy in being present in his own bubble, surrounded by his own people he knew he could trust. and well just lived his life.

except he couldn’t do that anymore. not when anton, who was determined to climb up towards jake’s level by also becoming the co-captain of the university’s football team— walked around the halls with his arm wrapped around your waist and lips close to your ear as he whispered a stupid joke that made you laugh. right. in front. of jake.

jake was livid.

for the longest time in his life, he never felt the need to reach his hands out towards something that didn’t come for him first. his eyes never strayed too far away from things that were already meant for him. as difficult as this was to hear for others, jake was simply gifted in many factors in life.

he didn’t try too hard to study and ace all his tests. he was just very intelligent and paid a great amount of attention in his lectures, it wasn’t his fault that he was ridiculously handsome that (as cliche as this sounds) girls fangirled over him when he would pass by the halls. and it really didn’t cost a lot to not be an asshole to others.

so for jake to feel the need to have. the crave to own. the urge to desire something that he wasn’t already divinely gifted? was making him pissed.

he wasn’t even sure himself when his crush on you started, or how it developed to be something that gnawed at his heartstrings everyday. when the smart student of his physics class turned from someone that he only used to admire during his lectures into someone he thought about before falling asleep everynight. what he did know though was the fact that he wanted you.

and was jake someone that didn’t get what he wanted? pfft of course no.

that’s why he had you— anton’s beloved girlfriend who he seemed to forget multiple dates with because he spent too much time ogling jake— clenching down on his leaking length that thrusted past your sopping hole.

“f-fuck! jake— shit! he’s going to hear us!” you mewled his name, body feeling excessively warm, heart thundering against your chest in both anxiety and excitement at the thought of being caught with jake, sweat rolled down both of your bodies while you desperately clawed at jake’s open locker.

jake was currently balls deep inside of you in the football team’s locker room.

where anton was just a hallway away, calling out your name since he had to apologise for missing your fourth date this week.

“scared of letting that asshole hear us? haah— i have no idea why you’re still- fuck.. with him when you have me, angel girl.” he breathed out heavily next to your ear, eyes closing in pleasure as he thrusted into your walls that only seemed to suck him in further and further. he was feeling so ecstatic. so high on your touch and presence that he was holding himself back from filling you up entirely.

you pushed your hips back, actions completely contradicting your own words as you kept tightening around jake with each whiny moan that fell past his bitten lips, “you know i can’t leave him..” you whined, head pressing against the lockers while jake leaned down, hovering his chest above your back.

“why is that, baby? is he remembering all your dates? shit- is he buying you all the jewellery you deserve, angel? i-is he fucking you as good as i am right now?” he bit against the shell of your ear, voice growing desperate, needy, ravenous just to hear you say the words he wants to hear. his satisfaction bubbling in his stomach when you shook your head to everything he groaned to you, denying each and every action that jake would’ve done for you in a heartbeat.

“no! no no he doesn’t�� hmm he d-doesn’t- fuck! only you do!” you thrashed under his hold, hips jerking forward from his grip as your abdomen only tightened and tightened further. you felt so good. the stretch of his thick cock splitting you open burned so well. you loved having him so deep inside of you, leaking tip of his dick pressing and kissing all over your sweet spots that had stars spinning around your head.

he laughed breathlessly behind you, reveling in your praises and the way each word was only a further push into his inflated ego, he already knew all of this. he knew how shitty anton was treating you as he was too busy trying to make him jealous. he knew every and each move anton was trying to pull but none of it was going to work.

as he was too busy to study jake’s reactions to even realise that he had his own girlfriend cumming around his enemy’s cock so prettily. falling apart in jake’s embrace as jake only cooed and encouraged you even more. to cum more. to make a mess over his cock. to claim him as yours just as badly as he wanted to claim you as his.

and that’s exactly what you did, with the way his cock kept bullying its way back inside of your walls that continued to milk him for all he’s worth. relishing in the feeling of his hot cum filling you up with warm and thick ropes of his load, you continued to do what he wanted. forming a sheen ring of your combined juices around the base of his cock.

jake kept fucking into you, whispering words after words of praise hotly into your ear while your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. his hand let go of your hip to push in between your sticky inner thighs, fingers working deftly in rubbing circular motions onto your throbbing clit that only pulsed in need under his touch. “telling me to stop.. when she’s sucking me in this well.” he groaned, breaths getting caught in his throat as he felt hot white pleasure spreading all over his body.

“asking me to not fuck you… only thinking about your stupid boyfriend what about her then?” he slapped against your cunt, the wet sounds of his fingers landing on your wet, glistening skin had your mind reeling. “always so selfish not thinking about her.. oh but i always do. i can’t get this pretty cunt out of my head baby.” he shivered behind you, getting lost in the way you kept sucking him in due to his words.

the two of your bodies were moulding into one at this point, your flimsy panties that were pushed to the side with your skirt pushed upwards and jake’s shorts that were pooling by his ankles were the last of your concerns, him fucking you this good and this deep in the public space of your locker’s room was also discarded into the back of your head that was getting gradually fucked into subspace.

your senses heightened, only processing the feeling of jake’s swollen, pulsing tip kissing and pushing against your throbbing cervix that begged to be filled up with his cum over and over again, filled up to the brim as many times as jake could give to you till the two of your bodies gave out.

“you don’t actually want me to s-stop do you, baby?” his voice became shaky, matching your own shaky breathes as he bit against the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. his hips began to grind against yours, thick swollen balls pressed against the curve of your ass as he barely pulled out an inch or two before stuffing you full of his cock. “t-think about her, princess.” he starts to slap against your pussy again, gentle wet slaps that echo embarrassingly loud in the empty locker’s room.

“telling me to pull out when she’s so greedy f’me?” he moans, chest heaving in deep gulps of breath as he kept holding his orgasm back, reminding himself to not cum before you again. “tell me baby, will he ever breed this pretty little cunt like i’m about to right now?” his hand that was gripping your hip dug his fingers into your plush skin further, leaving indents of his sharp nails behind while you mewled in pained pleasure at the sensation.

you loved it when he marked you, admiring all his marks whenever anton wasn’t home and hiding them away from his eyes, it made you feel excited. a rush of joy sparking in your stomach at the thought of these marks being a secret only you and jake knew about.

“n-no no.. he won’t, jakey he c-can’t!” you hiccuped, his favourite pet name spilling out while you felt your used, swollen pussy aching in pain and need. you felt so wasted, so febrile as your cunt only spasmed around him needily no matter how sore you already were feeling. and jake loved it so much when your body began to respond to him, reacting to every touch and contact made by him and he knew each response like the back of his hand.

he doubted if anton knew how to get your body like this too. flushed and burning in his hold, saturated pussy walls milking and squeezing him, salty droplets of sweat that dribbled down the back of your neck that he had no problem licking up. there was no way anton knew your body like he did.

he knew exactly which buttons to push and which parts to pull, just like how he knew that thrusting his hips so deep to the point where your cervix felt bruised while sneaking one of his hands under your shirt to tug at your hardened nipple and slither his other hand to wrap around your neck, pressing lightly just to make your head spin will have you unraveling again on his throbbing cock.

“there you go princess..” he breathed out, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head as your walls calmped down on him. cunt wrapping around his thick cock like a vice as you creamed and made a mess over his dick just how he liked it. “feels good, angel?” he spoke against the skin of your neck, hands now moving to grip onto his own locker door to stabilise himself. you nodded dumbly to his words. eyes closed as electrifying waves of euphoria twitched along your body.

“good baby.. so so good t’me.. you can take more can’t you now? my pretty girl?” he spoke over the approaching yells of anton, your name spilling past his lips as his eyes darted everywhere in the halls to find your figure. though he didn’t know why his feet led him into the hallway of the football team’s locker room, he just decided to not wonder about it too much.

and you might’ve not been able to hear him over the incessant ringing in your ears as you came down from your high that jake fucked you dumb towards but oh he heard it so clearly. the tone of desperation in his voice was like music to jake’s ears. this right here, was his chance. and he was going to take it no matter what happens.

“think you can take a bit more, princess?” he began to move his hips again, nasty, loud and squelching wet noises echoing in the locker’s room as he pulled in and out allowing a glistening, clear mixed with white mixture of both of your arousals to dribble past your inner thighs, he looked down at the sight of his veiny cock glistening in your syrupy juices. the locker room’s lights reflecting off your pretty stuffed cunt and his thick cock that disappeared between your dripping folds. god he could cum right now if he wanted to. but he still held back.

his hand moved onto your lower back, pressing slightly to bend you down more. deepening the arch of your back to make his cock slip past your drizzling folds, each thrust of his against your hips almost splattering your filthy wetness over your ass cheeks and his pelvis. he pulled his hips slightly back before ramming them forward again. the ridiculously wet noise in combination with your sinful moan made his muscles tighten.

his abs flexing as he lifted his shirt, tugging the hem of it between his teeth to allow the gushing combination of your juices to climb up his stomach, revelling in the way your pussy spurted out more cum, more squirt and more of your sweet syrupy nectar combined with his own on his skin. in a way he felt like you were marking him, rightfully staining your own territory and it made him feral.

“baby?” the distant yells of anton became closer and closer. the stupid pet name that he dared to call you made jake scoff. his jealousy, envy and all nastily negative emotions that swirlied within him made him fuck you harder. harsher. his length pulling at your walls, tugging against your sweet spots making you sob and wail his name, jake’s name in the locker’s room.

“who’s fucking you this good, princess?” he growled, drool dribbling past the corner of his lips as sweat rolled down his temples, the salty droplets finding purchase on his glowing skin before falling atop your shining one. “y-you! jakey.. fuck! oh my god- you you you!” you babbled on, if jake’s mouth was covered in drool yours was a mess. you salivated more and more as he bullied his cock inside of you, marking and moulding your insides to only fit his length. only recognise his dick and veins that decorated his cock.

“what’s my name baby? say it. yell it. scream it, princess. let them all hear who you belong to.” his shaking hand turned to land a harsh slap against your right ass cheek, palm burning at the aggressive contact of your soft skin with his making you cry even more under him. face almost pressed against the cool metal of the locker, pearly tears falling freely onto the wet puddle that the two of you had formed on the floor right between your legs.

“jakey!” you gasped loudly, vision blurry with both overstimulated pleasure and your own tears. a hot pounding forming in the back of your head as jake continued to fuck you stupid on his thick inches that dragged along your creaming walls, clenching and clamping down on him in cadence to his thrusts.

“that’s not my name, princess.” he frustratedly groaned, he was almost able to hear anton’s foot steps as they approached the locker’s room where he had you bent over and sucking in his cock like the perfect slut for him that you were. the slut that anton didn’t even know existed but jake had memorised like the back of his hand.

“d-daddy!” you choked out, swallowing back sobs as another orgasm washed over you, cumming so hard around jake’s cock while he continued to fuck into you, each squirt of your sopping pussy only encouraged him to push back into your cunt. “pushing me out now, is she?” he moaned, head thrown back in pleasure at the added pressure of your cunt both pushing him out and sucking him back in. making his head reel in ecstasy.

“say my name, baby. say it. who owns this fucking pussy?” he thrusted back, attempting to piston his mushroom tip against your sweet spots to make you see stars. “you do, daddy! you do!” mewling under him as your own nails began to dig into your skin. jake felt so much euphoria rushing deep in his veins at your words. the sound of your whiny voice mewling and moaning so sweetly for him while your body squirmed under his hold made him so happy. he had you exactly where he wanted.

at the best position for anton to see right when he walks past the door of the locker’s room.

“am i fucking this pretty cunt good, princess? want me to fill your cheating pussy up? knock you up so you have no choice but to stay with me and not your asshole of a boyfriend, hm?” he egged you on, knowing so so well that anton heard everything. the loud screech of his sneakers against floor of the hallway telling him everything he needed to know and god jake was on cloud fucking nine right now.

“gonna let me breed you? make you pregnant with my baby. have you all round and pretty carrying my baby so you’re mine forever.” he leaned down to kiss against your neck, his balls squeezing more tightly as he finally let go. allowing all the cum stored in them to push against your pretty cervix and womb. filling you up with his hot ropes of cum, knocking you up just how he wanted.

jake didn’t even mind the shocked gasp the fell past anton’s lips at the sight, too high. too drunk and wasted on the feeling of the way your pussy was sucking him in as he triggered another orgasm from you because of his own, he hummed at the feeling, soft whimpers falling past his lips while he held you close to him. god he was cumming so so much. filling you up to the brim so well you could feel his cum flooding your insides, filling up your swollen pussy and uterus so well. there was no way it didn’t take.

your drool was dribbling past your chin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jake grinding up against your ass to ride both of your highs out, his hand pressed against the bloated bulge in your lower stomach while broken sobs and whispers of his name made it to his ears. your body was so weak. so used and so utterly exhausted from the continuous fucking and breeding. “feeling tired, mama?” he whispered lustfully against your ear, peeking one eye towards the locker room’s door just in time to catch the faint sight of anton’s sneakers quickly disappearing behind the walls.

he smiled, satisfaction and happiness bubbling in his insides at the thought of finally having you. with no worries or concerns of anton. he felt so joyous. so relieved that you no longer had to deal with that asshole. he finally had you all to himself.

he kept his softening cock buried inside of you, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer before nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. you felt so soft, so nice and warm in his hands when you moved your hand back to tug at his neck, you turned your head back and connected your lips to his.

and just that action alone had jake’s heart bursting with love, he finally had you wrapped around his finger just how you had him for the longest time.

☆ YANG JUNGWON ⟡ 양정원

for yang jungwon, life had always been on easy mode. as if playing an easier, more smoother game of life with less bumps and obstacles in his path. everything almost moulded to his liking and every unfavourable decision changed for the sweethearted guy.

his life was nothing short than average— he was a remarkably good student, great president of his class. trusted tremendously by the teachers, very dearly loved by all animals— well okay maybe his life wasn’t that average.

but he just liked to believe that it was fate, or luck, one of those two didn’t matter which one but he did know that there was some other higher power that played an important role in all of his life events. as surely there was a reasoning behind every single thing that happens in his world.. or maybe not somethings are just meant to be the way the are.

much like his confusing rivalry with his number one public enemy, the guy that he would actually have no problem with killing if he could, haruto.

the hatred, dislike and absolute loath the two shared against each other was a mystery to not only the people surrounding them, but to their own selves as well. jungwon couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his relationship with haruto had began to bend incorrectly but as far as he remembers— it’s always been like that.

the two couldn’t stand each other to stay in the same room. throwing nasty glares at one another before turning their heads to spew hateful words. “this fucking asshole” “this stupid bastard” and their friends were used to it. no matter how many times they attempted to understand, to really know the reason as to just why there was so much ill dislike between them— they just couldn’t reach anything.

“because he’s a cocky son of a bi—“ “yeah okay i think that’s enough.” jungwon got cut off by his younger friend ni-ki when asked about his unexpected distaste towards haruto, no one bothered to figure out the weird and unexplained hostility between the two boys after that.

and for the longest time, with no interaction points between the two. everything seemed to be fine. both of their hearts calming down from beating so much hatred, mouths empty from nasty words and a calm and collected peace of mind for all parties.

but that didn’t last that long.

you see, jungwon wasn’t the best when it came to maintaining relationships— not in a cheating or unloyal kind of way. he just didn’t feel like he was reciprocating the same amount of effort and dedication he was receiving in a relationship, hence most of the ones he’s went through had reached their demise before they were able to fully bloom.

blame it on his busy schedule and duty filled routines, he just sometimes couldn’t push an entire romantic relationship to handle and be apart of into his life at certain periods.

something that haruto was clearly able to do. and god he did not let anyone hear the end of it, especially jungwon.

the problem wasn’t the fact that jungwon couldn’t keep a relationship anymore. jungwon had always wanted to be in one, to be loved and appreciated and doted on by someone he wholeheartedly trusted and saw a future with. he wasn’t afraid to love either. it was just the time factor that he wasn’t sure about giving. not the satisfactory amount for a lover atleast.

but for haruto to rub all of this into his face when he sat at a lunch table with his arm slinged around your hips as you gazed at him with hearts in your eyes? was a bit too much.

“that’s why you can’t keep a fucking relationship!” this sentence coming from haruto during another argument a mere two days later after seeing you two in the cafeteria? oh jungwon was fuming.

this was it. if haruto was so concerned about jungwon being unable to keep a relationship, why not just snatch away his?

which explains how you currently landed in this situation, laying sideways on his bed. one of his hands gently held your leg, keeping an open entrance for him to plunge his cock back inside of your wetness. he felt so ecstatic. so deep as he shoved his thick inches inside of your gummy walls. length exploring and massaging your insides so wonderfully you couldn’t help but moan so prettily for him, small praises tumbling past your lips. you were so dizzy in pleasure.

“feels good, precious?” he would mumble behind you, his own eyelids shut tightly at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in greedily. a ravenous grip around the base of his cock that had him seeing stars. “s’good won.. f-fuck.. t’ feels amazing..” you huffed, pearly droplets of sweat shimmering prettily over your body as he rolled his hips up against your ass.

his thrusts were short, not too much power behind him as he was so drunk off of your pussy already. they were just right. pushing and kneading against your sweet spots so deliciously and making you bite you lower lip harsh enough to draw a metallic taste into your mouth. he was stuffing you so well. fucking you so good you couldn’t even think about anything else.

especially not the date with haruto you were supposed to be on like right now.

and jungwon knew about it. he knew so well exactly what haruto was planning to do on this date, which flowers he was buying and to which restaurant he wanted to take you to make up for the fact that he was an actual asshole just like jungwon had always known.

because what sane man would be mean to you? no matter how many times you tried to hide it from everyone’s eyes, jungwon knows that you’re not happy in your relationship with haruto. hell— he even got into a relationship to make him jealous in the first place. it wasn’t out of love or whatever lie he was feeding you.

no one except jungwon knew about the disgusting and degrading comments and names haruto would make about you. about his horrible manners and actions that would only make you question the whole purpose of this relationship, because love— what was known as the basis for every relationship, was clearly missing in this one.

but you were too attached to realise that, too used to being around haruto to consider anyone else. so what if he was rude to you? atleast he was your boyfriend. or well.. that was until jungwon walked into the picture, more like waltzed into your life.

“you feel so good around me, doll. milking my cock with this pretty cunt— fuuuck you’re so good to me.” he praised you on and on. mouth and tongue never getting tired from showering you with compliments, something drastically different from you were used to and it felt so nice. different, but a welcomed different.

you shyed away adorably from him, whimpering in his hold as tears sprung into your eyes from both the sensitivity of your cunt and your heart, he felt the way your walls tightened around him at his words. the feeling paired with your body turning warmer and your cute mewls made him coo in your ear. how cute can someone be?

he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that haruto had actually managed to score you. to date you out of all people. such a sweet souled woman that only deserved praise, love and affection. all things that jungwon couldn’t help but shower you with as you laid under him, taking his cock so well like a good girl. seriously how could haruto not treat you right?

though questioning haruto did become something jungwon gave up on ages ago. the only point he took away from that was if haruto is wrong about something, then there’s a very high chance that jungwon’s right.

and haruto was so so wrong about degrading you. treating you so poorly when all you needed were a few soft whispers of how well you were doing, what a pretty girl you were as you took his big cock in so sweetly to get you to glow more. to flourish right before his eyes when you bucked your hips back against his. eyes shutting in ecstasy while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. feeling so loved and appreciated in the arms of a man you knew would never hurt you.

jungwon was enamoured by you. drowning completely in adoration and love for you. you were so warm in his embrace, body so pliant and responsive to his every move. almost like you were made for his touch. made to allow his fingertips to burn along your skin as they trailed from your waist down to your leg.

so needy, so so desperate to feel him all over you. and he felt the same way. the urge to press his skin against yours, cover your body with his and mould both of them into one you couldn’t tell apart where he was ending and where you were starting, everything felt so hot. so warm so electrictifying as he fucked you open on his cock in a way you’ve never felt before.

“p-please.. leave him for me bunny..” he stuttered out, throat closing up when your walls clamped down on him at the sound of his voice so distant, an entire pitch higher and so debauched in you. you shook your head mindlessly at his words, unable to agree to them, haruto still held a small precious spot in your heart. you were still attached.

“you know he doesn’t deserve you, precious..” his chest heaved in heavy gulps of air, his own waterline aligning with tears as he desperately clawed at your body as if he was almost panicked at the thought of you not leaving. begging you to leave his own enemy and become his. he wanted you so bad. to call you his so bad. to claim you, to please you and to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

and he could tell you wanted him just as badly. if your body language was anything to go by, he would think you were in love with him already. you were so good to him. felt so incredible around him he couldn’t help but feel his body floating in utter euphoria, pure ecstasy with you.

“i c-can’t.. i can’t do that won.. s’too mean..” you hiccuped, tears rushing down your pretty face making him coo, he slithered his other hand down your waist, middle and ring finger teasing your throbbing clit that pulsed with need. you were so close to the edge of your climax your eyes rolled back when he began to rub slow circles on your aching bud. almost matching them along with the rolls of his hips against yours.

he was fucking you so well. so good. teetering on the edge of complete pleasure as his heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your ass with every motion. the sound so lewd and sinful it made your head spin with each smack! smack! everything felt too good. too much.

“don’t you think him not fucking this pretty cunt good is too mean, bun?” he laughed breathlessly, eyelids fluttering shut when his raging hot tip that leaked tremendous amounts of pre nudged against your cervix, you sobbed out incoherent words. mind turning into a puddle of mush in your skull as you were unable to process or think about anything other than jungwon’s dick fucking you open like this.

he nudged his nose against your ear, hand and hips picking up in speed to ram inside of your snug cunt that only seemed to suck him in further. sticky, glistening ropes of arousal connected his hips and pelvis to your ass cheeks that were covered in a white mess. you had lost count about the amount of times you’ve creamed on him now, and jungwon didn’t mind at all.

with your hot breaths fanning against one another, warm, sweaty bodies moving in cadence and your insides feeling so sensitive and sore, neither of you were able to pick up the echoing sound of your phone ringing on the bedside table. the call coming from none other than haruto.

“come to me pretty bunny.. leave him and- haah— shit.. come to me.” he moaned by your ear, finger incessant in rubbing against your clit and to coax out another orgasm out of you and another and another.

you were feeling so delirious at this point. having jungwon— a guy that your heart soared for fucking you and dragging out so many highs out of you while begging you to leave your asshole of a boyfriend was so.. intense. it was so much. way too much for your brain to comprehend.

“you know i-i can treat you better right?… so much better than him..” he whined, so lost on you, so gone and drunk on the flavour of you atop his senses. overtaking his every thought, his every idea, his entire brain and whole heart completely. and he loved it. as if hexed by a spell you casted upon him, he relished in it.

and you revelled in his attention, his love that he continued to rain on you, possessed by his presence and enchanted entirely. as if stuck under his hypnosis, the movements of his body against yours, his whispers of sweet words, sweet promises and dirty nasty things he would do to you if you were his had you hexed so so deep into his own spell. tangled in a passion dedicated to him and formed by him only.

you nodded in a lucid manner to his words, eyes droopy as they opened and closed with your vision blurry. you could barely pick up the way you were unraveling around his length again. gummy walls clamping down around the base of his cock for the nth time in the past few hours as you came so hard.

“just like that bun… cumming around my cock so good doll.. needy cunt sucking me in so so well.” he spoke deliriously, his own consciousness slipping away before he finally heard your ringtone. the thought of it being haruto made his inside twinge in excitement. his hand moved imperceptibly, wrapping his fingers around the device while you were still lost in your stupor of pleasure.

he glanced at the small screen and couldn’t help the wide cheshire grin that spread across his features at the sight of ‘haruto ♡’ this was it.

he quickly answered the call, lowering the volume to not have you hear his worries and apologies that instantly began to spill out the speaker. you were so caught up in your own high, eyes closed as jungwon kept rocking his hips against yours making you get stuck on subspace as he remained restless. not taking a second to stop and trapping you in a constant state of ecstasy. and you were loving every second of it.

“feeling good, baby bunny?” he asked loudly, unnoticeably switching the phone to his other hand that kept holding your leg up and lowering the speaker right against your cunt. making the wet smacking sounds, the slaps of his heavy balls against your ass echo in haruto’s ears as he felt his heart drop.

that voice. was too familiar for his liking.

“s’good won.. shit— feels s’good..” you babbled on, soft hands gripping roughly at his ruined bedsheets as there was almost a puddle forming between the two of your bodies, more cum more wetness more arousal seeping out of your fucked hole when jungwon would pull slightly out. a mere inch that will make his cum leak outside of your gummy walls before squeezing himself back in and god the sound was so filthy. so nasty as it echoed for all three of you.

“who’s making you feel this good, hm? tell me who’s filling up this pretty little greedy cunt, bun?” he bit against your ear, licking the shell of it sensually as the need and urge to devour you was just worsening with every second. he needed to feel you everywhere, taste you everywhere and touch you everywhere.

“you are— fuck! you’re making me feel so good.” you mewled under his hold. writhing in complete pleasure and ecstasy as he kept pushing his cock between your puffy and glistening folds. “what’s my name, my pretty bunny?” he whispered lewdly into your ear, his mere voice almost acting like an aphrodisiac for you. making you more needier and wetter for him.

“daddy! ngh daddy you feel s’good!” gasping his favourite name for him so loudly, unaware of the fact that haruto choked on his own spit at how slutty you sounded. voice almost an entire pitch higher and voracious. he felt his own pants tightening at the filthy sounds filling his ears. you never sounded like this with him hell— your room never sounded like this when you were with him.

“good girl.. such a good obedient little bunny for me, screaming her daddy’s name like the good bunny she is..” he kissed along your skin lovingly, dropping the phone onto the bed without a care if haruto had hung up or not, you were right in front of him and he wasn’t able to not give you his full attention. not when you sounded so slutty and needy for him.

he wrapped his arms around your waist, relishing in the way your cunt tightened and tightened around his cock as another orgasm washed over you, you sobbed his name, pretty little tears falling along his stained bedsheets as he switched the position.

he gently laid down your aching leg, the soreness of your body making you wince with the combined pleasure before he situated himself onto his knees. holding your thighs open just enough to see your ruined gaping hole leaking in front of him. the sight making his pulsating cock twitch before he pushed it back inside of you.

the two of you groaned in pleasure, both of you way past being gone. you were completely cock drunk while he was entirely pussy drunk. his mind spun with the way you still tried to suck him deeper, tight mushy walls milking his length and greedily clamping down on him. “f-fuck i’m s’close bun.. gonna let me cum inside of your slutty pussy, hm?” he breathed out. sweat rolling from his temples down his chest and even reaching his glistening, muscular thighs.

you buried your head against the pillow, mind completely high and lost on the way jungwon kept fucking you into subspace. nodding against the wet pillowcases as jungwon was almost about to push past your cervix. “that’s my girl.. my pretty little bunny letting me breed her pussy like this.” he groaned, his abdomen tightening further before he finally released the cum stored in his heavy balls that slapped noisily onto your inner thighs.

hot, long spurts of his cum webbed along your insides, filling you up to the brim and pressing right against your cervix. your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt your lower stomach almost bloating with his cum. he was releasing so so much. warm cum making your insides turn hotter as he kept fucking it back inside of you.

his groans and moans, whispers of your name and how good you felt barely reached your ringing ears, hell he couldn’t even hear his own words himself. his ears popping as he finally released the final spurts of his unusually prolonged and intense release before he dropped on top of you. caging your body beneath his.

he cracked one eye open, moving to look at the phone screen that just now closed as haruto finally hung up from the call. he noticed the way you were trying to catch your breath, slipping in and out of consciousness and took this as an opportunity to open your phone.

memorising your password as haruto’s stupid birthday, he quickly went through your home screen to find your messages. where he could already spot multiple notifications from his enemy.

haruto ♡: you fucking bitch

haruto ♡: how dare you fuck my own enemy out of everyone else

haruto ♡: i should’ve never trusted a whore like you

jungwon felt his eye twitching at the way he was texting you. anger rising up like along with the fatigue in his body before he tapped onto your keyboard

my love ♥︎: never text this number again you stupid asshole.

read

haruto ♡ is typing…

and before he could text another nasty message, he blocked his number for good.

now discarding your phone back onto the bedside table, he turned towards you littering your shoulders and exposed skin with affectionate kisses before whispering how much he loved you into your ears.

and at the end of the day, jungwon still took the one thing haruto kept teasing him for and shoving in his face. his beloved girlfriend.

a,note. yay :D ! quick karinasbaby comeback while i’m busy w uni, hopefully ill be able to post more soon if not pls know that im trying my hardest 😞 hope u enjoyed !!! ♡

2K notes · View notes

aliteralsemicolon · 2 months ago

Text

Yours - 18+

Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked.

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true.

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it.

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you.

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register.

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed.

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper.

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway.

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?”

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again.

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.”

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you.

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze.

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos.

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much.

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy.

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound.

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered.

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with.

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other.

Almost.

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself.

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his.

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort.

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.”

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up.

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles.

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again.

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply.

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth.

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin.

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him.

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest.

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine.

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees.

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek.

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently.

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling.

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting.

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane.

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you.

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?”

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head.

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace.

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible.

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other.

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh.

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts.

“Spen–fuck–gon–fu–cum!”

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner.

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.”

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out.

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t”

You can’t hold on any longer.

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside��inside–ins-shitshitshit…”

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?”

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible.

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face.

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out.

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next.

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.”

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash.

“Good girl.”

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with.

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way.

But Spencer does.

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable.

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.”

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at.

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm.

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair.

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?”

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you.

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose.

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again.

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?”

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?”

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person.

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.”

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence.

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf.

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone.

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too.

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume.

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!”

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up.

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights.

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?”

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know.

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!”

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him.

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!”

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.”

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait.

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her.

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now.

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost.

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours.

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality.

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement.

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

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