#or it WOULD be if grim would SHUT HIS FUCKING MOUTH

[shinigamigloss]

bye bye baby blue

✎ Ever wondered what would happen if Leon walked out on you, his one and only girlfriend, for something crazy? Tonight he might just do it.

cw: fem!reader, angst, miscommunications and misunderstandings, pre re2, for now! we’ve all heard the myth: leon and his ex-girlfriend had an argument and broke up before the events of re2 - yes reader is indeed that girlfriend here! word count: 2k and tagging my lovely bbaby: @senawashere <3

⌕ part 2 ┃ looking for a playlist while reading?

“You’re going to die in that stupid costume, Leon.”

Your throat is scorched from bickering. Migraine jabs have tormented you all morning.

It wasn’t so bad in the morning, but as the hours ticked by – especially while he packed his bag – it became unbreathable. Only barely keeping your teeth from grinding to dust.

For him. For Leon.

You knew this day would come crashing down on your very doorstep.

He’s leaving. You’re not ready.

But he is.

Leon exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. Smears the exhaustion all across his features. “It’s not a costume,” he mutters under his breath.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You fold your arms, fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves.

A hectic, unpolished argument; hell-for-leather enough to suit the image of you and Leon. In the center of the living room stand a couple aging from their college youth.

“What, are you playing hero now? Running straight into the place where cops go missing? They find bodies stripped to the bone, Leon!” Your voice wavers indignantly.

He retreats into silent suffering, graphically vacant.

Don’t ask me why, don’t do this, the thought knells in his skull, setting his jaw into a vise. Guilt dawns on him, mantling his face with the lemon glow of your lamplight.

A sour feeling rankles his tongue, and he wounds it. Because you’re right.

From the inner fortitude you find in his reticence, you double the barrage of insistence.

“Leon,” you try again, “you’re barely out of the Academy. Why the hell would you ask for this assignment?”

More calculated now. Calmer.

A muscle in his jaw ticks anyway. “Because someone has to.”

You laugh in return, sharp and humorless, a jagged thing that cuts at the roof of your mouth. “Someone? God. Someone could be anyone but you!”

The ruddy flash of anger and the twilight of despair paint your face with a strange grimness.

It’s in this light and in this darkness that Leon will have to forever carry you in his memory.

Is this what the winds of separation feel like on the body? Dusty to the touch and cold.

He unseals his mouth and forces his tongue behind his teeth. It only takes one word to ping out. One single word. Something.

You wait for it; hold your breath.

His mouth, paradoxically, drifts shut; his cheeks flush in an uncomfortable pink.

“That’s what I thought. You’re unbelievable.”

Words like that, straight from your mouth, are more detrimental to Leon’s psyche than the sharpness of your strings.

Looking at him as if you hold a grudge. Glaring at him as if you’re purging your hatred – that will leave a permanent scar.

What can be done in such a case? How can he leave a place where he has to abandon against his own will?

Can he even gather his guts for you, no matter how harshly you riddle them with your words?

Yeah, fuck it. To Leon, you’re worth the price of everything – all his riches.

He swallows his pride like a hard pill and moves one step closer.

To you.

“You knew I’d leave.” A quiet sound escapes from him. He reaches out with one hand, and his touch lingers on the right side of your cheek.

Not a single thing wrong with that terse piece of language. He’s right; you always knew the day was coming.

Soon he’d leave.

And tonight, he’s leaving.

It’s only the strain of the last minute and the final moments of vulnerability that breaks you down.

For all the negative energy resting on your shoulders, coupled with the cold tremors of fear that you might lose him forever, you still cling to his touch. Face in the palm of his hand as if you were the apple of his eye.

“Stay then,” you quickly say. “Stay here. Call them and say you’ve changed your mind about everything.”

Voices in your head and words from your heart. Buried in these words is your daunting mania. The chaos of the image blends into a tangled forest of thoughts.

Begging isn’t the way you do it. Nor does he want to recollect you in such a shattered state.

He wants to think of your smiling face in the hotel of colorful dreams and the smile that will (hopefully) grow brighter when he comes home again.

If he makes it home at all.

“I can’t. I made my decision long ago,” Leon speaks resolutely with a crack of an unnamed emotion on his face.

“You can’t be—”

“I can.” He stops you short.

You tense and then wilt.

It’s like shouting into the void in the quietest possible cadence. Absorbed in a blankness. His eyes had already faded; the spark of Caribbean blues darkened into a silvery hush. Bloodless.

Of course.

Discouraged, you pull away from him. Why let him touch you after all?

Giving up on the one who gave up on you is the new cool.

So he goes quiet, and you get mean.

“Geez. You’re that patriotic? Enough to leave me behind?”

“That’s not the point,” Leon scoffs, half to himself.

It’s the usual talk, over and over. Been there, done that. He always says something about a family thing – a profession, and so on and so forth.

You did show some consideration for the idea awhile: the flowery dreams of a man who wanted to be a police officer because his father was a police officer.

That was never the issue.

The matter is that Leon wants to be assigned to the hell of the Arklay Mountains, where murderers abound.

That’s the act of a man with a death wish. The blind idiot, sealing his own death sentence with his own hands.

A hopeless romantic, an idealistic detective at heart.

And now he’s running out of time.

“Well, go then, Leon. Leave everything that is ours anyway.”

For the first time, Leon sees the luster of yielding in your eyes. You’re going to strike him like lightning, and nobody will ever find the remains.

He needs to shake you out of it, remind you that what you two have is real – and so is your love.

“You know I’ll be back,” Leon says bravely. His voice hardly raises above the thick air, perhaps as much to console himself as to reassure you.

“Will you, now? I find that hard to believe,” you spit out. The contempt in your eyes translates into a jargon of its own.

Leon stares blankly at it.

The tidings of loss are out in the open. Witnessing the woman he loves so tenderly transform into such a heartless thing is a fresh wound, deep in his heart. Bleeding.

He gets the bite, nonetheless, narrowing his brows until he manages to sketch a meaner visage than yours.

“The hell is wrong with you?” One step then, two and now three. He’s closing in. Looking ever bigger. His heart, quite ironically, is a tentative, fluttering rabbit in his chest.

Even in the most miserable lapse of a fragmentary second, the merest whisper of recoil is a tiptoe betrayal of your very self. That is precisely why you go limp, as thorny vines snare their remorseless tendrils around your ankles.

“No, no, actually—What the hell is wrong with you?” You press out, and you’re rightfully severe about it.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me,” he smiles bitterly. “I hope to be around. Really, I do.” He curls his fingers in a fist like he might run.

“But now I get it. Guess you couldn’t even be bothered to wait for me.” He goes for the jugular – not above adding more dust to the mayhem he’s already caused.

“All this time, I’ve been thinking we’d never make it as a pair. You say that I’m going to die and I say that I’ll be back to you. I fight for us—but, shit, you just keep running away from me,” he goes stone cold crazy, his breath is caught somewhere between his lungs.

How dare he?

A breathing spell passes between the two of you, and seconds bisect you in the midst. Perplexity about if he really meant what he said at all. Flurry of resentment, personal affront, lack of closure, and so much in between.

If only you could catch those seconds and chuck them in a trash can.

Now you’re loitering over him with blurred eyes and an open, uncertain mouth.

Years of dedication, the little love you’ve nursed, is presently fading, nothing more than a tone of etiolated nostalgia.

In the interval of silence, Leon recognizes the obvious crassness behind his outburst.

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I... I never actually—” he swallows the air. His hands move toward you again, but you pinch his arm away with a sharp, muffled refusal.

“Don’t.” Loud and clear.

Leon’s arm falls, limply so. Too far away to feel you, out of his reach.

“Holy shit, baby, don’t do this to me. You know me, right? I’d never think of us like that.”

Excuses and excuses. Last-minute remedies.

Famous last words.

“I got too angry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Leon pleads with the storm of his own making.

Isn’t it already too late? Can’t he understand what he’s done?

Better show him, if you’re serious.

You cast a featureless glance at the bags heaped on top of each other, forming a haphazard cluster against the dry walls.

“Just go,” you articulate indifferently. Your shoulders are sluggish as you voice the final words of the night – the products of an untutored heartbreak.

“Please,” he echoes, grimacing at your faraway gaze.

“Take your stuff and go, Leon!” Your pique betrays itself in front of him. Leon flinches at once.

His name is something tasteless on your tongue, a night frost that pricks his ears.

Leon automatically backs up a step regardless.

“You don’t mean it.”

“No, Leon.” A pause. “I mean it very much.”

You tilt your chin, higher and higher. He looks taken aback, and only then do you start to see yourself as the culprit. By any measure, the bite of reckless words from two thoughtless wrongdoers is the real culprit in this very room.

“So what? You want me out of the picture?” Leon’s voice does an audible hitch when he directs his question.

“Oh, please. I want you out of the damn house,” you correct him, unblinking. “Go. Be the man you always wanted to be.”

Your boyfriend (“ex” after the cut-off point) stands in the middle of the room, out in the cold. Feeling so exposed and orphaned, he rubs his temples in a futile attempt to devise a form of remedy for his headache.

You watch him with invisible hands around your throat.

What happens next? Is that it? Why can’t you say a thing about the gallery of misery that’s swarming in your mind?

Should you remain still and unbroken by saying nothing?

“Fine then,” he slurs with venom. Interrupts the spiral of overmusing.

“It’s over,” he finalizes. His words, steeped in the foolishness of boyish vanity, serve him well. In the end, it’s not you who ends things; he cuts you off instead. In any other scenario, you might succumb to a temper tantrum that could very well end you, but today, cooler heads prevail.

It’s Leon who bails, for you are not the type to run at the first sign of trouble.

It’s the silly little pride that is blinding him.

So ready to go when you say ‘go’. So incapable of sticking around.

It – correction: he – offends you oh very much. Makes you feel sick and sore with anger.

“I know!” An uninviting feeling of relief settles between somewhere in your chest and your stomach.

“Good!” Leon clicks his tongue to say it.

“Great!” You counter artlessly.

And so, Leon turns away from your visage. You hold back the tepid tears welling in your eyes, turning to frozen dust.

Hold his hand and stop him while you can, why don’t you?

Why can’t you?

What’s wrong with you, and what the hell is his problem?

The guy was sincerely yours only yesterday.

And by dusk, he doesn’t even look back. Doesn’t spare a farewell kiss. Not even a simple goodbye.

Rather, Leon rushes out of the room, hasty and clumsy, to chase that pappy pipe dream of his. The slam of the front door always cuts too close to the marrow if you yearn to look beyond the past and remember his onliest face, lingering there like a shadow.

[bunni-v1]

Heyyaaa

May I request dorm leaders finding out you’re a girl please? If it’s too much u can make a part 2

Dorm Leaders Find Out You're a Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Mentions of transphobia (nothing awful, just literally dropping the word lol); Idia is creepy

Info: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Reader (Platonic or Romantic); Fluff, Comedy(?)

🍓This one is gonna be long, like 5.3k words long. I love writing the dorm leaders so damn much <3 Besides, there’s been a long wait for this one, so I hope I make it worth it! You might see some favoritism shine through, but I did my best to keep it even. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @kierancaz @danchann33 @arashrita @the-ace-reader @akiyamasmizuki @kitsun369 @bloomstruck (I think I got all of you)

First Years

Ortho Sebek

Second Years

Third Years

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part. 

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Riddle

-Riddle is the last student in Heartslabyul to find out.

-It’s not like he did anything to you for you to hold off on telling him (you know, other than the whole almost killing you that one time thing), it’s just that you don’t feel inclined to tell him. 

-Simple as that.

-He also really has no reason to question your gender. 

-Riddle didn’t have must interaction with people his own age until he came to night raven college, he doesn’t have the same social ideologies as other people do.

-Nightraven college is really his first touch with society outside of his mothers very watchful, conservative eye.

-So, excuse him for not picking up on stupid little gendered norms that the other students do.

-In his eyes, you dress like a man, you act (sort of) like the other male students, and you prefer he/him pronouns. 

-There’s nothing more to it then, right? If you identify as a man, he has no reason not to treat you as such - nor should he suspect you would hide your gender like that.

-Besides, this is an all boys school! Crowley wouldn’t allow you to attend here unless you were also a boy… right?

-He is aware there are exceptions — and you are already QUITE the exception, but surely Crowley wouldn’t be so cruel as to force a young woman to attend an all boys academy.

-Ah, sweet Riddle, ever in denial.

-He isn’t STUPID though. He notices how brotherly Trey is to you. He knows (and has heard) your many “secret sleepovers” with Cater.

-He ignores these things and doesn’t comment on them simply because, well, he likes you!

-He helps to tutor you sometimes, and he’s gotten to know you through that, and he really does come around on enjoying your presence.

-So, he ignores Trey and Cater’s odd behaviors for your sake.

-You keep him and his dorm members in high spirits, why would he want to shoo something like that away?

-He doesn’t really questionthings until he… overhears a conversation between Deuce and Ace. (A rather loud one, for how supposedly secret this topic was meant to be).

-One of them had gotten in trouble with a professor, and he was going to give them a stern scolding when he overheard what they were talking about.

-“Deuce, dude, you’re gonna want to sit down for this one.”

“What is it, I’m busy trying to finish my potionology homework.”

“Seriously this one is crazy, you’re not ready for for it.”

“Ace, if you’re just messing with me I’m going to leave.”

“Dude, the prefect is a girl.”

“…What?”

-Riddle did not bother the two after that. In fact, he just walked back to his room to sit and think about what he just overheard.

-It DID make sense. You didn’t quite fit in with everyone else for reasons outside of your otherworldly origin.

-You acted differently than the typical guy here at NRC, and you seemed to get along with the peers that were more ‘traditionally feminine’ best.

-It would explain Trey’s coddling and Cater’s secretiveness.

-Still, he didn’t want to assume. This was Ace and Deuce, and Ace could just be messing around with Deuce.

-So, at your next tutoring session, he broaches the subject as politely as possible.

-“So, prefect, I have… overheard something that I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh no, am I in trouble because of Ace and Deuce again.”

“Not… technically… I did, however, overhear them talking about… you being a woman.”

“…I’m gonna kill them.”

“I could collar them for you, if that would help.”

-The confirmation was reassuring for Riddle in multiple ways. 

-1) Ace isn’t as terrible of a person as the thought he was.

-2) He wasn’t crazy in noticing the slight differences in you and your other peers.

-Now, you and Riddle aren’t exactly super close by any means, so your interactions with each other are limited to when you’re either being tutored or with friends in Heartslabyul.

-However, he is notably more nervous than he usually is.

-He doesn’t have some super secret crush on your all of the sudden, he just… never really had a chance to interact with women before.

-His mom kept him very sheltered from the opposite gender, so he has little to no experience with them.

-On top of that, because of his mother, he does have a slight fear of women. He’s afraid he’s going to upset you and you’ll blow a fuse on him or something.

-You have to assure him that you don’t bite and you won’t suddenly start screaming at him for no reason, and then he begins to relax a bit.

-Still, he’s very sweet and gentlemanly to you.

-If you need help with anyone around campus, you should come to him and he will have them dealt with accordingly.

Leona

-Leona “Respects Women” Kingscholar.

-Leona has SLIGHTLY worse smell than Ruggie, but he also knew immediately upon your arrival that you were a girl.

-In fact, he knew you weren’t a trans man, because they smell distinctly different from the typical woman.

-There aren’t many trans people in the Savannah though, so Ruggie not being able to pick up on that doesn’t really shock him.

-Leona, however, has smelled and seen plenty of trans people in his life time — you aren’t one of them.

-He won’t lie, he’s definitely interested in you. Women where he comes from are big and strong and proud, you’re just kind of plain.

-He keeps his ever curious eye on you though, because he’s interested in how you might navigate this whole thing.

-Now don’t get it twisted, he doesn’t care about you, he’s curious about you. 

-If you were to ask him for help on something, he wouldn’t offer it. (Not that you would, you seem particularly averse to him).

-However, if he were to see some creep trying to… well… creep on you, he’d chase them away without ever having you know he did.

-He was your secret bodyguard who wouldn’t admit it even if you held a knife to his throat.

-Still, he stayed out of your way and you stayed out of his. 

-A symbiotic relationship that you weren’t even aware existed… until you got in his way.

-Like Ruggie, when you start getting a little too involved in his ahem business, he gets pretty damn annoyed.

-You’re not exactly a threat to start, but you are a little trouble maker. If you find out what he’s up to, you’ll ruin his plans completely, and he can’t have that.

-However, he’s not exactly comfortable “taking care of you” like he is his male peers.

-He respects women, okay, you can’t blame him for not wanting to purposefully hurt you. (If his mom and brother found out, he’d never hear the damn end of it)

-He sends out Ruggie to scare you off, explicitly telling him he can’t hurt you on purpose.

-He knows Ruggie already has an idea of what’s going on, so he doesn’t have any qualms with telling him to be careful with you.

-Still, despite all this, he doesn’t really broach the topic until he’s forced to.

-He’s made it known to you, at this point, that he knows your secret. 

-He hasn’t caused you any extra trouble since his overblot, and he keeps his dorm members off your back, so you have no reason to interact with him… until, again, you get yourself into trouble.

-This time it’s YOU dragging him into your mess, despite him wanting nothing to do with it.

-You are convincing, though, so he gives and allows you to stay in his dorm room — rent free! Isn’t he so nice.

-Jack offers himself for protection if you need it, but you can see that Ruggie is quite bemused with the whole situation, so you decide to turn him down.

-Leona hasn’t tried anything yet, and he really could if he wanted to.

-You decide you can trust him. (You have to trust him).

-Then presents the issue of sharing a bed.

-Leona isn’t a weird pervert, okay. He isn’t absolutely leaping at the idea to be in bed with you — he’s so sorry.

-Honestly, it makes him a bit… uncomfortable.

-Sharing a bed is something you do with family or someone you’re involved with, not the weird magic-less kid who’s at least three years too young for you.

-So, Leona, ever the women’s rights activist, approaches you with a proposition.

-“Listen, I know you’re a woman and I know you know that. We’re not sharing a bed, there ain’t no way that’s happening.”

“Oh, so would you like the poor helpless homeless woman to sleep on the floor? How cruel can you be Leona.”

“Shut up, I’m not gonna do that to you. Listen, you can have the bed all to yourself and I’ll sleep on the couch, so long as you promise not to tell a single soul about this.”

“I promise.”

-You immediately tell Ruggie the next morning, and he is sure to make sure Leona never forgets it.

-Living with Leona for the short period of time that you do is very insightful!

-He’s actually pretty funny, much smarter than he lets on, and almost brotherly to you. Which does not fit the M.O. you built of him in your head.

-He’s gruff and pushy, but he does it out of genuineness.

-You end up getting really close to him because of it. 

-His quiet and laid-back demeanor are a break from the chaos of everyone else on campus, and he doesn’t make a big deal out of anything so you can just complain and he nods along unbothered.

-Only thing you notice that upsets him is when you bring up guys who bother you.

-Those guys tend to stop bothering you shortly after. How strange…

Azul

-Azul is hands down the last person on campus you want knowing about this.

-Riddle, Ruggie, Trey, Cater and pretty much everyone with half a brain tell you to stay as far away from him as possible.

-You see him in the halls sometimes, and he doesn’t look to bad. Unapproachable, sure, but he’s a rather pretty guy. Well put together and seemingly very smart from what you’ve been told.

-He helped to subdue Grim in the opening ceremony, so you know he’s magically capable. He’s also a house warden, so that goes unspoken, I suppose.

-He seems interested in you, from what you can tell. He always waves at you when he does see you in a sort of fake friendly kind of way. 

-You’ve seen him and his little (large, very large) goonies admiring ramshackle before.

-You’ve also politely asked them to not do that when you moved in, because it freaks you out a lot. To which they all gave you very eerie smiles and walked away.

-They remind you of a very small mafia, and you decided to heed your friends warnings because of that.

-You do so successfully for a long time too. Other than the few previously stated interactions, Azul seems un-inclined to bother you, and you don’t want to catch his leering eyes.

-Little do you know, Azul has a much more watchful eye on you that you initially thought.

-Sure, you don’t have much to offer him magic wise, but you have ramshackle. Oh, how he wants ramshackle.

-You are key to obtaining it, he just… has to find something on you first.

-You’re so painfully average. Perhaps a little more pretty in the face than his other peers, but you sacrifice that with the atrociousness of your uniform. 

-Truly, nothing about you is different.

-He almost gives up until Grim delivers him an opportunity in a pretty little bow.

-You agree to his contract out of the goodness of your heart, just like he knew you would. So sweet and kind are you, to practically hand him the deed to ramshackle on a silver platter.

-He notices, however, that Jade grows a very… sudden fascination with you.

-Sure, he told both Jade and Floyd to keep and eye on you and keep you in like, but for Jade to be so interested… very odd.

-Then, shortly after, Floyd’s own interest is piqued. Alright… less odd than Jade, but to have both of their eyes on you must mean he’s missing something. (I know I previously said that Floyd found out after Azul, but I was stupid and wrong and you should never listen to me when I’m talking about Floyd).

-He tries to get it out of them by any means, Asking, blackmailing, manipulation. He really does try, but their lips are sealed tight.

-It frustrates him to no end that they know something he doesn’t, and that he can’t figure out this very big secret.

-It stumps him for so long, because he’s looking in all the wrong places for the answer.

-Meanwhile, you know that Jade and Floyd know and you are TERRIFIED waiting for Azul to use this against you.

-The suspense starts killing you and making you anxious enough that its affecting sleep, so you decide to bite the bullet and arrange a meeting with him.

-Azul is honestly delighted, because he was just going to outright force the truth from you at this point.

-“I’m glad you set up this meeting, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“I know… I’ve been pretty nervous about it since Jade and Floyd started pestering me.”

“Before I talk about what I want to, I’d like to hear what you have to say. I’m a good listener after all.”

“Too good, if you ask me. Uhm, anyway, so I know that Jade and Floyd to you that I’m a girl already, but I’m really hoping you would just leave me be. You owe me after all.”

“…You’re a girl?”

“Did they not tell you…?”

-what. What? WHAT?!?!?!

-How could he not tell, he feel so incredibly stupid. Its so obvious now that he thinks about it.

-No wonder Jade and Floyd wouldn’t stop teasing him about it.

-He agrees not to let the secret out — he DOES owe you his life, after all. This is a minor trade.

-However, he does not mentally recover from this revelation for a while.

-He doesn’t treat you very different, I suppose. He’s more gentlemanly with you, and is generally more friendly, but those things come from saving a persons life regardless.

-He is, surprisingly, willing to ensure your whole gender thing doesn’t get out so long as you work a few hours at the monster lounge.

-Probably the best at keeping it to himself and making sure it doesn’t get out. You wouldn’t expect any less with Azul, though.

Kalim

-You and Kalim don’t really have much of a chance to interact.

-He seems sweet enough, and you know he’s much kinder than the rest of the dorm leaders, but you don’t really have any reason to interact with him.

-Kalim also doesn’t think too much of you. 

-You caused a ruckus at the entrance ceremony, that’s for sure, but you kinda blend into the background.

-Besides he’s a party animal — constantly hosting these huge parties at his dorm just because he can.

-As someone trying to keep out of trouble and hide such a huge secret… yeah, parties aren’t exactly your forte.

-So, when you get roped in to coming to Scarabia over winter break, Kalim is pleasantly surprised!

-He’s always excited to make a new friend, and you’re pretty infamous around school, so he’s extra excited to get to know you.

-Kalim has no reason to question anything about you, like most other people would.

-However, he isn’t stupid. He has plenty of younger sisters, and he picks up on social queues better than you’d expect.

-He definitely suspects something is off, but he figures you would tell him if something was up. 

-You actually find him quite easy to be around. He’s someone who makes it easy to let your walls down and just relax with.

-Despite his sudden mood shifts, he always makes sure that you’re happy and healthy and doing the best you can be in your position.

-However, you run out of the magical potion that deepens your voice pretty quickly, and you have to go back to dramatically straining your voice.

-You sound sick, honestly, and it makes Kalim worry. 

-He figures that you’re forcing yourself to deepen your voice so you’re still perceived as a man.

-Instead of asking you directly, as Kalim does, he goes to Jamil.

-“Jamil…”

“What do you need, Kalim?”

“Don’t you think somethings… off with the prefect?”

“Off? What are you talking about, nothings off with them.”

“No, I mean… do you think they might be… a girl?”

“…Kalim, that’s very rude to say. You need to be more respectful.”

“…You’re right, I’m sorry. Could we get him something to soothe his voice though, it sounds rough.”

-Kalim is a lot more watchful of you after that. He just… knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t want to be rude.

-It’s actually you who comes to him when no one is around for help.

-“Kalim, uhm, I need your help.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m pretty sure you know, but I’m not a guy… I’m a girl, and I really need help hiding it. The longer I’ve been here, the harder it’s been on me.”

-Sweetheart he is, he promises to both help you and keep your secret to himself — and he does both surprisingly well!

-He offers his private bathroom to you so you can shower in peace. 

-It’s honestly the best bath you’ve ever had with all his sweet smelling oils. Your skin feels so smooth and renewed.

-Still, even with this, you still don’t feel safe with anyone else — plus the fact that Kalim has random and horrifying mood shifts. You have to flee.

-And yet you still get dragged into more trouble with the octatrio. You still get exposed to the whole dorm by a crazed Jamil, and now have to deal with the horror that they’ll tell everyone.

-Kalim feels awful, and thus shows his forgiveness in the best way he can: giving gifts.

-You get tons of apology gifts from him in the coming months. Baskets of the best shower stuff you’ve ever had; a new, better fitted but still innocuous uniform; enough tuna to keep grim satisfied for years (and sweets that you happily keep to yourself).

-It’s so nice, but you start to feel bad. It feels like you’re taking advantage of his guilt, when you’re not really upset at anyone involved anymore.

-You’re welcome at Scarabia any time. None of his dorm members will ever cause you any trouble, and you can dress and act and sound however you want within Scarabia’s walls. 

Vil

-Miss beauty queen himself. We love Vil, we Stan Vil, we adore Vil… 

-Oh my god he’s a pain in the ass though, especially for you.

-He sees through you in an instant.

-Truly, Vil finds you to be more of a little pest than anything.

-You are constantly in trouble, you are magic less, and you decided to needlessly hide your gender.

-The last one is the worst offense in his eyes.

-Vil is someone who does not value gender, but expression. Your gender does not matter as much as your expression, therefore you hiding your expression irks him.

-He’s understanding enough in the fact that he knows you might be doing this to protect yourself, but he finds it stupid and useless, because you’re easy to see through.

-He avoids you, and you avoid him. Simple as that.

-Unfortunately for Vil, you’ve caught Rook’s eye, which means he must sit through many hours of Rook rambling on about his “findings” about you.

-When you tried out for the VDC, he was simply going to turn you and Grim away, but Rook convinced him to give you a chance.

-Rook wanted him to help your reveal your “inner beauty”, though Vil wasn’t sure if you had any of that.

-You wore baggy, horrifically ugly clothing up until winter break. Your hair was constantly a mess. Your skin was poorly taken care of, and the bags under your eyes were as dark as night.

-It almost made him feel bad for you… so despite his better judgement, he decided to invest time in you.

-Vil makes it very clear that he knows what your whole secret is.

-“I am aware of the fact that you are a woman, however, I will continue to use your preferred pronouns since it seems to bring you comfort.”

-He’s very insistent that you allow him to do your skincare AND your makeup whenever you give him the chance.

-Especially when he moves into ramshackle temporarily, he’s very insistent on maintaining your skincare routine.

-He essentially makes your entire nightly routine himself, and is right there over your shoulder making sure you do it right.

-Despite how overbearing it is, you actually make good friends with him through this.

-Being stuck alone in a room with no one but him to talk to forces you two to talk.

-You get to learn why he cares so much about appearances, and he gets to know why you hide to protect yourself.

-“It’s just… easier to pretend, because guys will bother me less that way.”

“I can’t understand why they would bother you. You’ve done nothing to them, so why would they want to do anything to you.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know either. I just know it’s scary, and I don’t want to deal with it.”

-You move him, honestly. You’re strong even though you’re scared, and that’s beautiful. Thats what true beauty is.

-He helps you embrace your inner self and express that, while still helping you to hide your gender in a way that feels safe.

-You are always welcome at Pomefiore, and you can come to either him or Rook if you have any issues at all.

-It’s like having a big sister, almost.

Idia

-Idia has eyes everywhere.

-Every inch of that campus is (illegally) being monitored by his watchful eyes. 

-When he’s bored in class, he flicks through the cameras to amuse himself — maybe he’ll see someone slip and fall on their ass. That would be funny.

-He’s not really interested in you in particular.

-In fact, he’d like to keep a very far distance between the two of you.

-You’re… intimidating. You’ve fought some of the most powerful mages on campus and won.

-Total final boss energy, not something Idia is interested in being around.

-What he IS interested in is that wittle kitty you’ve got following you around.

-When he’s bored in class, he goes searching for Grim, and where Grim is you are sure to be.

-So, despite his aversion to you, he ends up spending a lot of time watching you.

-He starts to notice… things about you.

-He notices that you seem to put on a tough guy persona around… well… other guys in your class.

-When it’s just you and Grim though? You’re the softest softie he’s ever seen.

-It’s top tier cringe watching you try to being all macho, so he much prefers your more quiet and relaxed self you show in private.

-Seriously though, you’re a TOTALLY DIFFERENT PERSON when you’re alone with certain people.

-EVEN YOUR VOICE CHANGES!!!

-It’s so uber creepy, it’s like a jumpscare every time you drop that fake deep voice.

-If he’s being real, you’ve got a pretty voice. Honestly, you’re really pretty period. Too pretty to be a guy honestly.

-…

-….

-…..HOLY SHIT!!!

-He has to check your medical files to be sure — which he obviously has access to, thanks to having access to everything Ortho has access to.

-Blah blah blah allergies, blah blah blah horrific injuries from overblots, blah blah blah- AH HAH!

-Next to gender you are listed as… transgender man.

-He doesn’t wanna be that weird transphobic incel, but from what he’s seen? He highly doubts that.

-From what he’s seen in his (invasive) watching, you’re definitely doing the troupe of hiding your gender to better fit in.

-He feels like he’s in an anime or something.

-He doesn’t really want to bother you about it — but from watching you, you seem like someone he’d really enjoy being around.

-Ortho also insists that he’d get along with you very well!

-…It’s worth a shot right.

-He tries several times to “bump” into you, which always ends in him skittering away in fear.

-He psyches himself out every time. “They wouldn’t even wanna hang out with a loser like me.” “They’re way too cool for someone as lame as me.” 

-It’s not until you invite yourself to one of tabletop club’s meetings that he’s forced to interact with you.

-He’s really banking on the fact that you’ll be too busy talking with Azul to notice him, but then Azul leaves and its just you and him.

-Him and you…

-Both of you… in total and complete silence.

-…yep… 

-“Uhm, Idia…?”

“yES!?”

“I came here cause I wanted to talk to you, sorry for being so underhanded about it, I just couldn’t get you alone without you running off.”

“AH— I mean, ahem, okay. My bad.”

-You totally cornered him like an evil villain.

-All because you wanted to… be his friend?

-Is he dreaming, going insane perhaps, did HE get isekaied into an alternate universe where he was likable???

-Nope, Ortho just talks him up a lot, and you think his hair is cool. Huh. Kinda lame compared to what he was thinking.

-You guys talk a LOT after that. You exchange numbers and you text him about all sorts of stuff — and he’s actually interested in it!

-You learn that he’s been watching you and Grim for a long time, and while you scold him.

-You think it’s pretty funny that he’s embarrassed about his love for cute things.

-“If you’ve been keeping your eye on me for so long, you must’ve figured out that I’m a girl, right?”

“Yeah, you’re not great at hiding it. That macho guy act is suuuuper lame, you look like a noob lol.”

“Hey! I’m just copying what Deuce told me to do!”

-You guys don’t really see each other face to face very often, but like I said you text a lot.

-Sometimes he’ll text you shit like ‘I saw that, saved it for blackmail.’ After you biffed your shit on the pavement or something.

-When Idia gets more comfortable, you two spend hours on call whenever you get the chance.

-He lends you some of his precious manga, and even gives you an older TV he had laying around so you can watch stuff at ramshackle.

-Sometimes he invites you over to play video games with him and Ortho, and he gets all cocky and proud when you gush about how cool all his tech is.

-And, yeah, Idia definitely forms a little crush on you — but he would do that regardless of your gender. 

-He just likes you a lot, and you can feel safe on campus knowing he’s watching over you when you need it. (Mostly watching Grim, tbh.)

Malleus

-We know that Malleus enjoys… creeping outside of Ramshackle.

-He spends quite a lot of time on your front lawn, therefore, he’s usually in proximity of you.

-However, he is very intimidating!

-As a young woman in a magical world that you are not from, a very tall man with horns is the exact opposite of what you want to be around.

-Besides, you’ve heard the rumors about him — how powerful he is, and how scary he is.

-Malleus, on the other hand, is admittedly curious about you.

-He finds humans in their own right incredibly interesting, but you are not just a regular human.

-You are a human who has no magic and is from another world entirely. 

-You are something he has never once seen in his whole life, so excuse his childish curiosity.

-Still, you’re sort of cleverly avoiding him at every chance you get, and he just can’t quite find the time to talk to you.

-Until one night, you come back rather late and you find him in your yard… again.

-You send Grim in by himself and decide to confront him by yourself, because you are tired of being afraid to fall asleep at night.

-“Hey, you, could you maybe not stare at my house in the middle of the night!”

-Oh. You are quite feisty, and very bold to approach Malleus Draconia with such an aggressive tone.

-“I’m unsure what you mean, I’m simply admiring the architecture.”

“I don’t care WHAT you’re doing, you’re freaking me out! I know you’re supposedly some big scary monster guy, but I need you to STOP being weird outside my house.”

“…My apologies…”

-Malleus is pleasantly surprised at your spunk — he’s never been spoken to like that, he’s excited by it.

-After you yell at him, you let him explain himself, and you realize he is just… really, really bad at socializing.

-He wasn’t watching you, he just really enjoys silence and ramshackle is the quietest place on campus — even with you living in it.

-So, you give him the benefit of the doubt, because he really does just seem like he’s lost on everything around him 90% of the time.

-You don’t hang out with him during the day, but if you happen to see him on your lawn (as he usually is), you go out and hang out with him for a while.

-It makes Malleus happy, because you treat him like a friend. You give him cute nicknames, and you invite him inside for snacks, and you go out of your way to say hello to him when you pass him in the halls.

-He also gets to know more about you, and his curiosities about you and your world get quelled.

-He doesn’t really question anything about you, especially not your gender.

-Gender is hardly important for fae, and you seem confident in your expression, so he has no reason to wonder. Besides, there are far more thrilling things about you than your sex.

-So, you and Malleus start to grow close. So close, in fact, that you can confidently say that he’s one of your closest friends.

-At this point, almost everyone who you want to know about your gender knows. Everyone but Malleus.

-Initially you kept it a secret because you didn’t know how good he was at not talking, but now…

-Now, well, you don’t really have a reason.

-People usually question you at this point, or at least seem suspicious, but Malleus?

-Malleus shows not a hint that he thinks something is up. It’s odd to you, isn’t he supposed to be super smart or something. Maybe he’s just too respectful.

-Regardless, you decided to talk to him about it the next time you see him staring at the gargoyles around campus.

-“Hey Tsunotaro, what’re you up to?”

“Just admiring these gargoyles here, aren’t they fascinating? They were the first few installed in the school, if my memory serves me correctly.”

“They are very cool, but could I ask you something not gargoyle related?”

“What is it, child of man?”

“You know that I’m, uhm, a girl right?”

“Oh. I did not know that, how interesting.”

-He doesn’t understand why you would hide that, but it doesn’t really perturb him that much.

-The most you got was an eyebrow raise, and then he was back to his gargoyles.

-You were pretty satisfied with that, so you figured he wouldn’t tell anyone… and then you hear him loudly talking about it with his friends in Diasomania.

-Sigh… he means well, but he just doesn’t get the social stuff.

-You’re not mad, because pretty much everyone knows at this point, but it still sucks that he’s such a loudmouth.

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Listening to Oxytocin by Billie Eilish imagining a 'FWB who are secretly in love with each other but just too kinky and not emotionally honest enough to do anything about it' situation with Rook Hunt and Cater Diamond (separately).

Or like, making a thirty trap to the song on a TWST version of TikTok just for the cast to reply it over and over again until they rub their skin raw.

(once again I am UNGODLY HORNY LOL!!! So enjoy my sin bestie)

Not going to lie, this was the first time I ever listened to Oxytocin by Billie Eilish. Not my favorite, but not bad.

Warnings: 18+, Gender-neutral! Reader, no specific ‘hole’ is mentioned (could be anal, could be vaginal), FWB relationship wth Rook and Cater (separately), bondage (Cater), not much smut in Rook’s (sorry)

Cater Diamond

It all started when you were both assigned a project in Professor Crewel’s class. The tension was definitely there, and since you were both in the privacy of Ramshackle, and Grim was sleeping in a different room, you both gave into your desires.

Neither one of you realized just how much physical chemistry you had with each other before that night, and since then, you have used approximately 47 boxes of condoms and counting. It was great stress relief for both of you, and it was a no-strings-attached agreement… unfortunately, it became quite clear that there were at least a few strings there.

The thing is… neither of you knew how to bring it up. For some reason, you both thought that it might not be the best time to talk about deep feelings when he was balls-deep in your throat, gently thrusting into your mouth and moaning as he felt you gag on his cock.

He has ranted about it to Trey, much to the baker’s dismay. He did not want to know about what you both did in your own time. However, he had no idea how to tell you that he loved you. That he wanted you for more than just your body. That he wanted to cuddle after having sex with you rather than get dressed and do the messy walk of shame back to Heartslabyul.

One day, however, you both were trying something out in bed… bondage. His hands were tied to the headboard as you rode him into oblivion. His fucked out face was one that you had many pictures of… but you never posted them. They were just for you.

Anyway, he was babbling complete nonsense, his dick being gripped tightly by your warmth as you ground your hips down. “I love you…” He muttered softly in-between whimpers, “Seven, I fucking love you… fuck… keep going, baby…”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately stop your ministrations. “What did you say, Cater?” His own eyes widen in response as he realized what he said, and he felt his heart thud harshly against his chest. “Uhh… Nothing! I said nothing! Who said anything about ‘love’? That’s crazy talk! You know me: Cray-cray Cay-Cay!”

However, you quickly shut him up by kissing his lips passionately, breaking one of the few rules the both of you set. It didn’t seem like Cater had any issue with this rule-breaking either, especially since he reciprocated and moaned against your lips as you continued riding him.

“I love you, too,” You whispered against his lips, “Shit!... I love you, Cater…”

Soon, he spilled his load into the condom, and you pulled yourself off of him and collapsed beside him, when he got up to dispose of the rubber. Then, he giggled excitedly as he climbed into bed next to you.

For now, this would remain private between the two of you, as well as Trey because Cater needs to tell someone, but neither of you could be happier with how your relationship shifted.

Rook Hunt

Your… relationship… with the French hunter started in Potionology. Your friends fucked up a potion and it spilled on you. With your luck, it turned out to be an aphrodisiac, and so Professor Crewel sent you back to Ramshackle to sleep it off.

Rook noticed that you weren’t running your usual errands, so he asked Ace, Deuce, and Grim for your whereabouts. When they explained to him what happened, his eyes widened in surprise and he immediately rushed to Ramshackle to help you out. Obviously, neither of you knew about the other’s feelings, but you were more than happy to have his help.

That day was when you realized that 1) he was wonderful in bed and 2) he had a stupidly large dick that hit everything it needed to. Let’s not even mention how good his hands are.

Anyway, even when the aphrodisiac wore off, you both still found reasons to find privacy together. You wanted to get dicked down, and Rook was more than happy to oblige as he loved you and your body. The other people on campus were more than happy about this arrangement too, since it meant that Rook didn’t have time to stalk them.

However, this friends-with-benefits relationship wasn’t like anything else. Rook, in every sense of the term, ‘made love’ to you. He was gentle and attentive, putting your pleasure above all else. He wanted to be your toy that would bring you pleasure. It made him feel good knowing that he made you feel good.

One day, after a rather intimate session together, you were both laying in your bed as you discussed things you would like to try with him. When you brought up a possible threesome in the future, he tensed up.

“Non, ma chérie. I do not much like the idea of sharing you with anyone else,” He admitted, looking into your eyes.

His words made your heart flutter, and the butterflies got worse as he leaned in to kiss you. However, you made no move to back away, and reciprocated it instead.

When you both pulled away, you both smiled happily at each other before settling back under the covers to get some rest.

[honeyhonest]

Trein and Vargas fucker here.

Ok, I'm also the one from the ghost nsfw fanfic (still in progress) and I've sent a lot of Crowley and Fellow asks. Considering the amount of stuff I've sent you I guess I'll sign my asks now.

Anyway, I have one request for now.

So, if reader was mad at Crowley to the point that they ignores him or locks themself in their room to avoid seeing him, what would he do to get their forgiveness back?

-Neo

YAYAYAYA HI TREIN ANON! I liked writing this I love this silly fuck

warnings: afab reader, barely any nsfw but there's cunnilingus right at the end

Does the punishment fit the crime? That is to say, what did he do now? Knowing the old crow, it was probably something annoying and insensitive (ignore your requests for more ramshackle repairs? avoid you all week? dump a new problem on you to fix? all three?) and deserved. Nonetheless, the moment he figures out that something is amiss, he's wounded. "What did I do wrong???" he whines, standing outside your door and knocking for hours (he at least has the decency not to pick the lock, or magic himself in) but it gets to the point where even Grim is begging you to open the door and put him out of his misery. The next day, you walk right past him on campus, and he looks so sad that even the self-absorbed students stop and stare at the pathetic display. A disgruntled Crewel comes to his office that afternoon with a message from you, which only worsens things (how humiliating is it that he must speak with you through Crewel? who, to make matters worse, takes your side!) and it's only about the dorm He goes through the five stages of grief outside your door Denial: "You're not really mad, you're only having a long week!" Anger: "I am your Headmage and you will answer me at once!" Bargaining: "Please... Prefect, if you answer me, I'll get you anything you want! I'll repair the leak in the attic, I'll personally tutor you, I'll get Grim all the tuna his little direbeast stomach could hold!" Depression: "You are killing me, did you know that?" Acceptance: "Very well... I'll be back tomorrow, my dear," By day three, he's made it everyone's problem. He won't do any work. He calls a staff meeting and then bursts into wails when Crewel asks if he's apologized to you yet. He calls an assembly and just talks nonsense for almost two hours. Leona actually considers just killing him to put him out of his misery Finally, when he can't take it anymore (it's been three and a half days) he says sorry for every single thing he's ever done to you. Putting you in Ramshackle, making you deal with the students, not looking for your home as much as he really should be, every single overblot and accident, each scratch that could have been caused by him, and- Grim throws open the door and tells both of you to just SHUT UP ABOUT EACH OTHER ALREADY! Whatever sick marital issues you're having, he doesn't want to hear another WORD OF IT! Crowley doesn't leave your side for days. Fussing over you, complimenting you, offering to do everything for you. It doesn't last forever, but at least he's. trying...? He insists on eating you out every night, which is something he doesn't often do (it's hard with the mask), and he's not half-bad at it, either (better than he is at sex, though that's not a high bar). That mouth can do more than talk about stupid shit is all I'm saying. He gets really into it, talons digging into your thighs, face truly buried between them, the beak of his mask pressing into your stomach, pushed up ever so slightly from the angle of it all... He humbly refuses to let you touch him, saying that pleasing you is enough... and then twenty minutes later he gives up the noble facade and asks to cum inside because he's hard and it huuurts </3

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [3]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.6k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: I happen to be very sick today so I figured I'd share another part of the series with y'all. Prepare for some angst and a pissed off, grumpy Jax. The next part is almost a complete draft, so more is coming. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind

Jax’s mind had been a noisy, dark place all day. He'd been smoking more than usual since that constant irritating, familiar itch for something was back again and demanding to be felt. It didn't help that his jaw ached from the way he'd been grinding it for hours, attempting to hold down the ever-present rage in his chest that felt like a coiled viper desperate to strike at something–anything. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before something set him off.

Drawing the beer bottle up to his lips for a deep pull, Jax sat back against one of the worn couches in the clubhouse. Legs spread wide, one of his hands absently toyed with his lighter against his thigh. Not even the alcohol had been helping to take the edge off his thoughts this evening as he watched the flame of his lighter flicker before he flipped the lid closed and snuffed it out once more.  

Across the clubhouse, Jax noticed one of the croweaters eyeing him from behind the bar. She had been shooting him flirtatious smiles and views down the front of her shirt whenever she bent over for the past twenty minutes now. For a brief moment, Jax had genuinely considered taking her down the hall and back to his dorm room. He’d thought that maybe shoving her facedown on the mattress for a quick fuck would briefly get Tara and Opie’s death out of his goddamned mind for just a little while. But for some reason the thought of fucking the same girl he'd seen with Tig last night only made that coil of anger twist tighter inside of himself. He didn't want her.

Bobby settled down on the opposite side of the couch from Jax, the movement catching his attention and causing Jax to tear his gaze away from the brunette behind the bar. Jax focused on his Vice President, watching as he rested his arm along the other armrest and sat half-turned on the cushion. There was a beer in Bobby’s own hand and a grim expression on his face as he quietly studied him. Jax could practically hear the words about to come out of Bobby's mouth before they even did. He was certain it was going to be a conversation that he'd had with him a few times now–and that only managed to piss Jax off more without Bobby even opening his mouth.

“What?” he finally snapped, unable to take the silent judgment any longer. “What is it?”

Bobby raised his hands in mock surrender, beer still clutched in one of them. “Didn’t say nothing, brother,” he answered calmly. “You just look like you’re ready to burn the whole place down over here.”

Jax’s fingers flicked his lighter shut once more, his eyes dropping down to where he’d been fidgeting with it on his lap. “Maybe I’m just thinking,” Jax countered sharply.

Bobby sighed, the expression shifting on his face as he took in Jax’s harsh tone. The sympathetic look in his eyes only managed to agitate Jax further, his hand gripping his own beer bottle tighter the moment his Vice President began speaking again.

“Brother, I know you’re feeling the loss of Opie,” Bobby began carefully. “We all are. And we’ll get retaliation for what happened to him. You know we will. We all want the same thing.”

Jax’s glare burned into the cement floor of the clubhouse as Bobby spoke. He didn’t like to think about how he’d lost his best friend just months ago. He didn’t want to remember that moment that haunted him, playing on repeat most nights when he closed his eyes. Ope hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved any of the shit that had happened to him over the past couple of years. 

But that was the life they led now, wasn’t it? Savage. Violent. Brutal. Unforgiving. Lonely. The many reasons Jax was trying to get the club out of running guns and into less dangerous business, especially after Abel had come into his life. Though it should have been Opie here as his Vice President talking to him right now. It should have been Ope talking him off the violent ledge he always seemed to be walking a thin line on lately. He’d always planned for it to be him at his right hand.

“There’s more to it than that,” Jax muttered bitterly.

Bobby nodded, more than aware that it wasn’t just Opie’s death plaguing Jax. He’d already been in a tailspin before that had happened, his best friend’s passing had just been the thing that had pushed him further into a spiraling descent fueled by rage and hate.

“Jax, man, you gotta let that go,” Bobby told him. “Tara made her choice. She left and it hurts, but it is what it is, brother. You can’t make her accept this life. You and I both know that the club life isn’t really meant for happy relationships and growing families. That’s how it’s always been.”

Jax’s jaw clenched again at Bobby’s words, his chest growing tighter. Bobby didn’t get it, not the full picture anyway. Because Jax had kept the full extent of what had happened with Tara a secret, one that was only known by Tara and himself. The club all had thought she had just come and gone from his life after Abel's birth complications, they had no idea that Agent Kohn really hadn't been in Charming investigating the Sons until he’d suddenly disappeared and left them all alone. The Sons had no idea that the psycho had actually been Tara’s ex who had followed her out here from Chicago, and that she’d most likely come here because she knew Jax would do something about it. That he was the only one who would. Because it was ultimately Jax who had finished Kohn off after Tara had shot him in self-defense when he’d tried to force himself on her. All his brothers had no goddamn idea that Jax had single-handedly disposed of the fed’s body after the fact, and now the secret lay buried within him, too. One that had been weighing on him heavily for more reasons than he cared to delve into.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Bobby,” Jax grumbled, his eyes still focused on his lighter. 

Another weary sigh fell out of Bobby as he glanced down at the beer bottle in his hands. “What I know is that you’ve been a mess ever since Tara left,” he continued carefully, full well knowing this was a difficult subject to broach with Jax. “We’ve all seen it, brother. You’ve got a shorter fuse lately, which leads to you not always making the best judgement calls. And we need you focused if we’re really going to get outta guns and get these other more legitimate businesses up and running successfully.”

Jax’s head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing at Bobby. He wasn’t making the best judgement calls? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? He’d had the weight of the club thrust onto his shoulders right before him, Juice, Ope, and Tig had gone into Stockton, right after Jax had stripped Clay of his place in the club for the betrayal of killing his and Opie’s father–and Jax was still itching for revenge on that.

“Look, all I’m saying is that we all see it, Jax,” Bobby continued, trying to keep his tone even and calm. “You’re hurting. We get it. But you’re the club President now. You need to own your shit and leave the past where it belongs. It’s been a year, brother.” He paused, taking in the growing look of annoyance on Jax's face. “Whatever you gotta do to get right with your shit, you know we’ll support you. But this anger you’re holding on to? This rage and pain? You gotta find a way to let it go before it eats you alive.”

“It's not that simple,” Jax growled.

He could feel that growing rage clawing at his chest, desperate for release. For a target. Something to just unleash his fury on, to tear into and rip apart.  

“You need to find a way to make it that simple,” Bobby countered. “You need to–”

“I don't need you to tell me what I need to do!” Jax roared, rising abruptly from the couch and onto his feet. “I’m handling my shit. And I don't ever wanna hear you bring Tara up to me again, brother.”

Without another word, Jax stalked his way out of the clubhouse, slamming his half-finished beer bottle harshly down onto a table as he passed it. Storming off towards the clubhouse exit, he shot the hangaround that had been behind the bar silently flirting with him a dark glare that had her quickly averting her attention from him. He didn't give a shit that the guys were staring at him right now or that he’d just made a scene and went off on his VP. He didn't give a shit about anything at the moment. 

Roughly pushing the clubhouse door open with a hand, Jax stepped out into the warm summer night. He slipped his hand into the pocket inside of his kutte, feeling for his pack of cigarettes by habit to light up yet another smoke for the night. But even as he slipped the cigarette between his lips and lit it, he knew he didn't really want that, either.

He pocketed his lighter with a growl, taking a deep drag as he began to pace the length of the clubhouse parking lot in the dim lights. Back and forth he stalked in long, agitated strides as he ran a hand through his hair. His other hand pulled the cigarette from between his lips as he sharply blew out a trail of smoke, his mind still racing. He hated that the guys had seen how unraveled he’d grown lately because of Opie’s violent and unexpected death along with all of the internal festering bullshit with Tara that he hadn’t come to terms with yet. It made him want to hit something. To bloody his fists, break bone. That anger in his chest like a coiled serpent was just begging for something to sink its fangs into.

As Jax once more turned and stalked down the length of the parking lot in front of the clubhouse, his eyes landed on movement from across the street. You. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, watching you through your front shop windows as that dark anger coiled a bit tighter at the sight of you. You were laughing and waving goodbye to one of your employees, clearly closing up for the night. 

Smiling. You were smiling again.

Not even processing his actions, Jax pulled the half-finished cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the pavement. Half-heartedly stomping it out with his shoe, his gaze was fixed on you through the windows as you began wiping down the countertop. And then he was moving, making his way out of the lot and across the street as if he was compelled. 

As he harshly shoved open the door to your shop and stepped inside, he immediately came to a halt in front of the door the moment you looked up at him. He had no fucking idea why he’d come in here, he just knew needed to get away from the clubhouse, and the last two times he’d been here, you’d somehow distracted him from his thoughts. But for some reason the warm, friendly smile that had quickly pulled itself across your pretty lips in greeting at the sight of him just made his eyes narrow into a sharp glare. Gemma’s words from the other day ran through his mind again–her warning to stay away from you–and his jaw clenched. You shouldn’t be smiling at him like that.

“Evening, Jax,” your bright, cheerful voice greeted him. “You’ve actually made it in tonight with ten minutes to spare before I close this time. Your timing is getting better.”

He didn’t react to your joke, not even the faintest twitch of his mouth. He just stood there, his lips pursed and his hands stuffed into his pockets. One of your brows arched at his silence, your head tilting curiously to the side as you watched him for a moment. Goddammit, he hated the way your eyes sometimes seemed to look straight through him like that.

“Can I…get you a coffee?” you asked hesitantly.

“No,” he grunted. “Don’t want a coffee.”

You set the cleaning supplies down onto the counter, that friendly smile still drawn wide over your lips. The sight of it was only further fueling that coiled rage in his chest, but he was trying to hold it back. For the moment.

“Okay, well,” you continued, unfazed by his answer, “I can offer you tea. Or I still have some peanut butter cookies left from the day.”

Jax shook his head sharply, that hardened expression still on his face as he stood just a few feet in front of the entrance to your shop. He didn’t want any of that. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was here, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you, either. Though he noticed that this time, the longer he stood here with you smiling at him, the more he found himself wanting to wipe that cheerful look right off of your goddamn face. No one should be so fucking happy.

You nodded slowly at his response, your eyes still taking in his tense form. “I’m just cleaning up before I close,” you tried again, words coming out more careful as you spoke. “If you’d like to have a seat, you’re welcome to keep me company. I wouldn’t mind some conversation while I clean up.”

Jax hesitated for a moment. The sort of company you were probably hoping for was absolutely not the kind he knew he’d give you tonight. But still, Jax eventually strode over towards the counter before he hooked a foot around one of the chair legs that was positioned in front of it, roughly pulling it towards himself. A shrill noise abruptly pierced the air as it slid across the wood laminate flooring. With his hardened eyes still fixed on you, he lowered himself into the seat and watched as you resumed wiping down the counter. And you were still fucking smiling.

“Why the fuck do you always look so goddamn cheerful?”

The question had fallen right out of Jax so quick and harsh that he hadn’t been able to hold it back. But that beautiful smile on your face that had remained there since he stepped into your shop was just pissing him off further. He didn’t like it. Not tonight. Not directed at him. He wanted to make it disappear.

“Because I actively choose to focus on the things in life that make me happy,” you answered simply. 

His eyes narrowed at that. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Glancing up at him from beneath your lashes, you appeared to catch the face he’d just made. Pausing in your cleaning of the counter, you set the towel back down and focused your full attention on Jax–something that made him shift in his seat.

“There’s always going to be things that make us happy or sad or angry,” you began. “That’s just life. We all experience it. But a long time ago, I chose to focus on the good things instead of dwelling on the painful ones.” Your smile softened as you gestured around you. “Like my coffee shop. I’ve always dreamt of having a place like this, and now I do.”

“The hell does a coffee shop have to do with anything?” he snapped. “How the hell does a job make you so happy all the damn time?”

You shrugged a shoulder and Jax watched as you rested both of your hands on the other side of the countertop. Despite his attitude and the tone he was giving you tonight, your smile had yet to waver. Something he didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t exactly pleasant company right now, but you didn’t seem bothered at all. It was irritating.

“Because it gives me purpose. I get to spend my days making other people happy,” you answered. “Which makes me happy. I brighten people’s days with a smile and a kind word along with a cup of coffee or tea. This place itself also gives people in Charming somewhere to come and connect with each other. And that makes me feel good, too.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at you, your response settling over him. You derived your happiness from making others happy? From caring about everyone else? Is that really what you were saying to him right now?

“Bullshit,” he replied sharply. “I call bullshit. No one is that selfless and kind without there being some sort of ulterior motive, sunshine.”

There’d been a less-than-friendly bite to the nickname as Jax said it. Almost mocking you. And that finally had your smile faltering just a bit. The sight caused that coiled rage inside of Jax to squirm restlessly in triumph. Like he’d found his target for the night. Before you could even react, Jax was speaking again, the words falling out of him.

“There’s no way you’re over here content to serve coffee to everyone,” he continued, an edge to his voice and a piercing look in his blue eyes. “That happy little barista persona of yours is a load of shit. It’s fake and you know it. And if you tell me it’s not, you’re just lying to your damn self. You’re not happy, there’s no fucking way considering I see you over here all the goddamned time working.” 

He gestured a ringed hand in your direction as you continued to stand there behind the counter, a hard to read expression on your face. But you weren’t smiling. For once, he’d started to knock that goddamn cheerful look right off of your pretty, friendly face. That only made Jax want to continue to tear into you.

“You’re a fake, sweetheart,” he spat. “And let me tell you something else.”

Jax pushed his chair back from the counter, that coiled serpent of rage in his chest seething as he rested his hands on the countertop. He leaned in closer towards you, his voice low and dangerous as he brought his face near yours, the coffee shop counter the only thing separating you both.

“You should know better than to be friendly towards a man like me,” he warned you. “I’m not good, sweetheart. I don’t do good things. And your little attempt to get through to me with your fucking fortune cookie language just makes you look pathetic and naive. I see right through you and your bullshit positivity that you so desperately cling to–you’re sad and lonely like everyone else. Why the fuck else would you be here so much trying to make nice with everyone you meet? You’ve got something missing inside of you just like the rest of us, sunshine.”

A satisfied smirk tugged up the corner of Jax’s lips as he pushed himself back from the countertop. You certainly weren’t smiling now. Your lips had actually thinned out along your face into a firm, straight line and you were gripping the edge of the countertop with both of your hands as if it was helping you keep yourself together. And reflecting back at him in your eyes was something that looked an awful lot like hurt. Like he’d struck a nerve with his words. 

“Not everyone has ulterior motives to their kindness,” you replied gently, the words coming out pained as you broke the tense silence that had fallen. “But maybe that’s all you’ve known. Either way, I appreciate you sharing your honest opinion of me, but I’d like to ask that you leave now because the shop is closed. You’re welcome to return tomorrow when we reopen.”

Jax’s expression hardened at your response. That wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted. Why weren’t you yelling? Calling him names? Cursing him out of your coffee shop? He’d just insulted you, been a complete asshole, and you were still holding firm to being polite?

Letting out a frustrated scoff, Jax turned around towards the exit without another word. He shoved the door roughly open with far more force than necessary before stepping back out into the warm summer evening. Internally fuming, he stalked off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of both the clubhouse and your coffee shop, his fists curled tight at his sides. 

That hadn’t made him feel better. Finding someone to tear down tonight, someone to unleash that pent up anger on, it hadn’t eased any of that burning ache in his chest. Knocking that smile off of your face hadn’t remotely soothed that rage inside of him. If anything, now he was feeling something else that he didn’t like. Something that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling often–guilt. That hurt, upset expression you’d had on your face after he’d went off on you like that had just looked so wrong on you after all the weeks he’d seen you through the windows smiling in your coffee shop. 

As Jax made his way around the street corner, agitatedly walking an aimless path through downtown Charming, he couldn’t help but to wonder why tearing into you like that had made him feel as fucking shitty as it had. He’d just wanted to see you not smile for once, to make you feel something other than that carefree lightheartedness that radiated from you. But ripping into you like that–you with your unflappable fucking kindness–felt like he’d just ripped the wings off of a dove.

[far-away-from-tulsa]

Sat in a stiff chair in the school office with bruised knuckles and dried blood under his nose, Darry Curtis knows he fucked up real bad.

It ain’t really even his fault, ‘cause he didn’t want to find his little brother gettin’ pushed around by his teammates—Darry’s friends, for God’s sake. He didn’t want to punch Paul when Paul grabbed Sodapop’s jacket and tugged, rippin’ the fabric and tearin’ a line straight down the seam of Soda’s favorite thing.

Darry just saw Soda’s eyes well with tears. And it was instinct to punch punch punch.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the office door bangin’ open and he spots his father.

Darrel—not Darry, ‘cause he would never go by Darry, he’s a full name and look me in the eyes when you speak to me, boy kinda guy—Curtis stands in the doorway lookin’ pissed to all hell, and Darry knows he gonna need a Hail Mary to get outta this.

His dad and the principal—no matter how many times the guy has said his name, Darry can’t remember it for shit—exchange some quiet words with grim looks on their faces before Darry’s called back into the principal’s office.

He’s always found it weird that the principal has an office inside the office, but he can tell that’s not his biggest issue right now when his father’s pushin’ his shoulders down and he’s plopped into another stiff chair across from the principal—God, the hell is this guy’s name?—and sent such a stern look that it makes him feel like he ain’t sixteen anymore, but six with mud cakin’ his face and snot runnin’ down his nose.

Principal dude sighs very loudly and very obnoxiously before sitting his chair on the other side, leaning over with his elbows on the desk like he’s tryna be sympathetic, as if Darry ain’t just another greaser wreakin’ havoc in his school.

“Darry, you’re a great kid. Your grades are remarkable, and your football playing is some of the best ever seen at this school. You know right from wrong. So why’d you attack those boys, kid? Most of them are your teammates, your friends.”

He says it all soft and gentle like, tryna get shit outta Darry like he ain’t accusin’ him of attacking people.

Darry didn’t attack nobody; those kids—Paul, God, Paul—fucked ‘round with his brother and found out the hard way.

Darry doesn’t respond. Rule number one of being a greaser: you shut your damn mouth about everythin’ and nothin’. He wipes under his nose, spottin’ more blood, crimson and wet, on his knuckle. It must be runnin’ again.

“Darrel,” his father growls, in a tone that says open your mouth before I open it for you. “Answer the man. Why’d you attack those boys?”

Darry shrugs, head down and blood drippin’ onto the chair. He can’t find it in himself to care much.

The principal sighs. “You have so much potential, Darry. Don’t throw that away in the name of violence.”

That stirs somethin’ inside Darry, somethin’ deep in his gut.

“I didn’t attack no one,” he says quietly, lookin’ up into the principal’s eyes. “They were pickin’ on my brother. Someone needed to do somethin’.”

The guys eyebrows raise, and Darry’s a bit surprised that his dad’s silent. He’ll probably get chewed out in the car.

“Is violence ever the answer?” the principal asks, and Darry can tell he’s fightin’ a smiles when Darry bites his bottom lip and looks away, mumblin’ a no, sir. “Exactly. I expected better from you. I think a five day suspension should be enough time to reflect on your actions and write those boys an apology. When you come back, I won’t be having to call your father here again, will I?”

Another no, sir and a coupla exchanged words later, Darry finds himself in the passenger’s side of his dad’s truck.

His dad’s grippin’ the steerin’ wheel so tight it might just snap under all the pressure as the pull outta the school parkin’ lot.

He’s in some deep shit now.

There’s a tense sorta quiet for three minutes and nineteen seconds—Darry counted—before his father finally says, in a low, whisperin’ voice, “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Darry doesn’t have an answer for that, ‘cause he don’t even know himself. He leans against the car window, hearin’ the birds chirpin’ away.

It’s April. Only two more long and dreadful months before Darry can get outta this hell hole, ‘way from the shit-talkin’ Socs that call themselves his friends before goin’ back to whisperin’ when they think he can’t hear ‘em. Away from the place that makes Paul an enemy and not . . . whatever they are.

“Y’know, your mother and I expect ya to be a role model. Your brothers look up’ta ya. You can’t be doin’ shit like this and expectin’ no consequences ‘cause whether ya like it or not, Darrel, this town won’t give ya any breaks.”

Whenever his dad gets madder and madder, his accent comes out stronger and stronger, slippin’ into his normally warm southern tones, like the one Darry would hear whenever they’d go visit his grandparents. Somethin’ like wind chimes and spun sugar. They ain’t wind chimes and spun sugar now.

“They were pushin’ ‘round Soda, what was I ‘posed to do?” Darry’s gettin’ madder too. Everyone always says they’re too alike.

Eyes on the road. His dad hasn’t looked at him once, even though he’s always preachin’ ‘bout the importance of eye contact and what it says ‘bout a person.

“What ya were ‘posed to do was stay outta it, Goddamnit. Soda ain’t need his big brother fightin’ all his battles. Kid needs to toughen up.”

Darry says nothin’. Wipes his bleedin’ nose on his hand. Soda shouldn’t need to toughen up. He’s fulla smiles and bright eyes, bouncin’ ‘round the house and knockin’ into things like a newborn fawn with wobblin’ legs and a nose to the wind.

It ain’t fair how Pony’ll need to toughen up too, washin’ his hands of the stories he makes Darry tell him at bedtime and the flower crowns he makes in the summer, forcin’ Darry to wear one and makin’ him pinky promise to keep it on forever, as if Darry would ever take it off.

It ain’t fair how Darry’s gettin’ suspended and chewed out by his father while his teammates and Paul are bein’ slapped on the back and fist-bumped and told how brave they are for standin’ up to a big bad greaser like him.

Ain’t none of it fair, but life as a greaser rarely is.

[whoretan]

ARK 45 | 03

Summary: One misstep spirals into chaos. An "audition," a quiet dinner—and suddenly, you’re in the lion's den, with secrets unraveling faster than you can catch your breath.

WC: 11.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader (ft. Jimin)

tags: um, this is long af, shit is getting INTEEEENSE, everyone is up to no good, does this bitch have a degradation kink?

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 (ur here)

Your heels click against the marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in your skull. The security guard barely glances up as you flash your ID, probably because you look like death warmed over. 

You'd spent an hour in the shower trying to scrub away the feeling of Jimin's hands, his mouth against your skin. The memory burns through your mind like acid, making your stomach clench.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for your current state of mind. You step inside, jabbing the button for the executive floor harder than what was necessary. Your reflection stares back at you from the mirrored walls, and you note with grim satisfaction that at least the bruises on your cheeks have faded to a dull pink. The ones on your shoulders, hidden beneath your crisp white blouse, are a different story.

The massive oak doors leading to Jimin's office loom at the end of the hallway like sentries. You force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of settling into your desk and powering up your computer.

Your phone vibrates in your purse, making you jump. Unknown number. Odd. You consider letting it go to voicemail, but something makes you answer.

"Hello?"

"Joanna Webb?" A smooth female voice asks. Your stomach drops at the fake name. No fucking way. "This is Jessica from ARK 45. Mr. Jeon would like you to come in for a second interview tonight at 11."

Your throat goes dry. Jimin's office doors seem to mock you from down the hall, holding secrets you'd rather forget.

"Miss Webb?" The woman prompts. "Are you there?"

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'll be there."

You end the call, fingers trembling slightly as you lower the phone. The familiar ding of your email draws your attention to the screen.

Dear Park Incorporate, This is the Goutman Courier Services, regarding Shipment 401928 to the Terrero region has been successfully delivered.

The blood in your veins turns to ice. Jungkook's shipments. The very thing that started this whole mess.

You stand from your desk, legs unsteady. The walk to Jimin's office feels like a death march. Each step brings you closer to facing him, to pretending last night never happened while discussing business that could— probably will— get you both killed.

Your knuckles rap against the solid wood before you can lose your nerve.

"Come in."

Jimin's voice carries through the door, professional and detached. As if he hadn't left bruises on your skin just hours ago. As if you weren't still feeling the ghost of his touch with every breath.

You turn the handle, stepping into the lion's den.

The first thing you notice is the sound– rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall of his office. The second is the scent of his cologne, stronger now, mixing with the rich leather of his chair and something else. Coffee, maybe. Black, no sugar, like always.

Jimin doesn't look up from the stack of papers on his desk. His shoulders are rigid beneath his tailored suit jacket, an unusual tension in his normally fluid posture. A strand of black hair falls across his forehead as he signs something with careful precision.

"You received an email," you say, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickens when his pen stills. "Goutman Courier Services. The shipment to Terrero was delivered."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Still, he doesn't look up. "Close the door."

You turn, giving him your back as you push the heavy door shut. The soft click of the latch feels too loud in the quiet office. When you face him again, his eyes are fixed on the papers before him, but his pen hasn't moved.

"Anything else?" he asks, tone professionally distant. As if he hadn't left marks all over your body mere hours ago. As if you couldn't still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped around your throat.

Thunder rolls outside, making the windows tremble. You take a measured step forward, heels sinking into the plush carpet. "ARK 45 called. They want me to come in tonight."

Now he looks up. His dark eyes find yours, and for a moment, that careful mask of indifference slips. Something hungry flashes across his features before he can catch it, gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"Interesting." He leans back in his chair, finally abandoning the pretense of working. His fingers drum once against the leather armrest – the only tell that he's affected at all. "What time?"

"Eleven."

His gaze drifts to your neck, lingering just behind your ear. A slight furrow appears between his brows. "You missed one."

Heat crawls up your spine as his meaning registers. The hickey. You resist the urge to touch the spot, to cover it like a guilty teenager. Instead, you maintain eye contact, watching as his pupils dilate slightly.

"I'll take care of it," you say, voice low. Professional. Even as your skin burns under his scrutiny.

He nods once, sharp and dismissive. "That's all."

You turn to leave, focusing on keeping your steps measured, unhurried. The weight of his stare follows you across the room like a physical touch. Just as your fingers brush the door handle, his voice stops you.

"And ___?"

You pause, not turning around. "Yes?"

A beat of silence, filled only by the steady drumming of rain. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: "Be careful."

The words settle between your shoulder blades like a blade.

The handle feels like ice beneath your palm as you pull the door shut behind you. Your heels click against the marble with each step back to your desk, mind racing behind your carefully blank expression.

Be careful.

The words replay in your mind as you sink into your chair. Coming from Jimin, they may as well be a death sentence. He doesn't tell you to be careful– not when you're tracking targets, not when you're disposing of bodies, not even when you're playing with fire in the form of Richard Ricci's empire.

Why would Jungkook want you back?

The question pulses through your mind as you stare unseeing at your computer screen. He'd made it crystal clear what he thought of you. Called you a whore before walking away like you were nothing more than a mild inconvenience in his night.

But he'd known who you were.

He'd known, and he'd still let you grind against him, his hands guiding your hips like he owned them. Like he wasn't fully aware that those same hips had been positioned over his father's body weeks before.

Rain continues to pour outside your window, the sky growing darker as evening approaches. You spend the rest of the day moving through the motions of being a secretary, all while your mind dissects every possible angle. Every potential trap. Every way this could end with you in a body bag.

Your reflection catches in one of ARK 45's tinted windows as you approach. The black dress hugs every curve, falling just below your knees, the off-shoulder neckline exposing enough skin to be enticing without looking desperate. 

You'd curled your hair, letting it fall in waves behind your shoulders, and painted your lips the exact shade of red that coats the bottoms of your Louboutins.

The neon sign bleeds red through the rain, and the bouncer simply nods, same from before, pulls the door open without a word. No clipboard. No questions.

They're expecting you.

The main floor of ARK 45 pulses with a different energy tonight. Gone are the typical strobe lights and pounding bass, replaced by something deeper, darker. The air is thick with expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and worn leather- the scent of old money and even older sins.

Red velvet drapes frame the main stage, and crystal chandeliers cast shadows that dance across the walls like wandering spirits. The usual poles have vanished, leaving an expanded platform dotted with vintage microphones and elaborate props.

Men in tailored suits crowd the tables, drinking amber liquid from crystal glasses while their eyes follow the girls who weave between tables in elaborate costumes - corsets dripping with jewels, feathers that trail behind them like oil spills.

"This way," the hostess says, leading you toward one of the elevated booths that line the upper level.

A voice like honey and smoke fills the space, drawing your attention to the stage. A woman in a black corset trails her fingers down the microphone stand, her red lips forming words that make the men below her lean forward in their seats. The backing track builds slowly, promising something sinful.

"You must be the new girl."

You turn to find a woman leaning against the railing beside you. Her costume- if you can call it that - consists mainly of strategically placed crystals and black lace. A snake tattoo winds up her thigh, disappearing beneath the lace.

"I'm Angelina," she says, eyes scanning you with the kind of attention usually reserved for identifying weaknesses. Her gaze lingers on your shoes, your dress, calculating something behind her practiced smile. "Haven't seen you around before."

You take her offered hand. "Joanna."

"Hmm." She tilts her head, studying you like a cat who's found something interesting to play with. "Private booth on your first night? That's... unusual."

The word carries weight, a warning wrapped in curiosity. On stage, the singer's voice builds to a crescendo, and Angelina's smile sharpens.

"Enjoy the show, honey. And remember,” she leans in close enough that her breath tickles your ear, "not everyone survives their first night here."

You watch Angelina sashay away, cataloging every detail with the same precision you use before a kill. The slight favor of her left leg when she walks- old injury, probably a torn ACL. The way her eyes dart periodically to the VIP section as if she's waiting for someone's attention. The calculated swing of her hips doesn't match the nervousness in her fingers as they tap against her thigh.

She's scared of something. Or someone.

The realization brings a familiar thrill to your spine, the same one you'd felt watching John squirm in his chair. People are always so easy to read when they're afraid. Like now, watching the way Angelina keeps glancing over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her practiced smile.

You could break her in half without smudging your lipstick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as the hostess gestures to the booth. You slide into the plush leather seat, letting the elevation give you a better vantage point of the club. The strategic positioning isn't lost on you- perfect view of the stage, but your back exposed to the door. 

The opening notes of "Fever" fill the air as the curtains part. Three dancers emerge, their movements liquid and practiced. You force yourself to appear engaged even as your mind dissects every possible exit route. Two through the main floor, one through the kitchen if you cut through the service corridor, and, if things get really ugly, the large windows could work with enough momentum.

The leather seat dips beside you.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don't need to turn to know who's joined you, his presence alone sets every instinct on high alert. But you do turn because that's what an innocent wannabe dancer would do.

Jungkook lounges against the leather like he was born to it, one arm draped across the back of the seat. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. His dark eyes find yours, and his lips curve into that same arrogant smile that had haunted you all day.

"I always keep my appointments, Mr. Jeon."

The lights from the stage catch on his Patek Philippe watch, the kind that costs more than most people make in a year. His black suit is perfectly tailored, each line custom cut to his frame, making him look like sin personified. The fabric shifts like liquid shadow as he moves, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. His hair is slicked back tonight, showcasing the sharp angle of his jaw, the dangerous curve of his lips.

A heavy silver ring adorns his right hand as he signals for service, the same hand that had gripped your hips days ago. You notice there's an engraving on it, but can't make out the details in the dim lighting.

"Champagne," he tells the server without taking his eyes off you. "The Armand de Brignac."

His voice carries that same arrogant lilt from before, but there's something else there now. Something predatory lurking beneath the polished surface. You've heard that tone before, in your own voice, right before you go for the kill.

"Expensive taste," you comment, watching his reaction. Testing.

His lips quirk upward, and he shifts slightly closer. The movement is subtle, calculated. Like a snake coiling before it strikes. "I only invest in things that interest me."

On stage, the dancers move through their routine, all glitter and grace. But you're hyperaware of every micro-expression that crosses Jungkook's face. The slight tightening around his eyes when he smiles. The controlled way he breathes. The steady rhythm of his thumb taps against his knee.

He's studying you just as intently.

"Tell me about your dance experience," he says, accepting two crystal flutes from the returning server. The champagne glows golden in the low light as he hands you a glass. "You seem... experienced in movement."

Your fingers brush his as you take the glass, and you swear you feel him tense for a fraction of a second. "I'm versatile," you reply, matching his tone. "I adapt to whatever the situation requires."

Something dark flashes behind his eyes. He takes a slow sip of champagne, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. When he lowers the glass, his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop on his bottom lip.

"Adaptability is crucial in this line of work." His gaze drops to your neck, lingering on the spot where you'd covered the hickey. "Things can get... intense here. Not everyone can handle the pressure."

The implications hover in the air between you, sharp as razor wire. Below, the music swells to a crescendo, but all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as he leans closer.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Joanna?"

The way he says your fake name makes your skin crawl. Like he's savoring some private joke.

You meet his gaze over the rim of your glass, letting the champagne sit untouched. "I've handled more intense situations than you could imagine, Mr. Jeon."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He shifts again, angling his body toward yours, and the expensive fabric of his suit brushes against your bare shoulder. The contact sends electricity racing down your spine.

"Have you?" His eyes are impossibly dark in the low light. "Tell me about them."

On stage, one of the dancers lets out a sultry laugh that echoes through the club. Jungkook doesn't even blink. His attention is laser-focused on you, waiting for your next move like this is all some elaborate game of chess.

"My last position was..." you pause, watching his ring catch the light as his fingers tighten infinitesimally around his glass, "particularly demanding. The kind of job that keeps you up at night."

His smile grows wider, showing teeth. "I can imagine. But that's what I appreciate in my employees— dedication. The willingness to do whatever it takes."

The music shifts to something slower, heavier with bass. Jungkook's knee brushes yours under the table, and this time it doesn't feel accidental.

"Even if it means getting your hands dirty?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Something flashes in his eyes, triumph, maybe. Or hunger. He leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Especially then," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "Though I have to admit, you don't strike me as someone afraid of a little mess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he reaches across you, arm brushing your collarbone as he sets his empty glass on the table. The movement brings his lips close to your ear.

"Tell me, Joanna," your false name drips from his tongue like honey-coated poison, "what exactly are you willing to do for this position?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze at close range. This close, you can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow. Can count his individual lashes.

"Whatever's necessary," you breathe, watching his pupils dilate. "I'm very... thorough in my work."

His exhale ghosts across your lips. "Are you?" One hand slides from the back of the booth to rest on your bare shoulder, fingers tracing patterns that feel like threats. "Even when it gets messy?"

The touch burns through your skin, but you hold still. Like facing down a predator. "The messier the better, Mr. Jeon."

His grip tightens fractionally on your shoulder. "Call me Jungkook."

On stage, the music builds to something primal, all bass and breathy moans. The dancer's silhouette writhes against the backdrop of red velvet. But in your booth, time seems to stop, crystallizing around the dangerous game you're playing.

"You know," his thumb brushes your collarbone, "I had someone look into your background."

Your pulse skips, but you don't flinch. Can't flinch. "Find anything interesting?"

His laugh is low, dark. The kind of sound that promises violence. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing before six months ago." His fingers trail up to the spot behind your ear where Jimin's mark had been. "It's like you appeared out of thin air."

"Maybe I did."

"Or maybe," he leans impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, "you're very good at covering your tracks."

Heat pools in your stomach, warring with the ice in your veins. Every instinct screams to put distance between you, to run. But you're trapped between his body and the leather seat, his cologne filling your lungs with each breath.

"Tell me, Jungkook," you turn your head, letting your lips brush his jaw as you speak, "do you always investigate your dancers so thoroughly?"

His other hand finds your knee beneath the table, fingers splaying across bare skin. "Only the interesting ones." His grip tightens, thumb stroking slow circles that make your breath catch. "Only the ones with secrets."

You feel his smile against your temple. "And you, Joanna? You seem like you're full of them."

His thumb continues its torturous path along your knee, each circle drawing slightly higher. The touch burns through your skin like a brand, setting every nerve ending alight. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel this unraveled, this desperate to maintain control while your body betrays every attempt at composure.

"So many secrets," he murmurs against your skin, and you can feel his smile widening. His cologne fills your lungs with each shortened breath, making your head spin. Or maybe that's from the heat of his palm sliding higher up your thigh, fingers splaying possessively across bare skin.

The rational part of your brain screams that this is dangerous, that you're losing control of the situation. But your treacherous body leans into his heat like a moth to flame. Your eyes flutter shut as his other hand traces patterns on your shoulder that feel like ownership, like promises of violence wrapped in silk.

His breath fans across your neck, lips barely grazing your pulse point. "I wonder what other surprises you're hiding."

A small sound escapes your throat- half gasp, half surrender. Your fingers grip the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in deep enough to leave crescents in the expensive material. The music from the stage feels distant, muffled under the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Then. A shift.

The pressure of his fingers lessens incrementally. His breath moves away from your neck, the loss of heat making you suppress a shiver. When you force your eyes open, he's leaning back slightly, watching you with dark satisfaction.

"Tell me something," he says, voice dropping lower as his hand stills on your thigh. "Do you always get this... affected during job interviews?"

The question cuts through the haze like ice water. You watch as he withdraws completely, each movement deliberate and controlled. He straightens his perfect suit jacket, adjusts the heavy silver ring on his finger. All trace of intimacy bleeds from his expression, replaced by cool professionalism, except his eyes. His eyes still burn with dark amusement at your flushed state, at the way your chest still rises and falls too quickly.

"Well," he says, tone shifting to something lighter, almost casual. But there's a edge underneath, sharp as a razor. "I think you'll make an excellent addition to ARK 45."

You force your breathing to steady, trying to ignore how your skin still tingles where he touched you. How your body aches at the sudden loss of contact. His calculated withdrawal feels like another form of torture, knowing he can affect you this way and simply choose to stop, like flipping a switch.

"The position is yours, if you want it." Each word is crisp, businesslike. But the slight quirk of his lips betrays his satisfaction at your struggle to compose yourself. "You'll start tomorrow night. Eight sharp."

The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth grows wider as he watches you process this shift. This is what he wanted: to prove he could unmake you with a touch, then sit there looking perfectly composed while you try to piece yourself back together.

His eyes gleam in the low light, and the message is clear: he owns this game.

"I should check on the other girls." He glances at his Patek Philippe, the gesture unnecessarily theatrical. "Busy night."

You watch him stand, every movement fluid and precise. Like a predator who's finished playing with his food for now. The leather of his shoes catches the stage lights as he steps back from the booth, giving him just enough space to button his suit jacket with practiced ease.

"Oh, and Joanna?" The fake name rolls off his tongue like a threat wrapped in velvet. "Wear red tomorrow. It suits you."

His eyes drift pointedly to your lips, then lower, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical touch. You know he's remembering the other night - you in that red dress, grinding against him to The Weeknd while he played along with your charade.

He turns without waiting for a response, without a second glance. Like you're already forgotten. The dismissal stings more than it should.

The leather seat still holds his warmth, a ghost of his presence that makes your skin prickle. Through the crowd below, you catch glimpses of him, the broad line of his shoulders, the predatory grace in his movements. Bodies part for him instinctively, and you notice how the other dancers' eyes follow his movement, some with hunger, others with barely concealed fear. Even Angelina straightens her spine when he passes.

He stops at the bar, and even from here, you can see how the bartender's hands shake slightly as she pours his drink. Everyone in his orbit seems to vibrate at a different frequency. Like planets circling a black hole, both drawn to and terrified of getting too close.

You press your own trembling fingers against the cool glass table, watching condensation gather beneath your skin. Your thigh still burns where he touched you, each point of contact a silent reminder of how easily he'd played you.

You're supposed to be better than this. You've tortured men twice his size without breaking a sweat. Have ended lives with the same hands that are now unsteady against the table's surface. The Viper doesn't get rattled by pretty boys in expensive suits.

Except Jungkook isn't just a pretty boy, is he?

The way he'd touched you, like he knew exactly how it would affect you. How he'd pulled back at the precise moment you started to lose control. Each word, each gesture calculated for maximum impact.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your lip catches between your teeth as you watch him disappear into his office. The entire interaction plays on loop in your mind: his fingers on your skin, that dangerous smile, the sudden shift to cool professionalism. Like a choreographed dance where you'd somehow missed half the steps.

On stage, the dancers transition into something slower, more sensual. The spotlight catches on their jewels, sending fractured light across the walls like broken glass. Like the shattered pieces of your usually impeccable composure.

What kind of game is he really playing?

The champagne bubbles mock you from their crystal prison, and you resist the urge to knock the glass over. To create some small chaos in his perfectly controlled world. Instead, you dig your nails deeper into your palms, using the sharp pain to center yourself.

Two can play at whatever this is. Tomorrow night, you'll be ready for him.

At least, you hope.

The untouched champagne mocks you as you finally push yourself up from the booth. Your legs feel steadier now, the trembling in your hands replaced by something more familiar: determination. Tomorrow, you'll be ready for whatever game Jungkook's playing. Tonight, you just need to get the fuck out of here.

The music thrums through your bones as you navigate the upper level, each step carefully measured in your Louboutins. The red soles flash with every movement, reminding you of his parting words. 

Wear red tomorrow.

Your heel catches on the last step down from the VIP section when a solid wall of expensive fabric collides with you. The sound of glass shattering cuts through the music, followed by a string of creative expletives.

"What the fuck?"

You steady yourself against the railing, taking in the man before you. Honey-blonde hair, sharp features twisted in fury, and a white button-down now soaked through with what smells like top-shelf whiskey. The liquid darkens the fabric, making it cling to what's clearly an expertly muscled frame.

"Watch where you're fucking walking," he snarls, accent thick with anger. His eyes flash dangerously as he assesses the damage to his clothes.

Something hot and familiar rises in your chest. The same feeling you get right before you make someone bleed. Your body shifts automatically, weight transferring to the balls of your feet. You catalog his weaknesses with practiced ease - the slight favor of his left side, the exposed tendons in his neck, the way his anger makes him drop his guard.

Three moves. That's all it would take to put him on his knees. Heel to instep, elbow to throat, knee to solar plexus. You can almost taste the violence, feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath your hands.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," you snap back, straightening to your full height. "Or is spatial awareness not a requirement for whatever it is you do here?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails biting crescents into your palm. The urge to hurt him pulses through your veins like poison. You imagine grabbing the broken glass at his feet, showing him exactly who you are by opening his throat right here on the club floor.

He notices your stance, the predatory stillness that's overtaken your body, and his lips curve into something cruel. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Try it."

You're moving before you can think better of it, body coiling like a spring. The distance between you closes to inches, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the moment his eyes widen as he realizes his mistake in challenging you.

But then you catch it— movement in your peripheral vision. In the VIP section above, Jungkook lounges against the railing, watching the scene unfold with undisguised amusement. His dark eyes meet yours, and that familiar smirk plays at his lips.

The reminder of where you are, who you're supposed to be, hits like cold water.

You force your body to relax, untangling yourself from the knife's edge of violence. The smile you plaster on feels like broken glass in your mouth. "I'm so sorry about your shirt. Send me the cleaning bill?"

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up at your sudden shift in demeanor. He opens his mouth to respond, but Jungkook's voice cuts through the tension.

"Taehyung." Just the one word, but it carries weight. A warning, maybe. Or a command.

Taehyung's posture changes instantly, though the anger still simmers in his eyes. "We're not done," he mutters, low enough that only you can hear.

You watch him stalk toward the VIP section, those expensive shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. When you glance back up, Jungkook is still watching you. His grin widens like you've just confirmed something he suspected.

Like you've just played right into his hands.

The broken glass crunches beneath your heels as you turn away, forcing yourself to maintain an easy stride despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You can feel Jungkook's eyes following your movement, heavy as a physical touch. But you don't look back. Won't give him the satisfaction.

The main floor feels suffocating now, with too many bodies, and too much perfume mixed with smoke and expensive liquor. Your skin prickles with awareness, hyperconscious of how many of these faces might report back to him. How many are watching your exit, cataloging every micro-expression?

The cool night air hits your face like salvation when you finally push through the entrance doors. Rain still falls in sheets, casting halos around the street lights and turning the sidewalk into a mirror of neon reflections. Your hair will be ruined, but you welcome the excuse to duck your head as you navigate to your car.

It's only when you're safely behind the wheel, rain drumming against the roof, that you let out the breath you've been holding. Your hands shake slightly as you pull out your phone, droplets of water falling from your hair onto the screen.

You stare at Jimin's contact for a long moment before typing:

Need to meet. Now.

The response comes before you can even set the phone down. One word, like a command:

Côte.

Of fucking course. Trust Jimin to pick the most pretentious restaurant in the city after the night you've had. The kind of place where the waiters look down their noses if you can't pronounce 'bouillabaisse' with the proper French inflection. Where they serve portions that wouldn't satisfy a toddler and charge more than your monthly ammunition budget for the privilege.

He's probably already there, sipping some overpriced wine and charming the staff with his perfect pronunciation while you sit here in rain-soaked designer wear, still trembling with the urge to break Taehyung's pretty face.

You start the engine, watching rain cascade down the windshield. In the rearview mirror, ARK 45's red glow bleeds into the night like an open wound.

Time to find out just how deep this one goes.

Côte buzzes with the quiet murmur of New York's elite, the soft clink of crystal, the whisper of expensive fabric, the gentle scrape of silver against bone china. Every table draped in pristine white cloth, every surface reflecting the warm glow of crystal chandeliers.

Jimin sits at a table dead center in the dining room, positioned like a king holding court. His suit is different from this morning, a black Tom Ford that probably costs more than a car. The rosary still hangs at his throat, catching light with each breath.

He doesn't look up from his wine when you approach, just gestures to the chair across from him with two fingers. The movement is elegant, casual. Terrifying.

"You're late," he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry across the table. A waiter materializes beside you, pulling out your chair with practiced efficiency.

"Traffic." You slip into the seat, hyperaware of the other diners. A couple to your left celebrating an anniversary. Business meeting three tables over. Everyone within earshot of whatever game Jimin wants to play.

His eyes finally meet yours as he sets down his wine glass. "How was your evening?"

The question sounds innocent enough, but his gaze is sharp as a blade. Testing.

"Productive." You accept the wine list from the hovering waiter, not bothering to open it. "My interview went well."

"Wonderful." He smiles, the kind that makes people think of angels instead of demons. "The Château Latour, François. The 1982, I think."

The waiter's eyes widen slightly at the casual mention of a wine that costs more than he makes in a month. "Excellent choice, monsieur."

Jimin waits until François retreats before speaking again. "And the entertainment? Up to standard?"

You think of Jungkook's hands on your skin, of Taehyung's fury, of the violence you'd barely contained. "Exceptional. Though I had a small wardrobe malfunction."

His finger traces the rim of his glass, the motion hypnotic. Deliberate. "Nothing that can't be fixed, I hope?"

"No permanent damage." You hold his stare, refusing to look away first. "Though I might need to adjust my approach."

"Hmm." The sound is noncommittal, but his eyes darken fractionally. "The clientele can be... demanding. Particularly the regulars."

François returns with the wine, going through the elaborate ritual of presentation and pouring. Jimin maintains perfect posture, the picture of refined wealth, while you fight the urge to drain your glass in one go.

"I noticed," you say once the waiter disappears again. "One seemed particularly interested in my qualifications."

Jimin's lips curve slightly. "Natural talent tends to draw attention."

"The foie gras to start," Jimin tells François without consulting the menu. "For both of us." His eyes never leave your face, studying every micro-expression like he's reading a book written in your skin. "And perhaps you could tell me more about these... qualifications they found so fascinating."

You watch him take another sip of wine, the motion deliberately slow. The crystal catches the light, sending prisms across the white tablecloth between you. "Standard interview questions. Experience, availability, flexibility."

"Flexibility," he repeats, setting down his glass with precise care. "Essential in any new position."

A couple at the next table laughs at something, the sound jarring against the tension coiling between you and Jimin. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on either side of his place setting. The position looks casual, but you recognize the predatory intent behind it.

"And the dress code?" His voice drops lower, intimate. "Did they have any specific requirements?"

Heat crawls up your neck as you remember Jungkook's parting words. Wear red tomorrow. "They seem to have strong opinions about color."

"Red, perhaps?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "It does suit you. Particularly when it's fresh."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. The double meaning hits like a slap, red like the dress he'd given you, red like the blood you spill for him. You force yourself to take a measured sip instead of throwing the contents in his perfect face.

"They also seemed interested in my... previous work experience."

"Did they?" Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "And how deep did that conversation go?"

François appears with the foie gras, arranging the plates with flourish. Jimin sits back, that angelic smile returning as he thanks the waiter in perfect French. But the moment François retreats, his expression shifts back to something hungrier.

"Every detail," he says softly, cutting into the foie gras with surgical precision. "I want to know every detail of how interested they were."

You mirror his movements, cutting into your own foie gras with deliberate care. "The owner took a particular interest."

"Did he?" Jimin's voice remains light, conversational, but his knuckles whiten slightly around his fork. "How hands-on of him."

The foie gras turns to ash in your mouth as you remember Jungkook's fingers on your thigh, that calculated intimacy. Jimin watches you swallow, his dark eyes catching every tell you're trying to hide.

"Very." You take another sip of wine to wash away the memory. "He has an interesting approach to personnel management."

The businessman three tables over laughs too loudly at something his companion says. Jimin doesn't even blink, his focus razor-sharp on your face. "I imagine he does. Did he share his management philosophy?"

Your thigh burns with phantom heat where Jungkook had touched you. Where Jimin had marked you the night before. "He believes in testing boundaries."

"Testing?" His tongue catches the word like it's something sweet. "Or crossing them?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you wait until the footsteps fade before responding. "Both, I think."

Jimin sets down his fork with careful precision, the small clink against fine china somehow ominous. "And did you let him?" 

The question hangs between you like a blade. You know he's not really asking about Jungkook's tests, not entirely. The marks he left on your skin throb beneath your dress, a reminder of boundaries already crossed.

"I played my part," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken. "Though there was a small... incident with one of his associates."

His eyebrow raises a fraction. "Oh?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"I'm sure." He reaches for the wine bottle, refilling your glass with practiced ease. The motion brings him closer, and his cologne mingles with the rich scent of the food. "Though handling things isn't always the wisest course of action, is it?"

"Depends on the situation," you say, watching him settle back into his chair. "Some things require a... delicate touch."

"Ah yes." His smile is razor-sharp. "And you're known for your delicacy. Like a bull in a china shop." His eyes flick to something over your shoulder. "Speaking of which, François? We'll take the lamb. Rare."

The waiter appears to clear your plates, and Jimin's expression shifts seamlessly into practiced charm. The transition is terrifying, the way he can slip between masks like trying on clothes.

"Though I have to admit," he continues once François disappears, "I'm curious about this associate. The one you handled so delicately."

You think of Taehyung's fury, the whiskey soaking his shirt. The way Jungkook had watched it all unfold like it was a show put on for his entertainment. "Just a minor misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding." He tastes the word like the wine, letting it roll over his tongue. "The way a hurricane is a minor weather event?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "He started it."

"What are you, twelve?" But there's something almost fond in his mockery. It vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by that calculating stare. "Tell me, did our friend upstairs seem amused by your little display?"

The memory of Jungkook's knowing smirk makes your stomach clench. "Extremely."

"Mm." Jimin's fingers drum once against the stem of his wine glass. "How fascinating. The mighty Viper, reduced to bar room brawls and schoolyard excuses."

Your nails dig into your palm beneath the table. "Would you prefer I'd killed him instead? Made a scene? Blown my cover on the first—"

The word dies in your throat as Jimin's eyebrow arches a fraction. The subtle movement is more effective than a slap, reminding you of the couples dining nearby, the waiters hovering within earshot. Your voice had risen just enough to draw a curious glance from the businessman two tables over.

"What I prefer," Jimin says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "is precision. Control." His smile remains perfectly pleasant, but his eyes promise consequences. "Perhaps we should discuss your methods of subtlety instead? Besides attempting to assault his inner circle?"

The weight of his stare makes you reach for your wine glass, needing something to do with your hands. Something besides imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that controlled expression off his face.

"Well?" He leans back slightly as François approaches with the lamb, switching seamlessly into the role of gracious diner. "Merci, François. C'est parfait."

The meat on your plate is exactly as he ordered, blood red in the center. You wonder if he's trying to make a point.

"The owner," you say once François retreats, keeping your voice carefully modulated. "He had questions about my background."

"I'm sure he did." Jimin cuts into his lamb with surgical precision. "And did our thorough friend find what he was looking for?"

The memory of Jungkook's words echoes in your mind: It's like you appeared out of thin air. "He seemed... satisfied with the interview."

"Satisfied enough to hire you, apparently." Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "Though I have to wonder what kind of performance earned such a quick decision."

The double meaning in his words makes your chest tight. You watch him take a deliberately slow bite of lamb, the crystal chandelier above casting shadows across his features that make him look almost demonic.

"I maintained my cover," you say carefully. "Like you asked."

His laugh is soft, barely a breath. "Did you? Because from what I hear, you gave quite the... private audition."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. How does he—

"I do love," he continues, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "how dedicated you are to your roles. Tell me, did he request the same song as last time? Or did you choose something new for the occasion?"

Your fingers tighten around the crystal stem until you're half afraid it might shatter. Around you, the restaurant continues its elegant dance of clinking silverware and murmured conversations, oblivious to the way your world tilts on its axis.

"Don't look so shocked," Jimin says, cutting another piece of lamb with meticulous care. "Did you really think I wouldn't have eyes in his club? That I wouldn't hear about my secretary grinding against New York's most eligible bachelor to The Weeknd?"

Heat crawls up your neck, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "You sent me in there to get information."

"Information." He lets the word hang between you, sharp as a blade. "Is that what you were getting when he had his hands on your hips? When you were putting on a show for him in that pretty red dress I bought you?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you both pause, masks of polite dinner conversation sliding seamlessly into place. But the moment he's gone, Jimin's eyes turn predatory again.

"Tell me," he says, voice dropping lower, "did you enjoy it? Playing dress up for him? Letting him touch what's mine?"

The possession in his tone makes your stomach flip. You think of last night, of his hands on your skin, his teeth in your shoulder. Of how quickly he'd switched to cold professionalism this morning.

"What I am," you say carefully, "is whatever you need me to be for the job. Isn't that what you pay me for?"

His smile is all teeth. "Oh, sweetheart. I pay you to kill people. Everything else?" He takes a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "That's just you getting carried away with your performance."

"Getting carried away?" The words taste like battery acid on your tongue. "Like last night, you mean? Was that part of the job too?"

His expression doesn't change, but something dark flashes behind his eyes. "Careful."

"Why?" You lean forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid someone might overhear how you bent your secretary over your windows? Or is it only a problem when Jungkook's the one touching me?"

François materializes at your elbow with dessert menus, and Jimin's face shifts into that perfect smile. "The crème brûlée, I think. Two." He waits until the waiter disappears before continuing, "You're playing a very dangerous game right now."

"I learned from the best." You watch his jaw tick at your tone. "Tell me something— did you plan it? Send me to his club in that dress, knowing what would happen?"

"And what exactly happened?" His fingers trace the base of his wine glass, the motion hypnotic and threatening all at once. "Besides you spreading your legs for the man who's trying to kill us both?"

"You're one to talk about spreading—"

"I own you." The words are soft, precise, but they hit like a physical blow. "Every breath, every move, every drop of blood you spill— it's all mine. Or did you forget that while you were auditioning for your new position?"

The businessman at the next table signals for his check. A woman laughs somewhere behind you. The normal sounds of the restaurant feel surreal against the electricity crackling between you and Jimin.

"How could I forget?" You smile, sweet as arsenic. "You make sure to remind me every time you send me to kill someone. Every time you dress me up like a doll and point me at your enemies. Tell me, is that what last night was? Another reminder of ownership?"

His pupils dilate slightly. "Would you like another one?"

The crème brûlée arrives in pristine white ramekins, the caramelized sugar gleaming like amber in the low light. You watch Jimin crack through the surface with his spoon, the sound sharp as breaking bones.

"You haven't answered my question." His voice is velvet-soft, lethal. "Would you like another reminder of who you belong to?"

"Here?" You gesture subtly to your surroundings with your own spoon. "In front of all these nice people? How scandalous, Mr. Park."

His eyes flash at your mocking tone. "You didn't seem concerned about scandal when you were putting on a show in Jungkook's office. Tell me, did he make you beg for the job? Or did you offer that up freely?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Jealousy?" He laughs, the sound cutting through you like glass. "Why would I be jealous of him playing with what's already mine?"

Your spoon clinks against the ramekin harder than necessary. "Is that what I am? Your toy?"

"No, sweetheart." He leans forward, close enough that his breath fans across your face. "You're my weapon. And weapons don't get to choose where they're aimed."

"But they can misfire." The words slip out before you can stop them, sharp and dangerous in the space between you.

His smile grows slowly, predatory. "Is that a threat?"

"A reminder." You meet his gaze steadily. "Since you're so fond of those."

Something shifts in his expression, a crack in that perfect control. His hand moves under the table, and suddenly his fingers are wrapping around your knee, right where Jungkook had touched you hours before.

"Careful," he says again, but this time it sounds like a promise. His grip tightens just shy of painful. "You're forgetting yourself."

"Am I?" You don't pull away from his touch, even as his fingers slide higher. "Or am I just reminding you that weapons can cut both ways?"

"You know what I think?" Jimin reaches for the wine bottle between you, his movements liquid and precise. "A good vintage is all about control." 

He stands slightly, leaning across the table to refill your glass. The motion brings him close enough that his cologne mingles with the wine's bouquet, close enough that you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Too much pressure," he continues, angling the bottle with practiced ease, "and everything spills over."

The elderly couple at the next table glances over with polite interest, and Jimin's smile widens. He turns to them, bottle still poised above your glass.

"The '82 Latour," he says conversationally, like he isn't in the middle of threatening you. "Have you tried it? The tannins can be quite... overwhelming if not handled properly."

The woman practically preens under his attention. "Oh, how lovely. Richard, didn't we have that at the Bennett's last summer?"

"Indeed." Jimin's hand is perfectly steady as he finishes pouring your wine. "Though personally, I find it's best to let it breathe. Some things require patience to reach their full potential." His eyes lock with yours as he settles back into his seat. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You take a deliberate sip of wine to avoid responding, watching him over the rim of your glass. The elderly couple continues to eye him appreciatively, completely unaware of the game he's playing.

"The key," he says, loud enough for them to hear, "is knowing exactly how much pressure to apply." His fingers drum once against the stem of his own glass. "Too little, and you waste its potential. Too much..." He trails off, smile sharpening. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The elderly woman - who introduces herself as Margaret, practically glows under his attention. Her husband Richard nods along, completely taken in by Jimin's performance. You watch him work, recognizing this for what it is - another form of torture, drawn out in public where you can't do anything but sit and take it.

"Take my colleague here," he says, gesturing to you with his wine glass. "She has quite the... refined palate. Always willing to try new things."

Your fingers tighten around your own glass as Margaret turns her interest your way. "Oh, how wonderful! Are you in the wine business as well?"

"She's my secretary," Jimin answers before you can speak. "Though she's recently taken on some additional responsibilities. Haven't you, darling?"

The endearment drips like poison from his lips. You force a smile, playing your part in his little show. "I like to stay busy."

"She's being modest." Jimin swirls the wine in his glass, watching the light play through the dark liquid. "She's quite talented at... handling delicate situations. In fact, she has a new position starting tomorrow night."

Richard perks up at this. "Congratulations! Where will you be working?"

Your mouth goes dry as Jimin's eyes meet yours over the rim of his glass. He's really going to do this, discuss your cover job at a strip club with this sweet elderly couple in the middle of Côte.

"A very exclusive establishment," Jimin answers smoothly. "Members only. The owner is quite particular about his employees." His smile sharpens. "Especially the ones who perform."

Margaret claps her hands together. "Oh, how exciting! Is it that lovely new theater in Manhattan? Richard, what's it called? The one with the red lights?"

You nearly choke on your wine.

"Not quite," Jimin says, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though there are certainly theatrical elements involved. The costumes alone are quite memorable."

Your heel connects with his shin under the table— hard. His only reaction is a slight tightening around his eyes, but you feel a savage satisfaction at the contact.

"Speaking of memorable," he continues, not missing a beat, "you simply must try this vintage. François?" He signals the waiter with two fingers. "Please bring our friends here a taste of the Latour. On me."

Margaret tries to protest, but Jimin waves her off with practiced charm. "I insist. After all, some pleasures are best shared, wouldn't you agree?" This last part he directs at you, voice laden with meaning.

François arrives with fresh glasses, and you're forced to watch as Jimin guides the couple through the proper tasting technique. His voice is hypnotic as he describes the notes of black fruit, the hint of tobacco, the way it opens up on the palate.

"The true art," he tells them, "is in the finish. The way it lingers." His eyes find yours again. "Some things are designed to leave a lasting impression."

You think of the bruises hidden beneath your dress, of the marks he'd left on your skin. Of how he's marking you again now, in a completely different way.

"Of course," he adds, "not everyone appreciates such refinement. Some prefer their pleasures more immediate. Raw." He takes another slow sip. "But those tend to leave a bitter aftertaste."

The threat in his words is clear. Jungkook is beneath you. Beneath us.

"More wine?" He's already reaching for the bottle again, standing slightly to lean across the table. The motion brings his face close to yours, and his next words are pitched low enough that only you can hear them. "Since you seem so thirsty tonight."

Your pulse jumps at his proximity, at the dangerous edge in his voice that their audience can't detect. Margaret and Richard are too busy savoring their wine to notice the way Jimin's hand trembles slightly as he pours, the only sign that his perfect control might be slipping.

"Tell me," he says, loud enough for the table to hear again, "what do you think of the finish? Does it satisfy your particular tastes?"

The conversation is cut short with a ring erupting from Jimin’s suit pocket. 

Namjoon's call lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds. You count them, watching Jimin's face remain perfectly composed as he listens. Only the slight whitening of his knuckles around the phone betrays anything amiss.

"When?" A pause. "I see."

He ends the call with the same precision he uses to end lives, clean, efficient, and final. The elderly couple barely notices when he signals François, too engrossed in their wine to catch the predatory shift in his movements.

As the valet brings his Bentley around, rain starting to fall in earnest now, he tells you Jiwon is missing. One of his most trusted men— gone. At the snap of a finger. This will be an issue for tomorrow.

You're already stepping toward your car when his voice cuts through the humid air.

"Get in."

Two words, soft as a bullet before it's fired.

The leather seat is cold against your back as you slide in beside him. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at you as he pulls away from the curb. The engine purrs beneath you as he takes the first corner too fast, tires squealing against wet asphalt.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, cataloging each micro-expression like you would a mark before a kill. His jaw clenches and unclenches in a rhythm that matches the windshield wipers. The tendons in his neck stand out like rope under skin. His breathing comes slightly too quick, slightly too shallow.

A red light bathes the interior in crimson. He runs it.

Then another.

The city blurs past in streams of neon and shadow. You count his breaths, twenty-three too fast, fifteen too shallow. His fingers adjust on the steering wheel every forty-five seconds, like he's trying to maintain that last thread of control.

The elevator to his penthouse opens with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for the electricity crackling beneath his skin. An elderly woman with a small dog gets in on the thirty-fourth floor. You watch Jimin's mask slide seamlessly into place, perfect smile, perfect posture, perfect lie.

"Evening, Mrs. Chen."

His voice doesn't waver. Doesn't betray how his left hand trembles slightly at his side, how the muscle in his jaw jumps arrhythmically. The woman chatters about building maintenance as you climb higher, oblivious to the bomb ticking beside her.

Nintey-six floors have never felt so long.

The moment his door closes behind you, something shifts in the air. You can feel it - that last thread of control starting to fray. He stands perfectly still in the center of his living room, staring at nothing. At everything.

The first crack appears when he loosens his tie. The motion isn't smooth like usual - it's jerky, aggressive. He tears the silk from his throat like it's choking him.

Then his suit jacket. The fabric whispers against his shirt as he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the marble floor. You've never seen him treat clothing so carelessly.

His chest rises and falls too quickly now, each breath slightly more ragged than the last. You watch him rake fingers through his perfectly styled hair, destroying hours of careful grooming in seconds.

The lamp goes first.

The Tiffany piece you'd admired that night against his windows becomes a constellation of crystal across marble. The sound of its destruction seems to awaken something in him - something primitive and raw that's been lurking beneath his perfect surface.

You don't move when he disappears into his office. Don't flinch when he emerges with a baseball bat that looks wrong in his manicured hands. Just analyze the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders as he takes the first swing.

The glass coffee table explodes. 

Then his flat screen, expensive and pristine like everything else in his life. The screen spiders with cracks before sparks fly from its dying circuits.

The grand piano becomes kindling under his methodical swings. Each string snaps with a discordant scream, like the instrument is dying. The sound mingles with his ragged breathing, creating a symphony of destruction.

His aim never wavers. Even in this, he maintains a terrible precision. The bat connects with his drink cart, sending bottles of thousand-dollar liquor cascading across marble. The scent of alcohol fills the air, bourbon and scotch and wine mixing with the ozone smell of destroyed electronics.

You catalog every detail with professional detachment. The way his white shirt darkens with sweat. How his perfectly pressed slacks tear slightly at the knee as he kicks through the wreckage. The precise angle of each swing, like he's conducting an orchestra of chaos.

When he finally stops, chest heaving and surrounded by destruction, you understand. This isn't about Jiwon disappearing. This isn't about business or territory or power.

This is about control slipping through his fingers like water.

Like you, dancing in Jungkook's office.

"He knew," Jimin says finally, voice raw. The bat clatters to the floor beside what used to be a Versace vase. "He fucking knew about Jiwon. About the ports. About—" 

He cuts off, running shaking fingers through his ruined hair. You step carefully through the wreckage, glass crunching beneath your heels. He doesn't move as you approach, just stares at the devastation he's created like he's seeing it for the first time.

"This isn't about Jiwon," you say quietly.

His laugh is ugly, sharp enough to cut. "No." His eyes finally meet yours, and they're black holes in his too-pale face. "No it fucking isn't."

Liquor seeps into the hem of your dress as you stand in the wreckage, watching him piece himself back together. His chest still heaves with each breath, shirt clinging to his frame with sweat and effort. The perfectly styled hair you'd watched him ruin now falls across his forehead in damp strands.

He looks wild. Dangerous. More like the man who marks your skin than the one who signs your checks.

"You should go." The words come out rough, like they've been dragged across broken glass.

You don't move. Can't move. Something tells you this moment matters, that walking away now would shift something irreparable between you.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and feral. "I said—"

"No."

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp as the crystal shards beneath your feet. You watch his jaw clench, watch the muscle jump beneath skin that's too pale.

"You don't give the orders here." But his voice wavers slightly, betraying the cracks in his armor.

"Then give me one." You take another step closer, glass crunching beneath your heels. "Tell me what you need."

His laugh is all edges. "What I need?" He runs a hand through his ruined hair again, the gesture almost violent. "I need Jungkook's head on a fucking platter. I need to know how deep his reach goes. I need—"

He cuts off, throat working as he swallows whatever confession was about to spill out.

You're close enough now to smell his cologne mixed with sweat and spilled alcohol. Close enough to see the barely contained tremors in his hands, the wild pulse at his throat.

"Tell me." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "Tell me what you need."

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment you think he might grab you. Might press you against the wall and fuck you right here among the wreckage of his perfect life. Instead, he does something worse.

"Kill her."

The words slip out like a caress, barely above a whisper. You watch his face transform. the wild thing in his eyes crystallizing into something colder, more familiar.

"Miranda?" Your voice remains steady even as your pulse quickens. "She's not involved in this."

"Developing a conscience?" His smile is perfectly crafted to cut. "How disappointing. You've gotten too comfortable behind that desk, haven't you? Started believing your own cover story?"

The air feels thick, heavy with spilled alcohol and the ozone scent of destroyed electronics. A bead of sweat trails down your spine, making your dress cling uncomfortably.

"You're upset," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken at the observation.

"No, darling." He steps closer, glass crunching beneath his feet. "I'm just remembering what you really are. What I made you to be." His perfectly pressed shirt clings to his chest, dark with sweat. "A weapon. Nothing more."

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" His breath comes quicker now, shallow. "You walk around my building like you belong there. Playing secretary, playing normal." He runs a hand through his ruined hair. "Have you forgotten what those hands are for? What you are?"

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. "I know exactly what I am."

"Do you?" He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and rage. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who's forgotten their purpose. Who's started thinking they're more than just a tool."

"And you look scared."

The words hit like a physical blow. His chest stills mid-breath, eyes going dark as pitch.

"What did you say?"

A drop of sweat rolls down your temple. The air crackles between you, heavy with violence and something else. Something rawer.

"You're terrified," you press on, even as your pulse races. "Jungkook's in your head and you can't stand it. So you're here, breaking your own things, trying to break me too."

"Get out." His voice drops to something dangerous, something barely controlled.

"No."

"Get. Out." Each word comes with a step forward, backing you against the wall. "Before I remind you exactly what you are. What you're for."

You hold his stare, even as your heart threatens to break through your ribs. "You mean before you remind yourself that you're losing control?"

His hand slams into the wall beside your head, making you flinch. His breathing comes in harsh pants now, chest heaving with barely contained violence.

"Leave," he grits out, voice raw. "Now. Before I do something we'll both regret."

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the muscle jumping in his jaw. The perfect mask has cracked completely, leaving something wild and desperate in its wake.

Around you, his perfect life lies in ruins. 

So you go, leaving him alone in his destroyed kingdom, both of you pretending not to notice how his hands shake as you walk away.

The elevator descends in artificial silence, only the subtle whir of machinery accompanying your reflection in the mirrored walls. Your hair slightly mussed, lipstick somehow still perfect. Like the confrontation upstairs was just a nightmare your body hasn't woken from yet.

Forty-seven floors to ground level. You count each one, using the numbers to steady your pulse. To push down the urge to go back up there and show him exactly what his weapon can do.

The lobby stretches before you in shadow and marble, empty except for the night security guard who barely glances up from his crossword. Your heels mark time against the floor, each step echoing your thundering heartbeat - too fast, too hard, everything threatening to spill over.

Night air hits your face when you exit the building, carrying the metallic tang of recent rain. The city spreads before you in sharp contrasts - neon bleeding across wet pavement, shadows pooling between towers of steel and glass. You inhale slowly, tasting ozone and exhaust and that particular Manhattan mixture of ambition and decay.

Bass thuds from an upscale bar ahead, all crystal chandeliers visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. You catalog the exits reflexively, the cameras, the blind spots. Old habits.

"Well, look what we have here."

The voice slides through the darkness like oil. Taehyung leans against a sleek black Mercedes, all dangerous grace in expensive clothes. His white button-down is rolled to his elbows, exposing ink that maps stories across his skin.

You catalog his stance with professional detachment, the same way you'd studied John strapped to that chair. Weight slightly forward, shoulders loose, that same arrogant tilt to his head that says he has no idea what's coming.

"Not tonight." You move to pass him, but he shifts, blocking your path.

"What's wrong, sugar?" Smoke curls from his mouth as he speaks. "ARK not hiring tonight? Or did they finally realize what kind of trash they were letting through the door?"

Fuuuuuuck it.

The first hit is pure precision, heel of your palm to his solar plexus, angled up and in. Just like you'd done to that businessman in Dubai last year. The cigarette falls from his lips as he doubles over, giving you the perfect angle to bring your knee up into his face.

The crunch of cartilage under your kneecap sends electricity down your spine. It's different from torture, faster, rawer. No time to savor each break and tear. But there's something beautiful in this too, in letting the violence flow through you like water.

He swings wild, trained but sloppy. You duck under his arm, noting how his stance betrays formal training. Boxing maybe, some Muay Thai. Everything too clean, too structured. Not like you, you were taught to end things.

Your elbow finds his kidney with surgical precision. The same spot you'd pushed the knife into that politician in Seoul. His grunt of pain is poetry, the way he tries to protect his side leaving his throat exposed for another strike.

The Mercedes alarm wails as you slam him against it, but you're already moving, letting momentum carry you both into the shadows of the alley beside the bar. This is what you're good at, making violence look like a dance, like something beautiful instead of brutal.

He tries to grab you, to use his size advantage, but you're already inside his guard. Your knee finds his liver, your elbow his temple. Each point of impact chosen with the same care you use when selecting knives for a job.

Your dress rides up as you move, but you don't care. This is what you are, not the secretary in designer clothes, not the dancer in red. This is your true face, painted in someone else's blood.

When he finally drops, you follow him down. One hand fists in his honey-blonde hair while the other draws back. His face is a masterpiece of destruction, nose crushed, lip split, eye already swelling shut. The kind of methodical damage that comes from years of practice.

You lean in close, letting him smell the Chanel on your breath mixed with his own blood. "Next time you decide to threaten me," your voice drops to barely above a whisper, "make sure you're ready for what comes after."

You leave him there, crumpled among garbage bags and broken glass. Your knuckles throb as you smooth your dress, check your reflection in a darkened window. A single drop of blood mars your cheek, you wipe it away with your thumb, watching it disappear into your skin like all evidence of violence eventually does.

The city swallows you back into its rhythm, the pulse of music from nearby clubs, the whisper of tires on wet asphalt, the steady beat of your heels against concrete. You rejoin the flow of normal people living their normal lives, carrying your savage satisfaction like a secret beneath your skin.

This is what you are. What you're for.

And for once, that doesn't feel like a curse.

[chaostudee]

you belong with me, lando norris.

summary : after another failed date you rely on lando to comfort you to which he confesses something to you. warnings : none a/n : literally all i've been doing is smau but written works will forever have my heart :)

a sigh escaped you lips just as your eyes flicked to your phone to take a glimpse at the time. the past two hours had been torture, and although you hadn't had much faith that this one would get well you hadn't pictured it to be this grim. this man wouldn't shut up about himself, not once letting you get a word in edge ways.

a few minutes ago he said that he needed to pop to the bathroom just as you had both finished dessert. partially you were glad to be rid of him but were now suspicious that he had been gone for so long. in instinct your eyes flutter around the restaurant at the various couples and families dining. in doing so you spot your blind date darting hie eyes around the restuarant briefly before fleeing out the front door.

your eyes widen at the scene and you tutt to yourself. so typical. at that moment the waiter walks over to hand you the check.

"um can you give me a second?" you ask knwoing damn well your purse is full of nothing but makeup products.

"sure" the waiter replies with a nod before departing.

you quickly scour your purse for your phone and dial the one person you know that would be able to help you out.

"hey what's up??"

the sound of his voice makes you smile.

"well um i need your help...."

lando pauses. "that doesn't sound good...."

you laugh sarcastically. "yeah well it's not um so basically just before the check came the guy just upped and left and um since he said he was going to pay i left my purse at home. so i guess what i'm asking is for some money and i promise i'll pay you-"

"wait wait wait" lando cuts you off "he just left you?! what the actual fuck?!"

"i know i mean i should've known"

"what no no baby it's not your fault, here i'll send you the money real quick"

your stomach flips at the pet name, it always does but you would never admit that to him.

"thank you lando" you whisper.

"no problem angel, you know i'll always look out for you.

"okay um one last favour"

"hit me"

"can you pick me up it's kinda late and you know"

"ofc i will just send me your location"

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

lando hands you a cup of tea just as he joins you on the couch.

"thanks" you look up at him as you speak and he replies with a nod before taking a sip of his coffee.

lando shakes his head. " i actually still can't believe that son of a bitch did that to you"

you look down into the cup, the steam rising and hitting your cheeks. "i mean i guess i always choose the wrong ones"

"don't you dare say that sweetheart it is not your fault at all".

"lando-"

"no i'm serious ever time you come back from a date you tell me another crazy story and sweetheart it's nothing got to do with you"

"but what if it is me"

lando looks at you smypathetically.

"trust me it's not you, anyone would be lucky to have you"

"thanks lando but we both know that's not true"

lando sets down his cup and runs his hands through his hair. before putting his head in his hands and letting out a groan.

"what's wrong?"

"you are so oblivious"

"what wdym?"

lando smiles and begins to move closer to you. you watch as his eyes latch onto yours and then down to your lips. your heart begins to beat rapidly.

"as i said anyone would be lucky to have you"

you gulp. lando takes his hand and uses it to rest under your chin so you are forced to look at him.

"you are the most important person in my life"

"lando don't"

"don't what?"

"you're just saying that to make me feel better"

lando chuckles. "trust me i'm not you are and will forever be the most important person in my life, you're my best friend."

you smile shyly at him, there was no one that made you feel as loved as him.

"there were times i wanted it to be more".

your eyes widen at his confession and you open your mouth but just as you were about to speak you were stopped.

lando pulled his you into him placing his lips on yours. you didn't pull back but instead sunk deep into the kiss and as his smiled into your lips you couldn't help the heat that rised to your cheeks.

after a few moments you pull back and smile at him as you run a hand through his hair.

"was that okay?" he asks unsure if he had made you uncomfortable.

"more than okay" you admit.

and with that he pulled you in to his lap making you squeal before pressing his lips against yours once again.

in that moment you had never been happier and annoyed with yourself that you hadn't noticed the good in front of you all this time.

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@llando4norris

@hadidsworld

@mxryxmfooty

[lila-lou]

✨All talk✨

Summary: Living with Ben pushes your limits. His toxic presence fuels both anger and a confusing attraction. A heated confrontation turns physical, blurring the line between desire and power, drawing you into a dangerous game you’re unsure you want to escape.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 7158

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living under the same roof as Soldier Boy was a test of patience and tolerance. His arrival at the team apartment brought with it a cloud of toxicity, his presence permeating every corner with his disdainful remarks and abrasive attitude. From the moment he walked in, it was clear he had no filter—his words dripping with contempt, especially when directed at you. His misogynistic jabs hit their mark with precision, each comment an assault on your dignity. Yet, as much as you despised his presence, you knew confronting him would only stoke the flames of his aggression. So, until now, you endured, gritting your teeth and counting the days until his fucking departure.

You entered the kitchen, trying to ignore the disdainful gaze that followed you. Ben sat at the table, crushing pills with a grim determination.

"Nice outfit", he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Didn't know we were auditioning for street corners now".

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to lash out. "Mind your own business, Ben".

He chuckled, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Oh, I am. Your business is my entertainment, sweetheart".

Ignoring his taunts, you grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your movements deliberate. But his words hung heavy in the air, poisoning the atmosphere with their venom.

"Back in my time, women had some fucking espect for themselves and didn't walk around like fucking sluts".

"Times have changed, Ben".

He scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "You think anything really changed? You´re just waiting for a strong man to put you back in line".

You raised an eyebrow, incredulous at his audacity. "To put me back in line?", you scoffed, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. "I've never been in line, Ben. And I sure as hell won't start now just because you think you're some kind of authority".

Ben's laughter grated on your nerves, a harsh sound that echoed through the room. "You'll learn, sweetheart. They all do".

But you refused to back down, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Not this time", you muttered under your breath, a quiet vow to yourself. "Not ever".

"No wonder you're single," he mumbled. "You're a fucking pain in the ass, probably won't even shut up if there's a dick shoved down your throat".

Heat rose to your cheeks, anger boiling within you. "You're despicable, Ben", you shot back, your voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I'd rather be single for eternity than spend a minute with someone like you".

He smirked, his expression smug and self-satisfied. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But we both know you'll come crawling back, begging for a taste of the real deal".

“So you’re the real deal?”, you quipped, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “More like a sad excuse for a man”.

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “Watch your mouth, princess”, he warned, his tone sharp.

“Or what?”, you challenged, turning to face him fully, your gaze steady despite the tension crackling between you. “You’ll throw another tantrum like a petulant child?”.

Ben’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “You’re pushing it, sweetheart”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

A sinister smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned in closer, your eyes locked with his. “What’s the matter, Ben? Can’t handle a woman who isn’t afraid to stand up to you?”.

The air escaped your lungs in a sharp gasp as Ben's sudden aggression caught you off guard. Before you could react, you found yourself pressed against the wall, his forearm crushing against your throat, cutting off your breath. His eyes bore into yours with a dangerous intensity, a silent warning of the power he held over you in that moment.

"Think you're tough, huh?", he growled. "Let's see how tough you really are".

You struggled against his grip, the pressure on your throat intensifying with each passing second. Despite the primal fear that should have gripped you, a different sensation coursed through your body, one that shocked and disturbed you to your core. Instead of trembling in terror, you felt a surge of heat pooling between your legs, a primal desire awakening within you.

You had to be insane, you thought, even as your body betrayed you. His closeness, the scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of his exertion, the feel of his strong arms pressing against your throat—it all ignited a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

Ben's grip loosened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. His gaze flickered down, and realization dawned in his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and amusement dancing in his features. "Well", he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "Seems like little miss tough has a dirty little secret".

The heat in your cheeks spread to every inch of your body, shame and arousal warring within you. You tried to speak, to offer some feeble protest, but the words caught in your throat, lost in the haze of desire that clouded your mind.

Ben's lips curled into a wicked grin, his grip on you loosening even further as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me, princess", he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is this what gets you off? A little danger, a little dominance?".

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing eyes. "Shut up", you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Ben only chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, I don't think I will", he taunted, his lips grazing your earlobe. "Not when you're squirming like this. It's quite the turn-on".

With Ben's body pressed against yours, every move felt calculated, every breath laden with tension. There was nowhere to escape, no way to evade his overpowering presence.

His voice, low and husky, sent a shiver down your spine. "You know", he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek, "I bet if I were to slide my hand under that little slutty dress of yours, I'd find you fucking drenched".

You gasped at his audacity, the heat in your cheeks burning hotter than ever. "You wouldn't dare", you hissed, your voice trembling with a mixture of arousal and defiance.

But Ben only smirked, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your jawline. "Oh, sweetheart", he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "You have no idea".

Ben's smirk widened into a knowing grin, his eyes alight with amusement. "You're all talk, aren't you?", he taunted, his voice laced with condescension. "A tough little princess with a filthy mouth, but when it comes down to it, you're nothing but a trembling mess".

You bristled at his words, your pride stung by his mocking tone. "You don't know anything about me", you retorted, your voice sharp with defiance.

But Ben leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly brief touch. "Oh, I think I know more than you realize", he murmured, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "And I'm just getting started".

With a surge of adrenaline, you seized the opportunity, driving your knee upward with all the force you could muster. It connected with his crotch, and Ben's grip on you faltered as a pained grunt escaped his lips. His smirk replaced by a grimace of agony.

"You little—", he started, but his words were cut short by another wave of pain.

Breathing heavily, you pushed him away, the rush of victory coursing through your veins. "Don't underestimate me", you spat, your voice fierce with determination. "I'm not your plaything, Ben".

Ben took a deep breath, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check. His eyes blazed with a mix of fury and something else—something almost like respect.

You took a step back, maintaining eye contact with him, and raised your middle finger in a defiant gesture.

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strode out of the apartment, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The cool evening air hit you as you stepped outside, a welcome relief from the intensity inside. You pulled out your phone and texted your friends, letting them know you were on your way for that much-needed drink.

As you walked towards the bar, a small smile played on your lips. You had stood your ground and shown Ben that you weren't someone to be trifled with.

But as you walked towards the bar, you couldn't shake the lingering sensation of arousal. Despite the confrontation, or maybe because of it, you were acutely aware of how wet you were. The throbbing heat between your legs was a stark reminder of the confusing mix of emotions Ben had stirred within you.

You tried to focus on the anticipation of seeing your friends, on the promise of laughter and drinks that awaited you. But every step you took seemed to amplify the memory of Ben's body pressed against yours, the intensity of his gaze, the rough timbre of his voice.

By the time you reached the bar, your mind was still a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. You pushed open the door, the warm, lively atmosphere inside a welcome distraction. Spotting your friends at a corner table, you took a deep breath and made your way over, determined to let the night wash away the complexities of your encounter with Ben. But as you sat down and ordered your drink, you knew it wouldn't be that easy to forget.

It was 3 in the morning by the time you stumbled back into the apartment, a pleasant buzz from the night’s drinks warming your veins. The struggle to remove your heels almost sent you toppling over, but you managed to steady yourself with a chuckle.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the soft glow of the television caught your eye. There was Ben, lounging on the couch in the living room, a brooding silhouette against the flickering screen. A part of you tensed, half-expecting him to jump up and retaliate for your earlier attack. Yet, another part of you couldn't resist the urge to provoke him just a little more.

"Still sulking over your balls?", you teased, leaning casually against the doorway, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Ben's head turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and something else—something darker. He didn't respond immediately, just stared at you for a long moment, as if assessing the situation.

"Had a good night?", he finally asked, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of tension.

You shrugged, the alcohol in your system making you bolder than usual. "Better than yours, I'm guessing".

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "You think you're fucking funny, don't you?".

"Just calling it like I see it", you shot back, stepping further into the room, your pulse quickening at the intensity of his gaze.

Ben leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart", he warned, his voice soft but deadly serious.

You took a deep breath, feeling the intoxicating mix of fear and desire swirl within you once more. "Maybe I like danger", you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper, the challenge clear in your tone.

It was probably the booze that had those words slipping from your lips.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took in your bold stance.

He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes with me”, he mumbled, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

You felt a thrill of defiance surge through you, pushing you to step even closer. “Is that a challenge?”, you asked, the alcohol making your voice steadier and more daring than it would have been otherwise.

Ben’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, sweetheart”, he murmured, standing up slowly and towering over you, “it’s a promise”.

You held your ground, refusing to back down even as your heart pounded in your chest. “Prove it”, you dared, the words escaping before you could think better of it.

The whole night, even as you tried to enjoy the company of your friends and the hum of the bar around you, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Ben’s words echoed in your mind, blending with memories of his strong arms, his intoxicating scent, and his deep, mocking voice.

You imagined what it would be like to be with him, the forbidden allure of his dominance pulling at something deep inside you. You bet he could fuck like no one else, and the thought sent a shiver of desire through you. Maybe, just maybe, you could try it once, get it out of your system, and then go back to hating him.

As you stood there, the air thick with tension, Ben could hear the rapid beat of your heart, his senses finely attuned to every subtle signal. He rose from the couch, each movement slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

He walked closer, the gap between you shrinking with each step, and you could see the shift in his expression as he caught the scent of your arousal. His eyes darkened, and he licked his lips, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

“You can’t hide it”, he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I can smell how fucking wet you are”.

Your breath hitched, the undeniable truth of his words making your pulse quicken even more. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his presence overwhelming.

“You’re practically begging for it”, he continued, his tone dripping with confidence. “All that talk, all that attitude, and here you are, fucking soaked and ready”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself against the overwhelming tide of desire.

"I'll enjoy ruining you", Ben mumbled, his voice dark and filled with promise.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the moment his big palm settled around your hipbone, your resolve crumbled. His touch was electrifying, and you practically melted under his hand, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Ben's grin widened as he felt you soften against him. "That's it", he murmured, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above your hip. "I knew you had it in you".

Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you felt a rush of heat spread through your body. "Ben", you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and desperation.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take good care of you".

And with that, he drew you closer, his hand sliding down to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against him. You could feel the hardness of his body, the raw power that seemed to radiate from him, and you knew there was no turning back now. This was the moment you'd been yearning for, the forbidden thrill you'd been unable to resist.

As his lips claimed yours in a searing kiss, you surrendered to the intensity of your desire, ready to see just how far this dangerous game would take you.

His kiss was a mixture of dominance and raw desire that left you breathless. Before you could fully process what was happening, Ben’s strong arms scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as he carried you across the room.

Each step he took was deliberate, his grip on you firm yet almost tender. The world around you seemed to blur, your focus entirely on him and the anticipation that built with every second.

When he reached the couch, he paused, his gaze raking over you with a predatory hunger. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he laid you down, the soft cushions beneath you contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. He hovered above you, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he looked down, his breath coming in steady, controlled inhales.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into”, he murmured, his voice low and velvety. His fingers traced a path down your arm, sending shivers through your body as he watched your reactions with keen interest.

You couldn’t help but arch slightly beneath him, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. “Then show me”, you challenged, your voice a breathless whisper.

Ben’s eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in another demanding kiss. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip with a possessiveness that made you feel claimed, owned. His touch was both rough and tender, a perfect blend of dominance and care that left you trembling beneath him.

As his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, you felt the last remnants of your resistance crumble. Ben’s hands moved with expert precision, sliding beneath your dress and inching it upward, exposing more of your skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

Ben sat back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel completely exposed and vulnerable. He didn't hide his interest as he let his gaze settle between your legs, taking in the sight without a hint of shame.

"Fucking soaked", he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Just like I said". His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled them down your legs. The cool air hit your skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from your core.

Ben's eyes never left yours as he discarded your panties, his expression a mix of triumph and raw hunger. "Look at you", he murmured, his voice a dark, sensual growl. "So ready, so eager".

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. The way he looked at you, the way his hands and eyes claimed every inch of you, was intoxicating.

He leaned back in, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them. "I'm going to fucking ruin you", he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "And you're going to love every second of it".

With that, his mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched against him, your hands fisting in the cushions as he expertly worked you with his mouth and fingers, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Ben's mouth worked expertly against you, his tongue tracing circles and flicks that sent jolts of pleasure through your entire body. The heat between your legs intensified with each movement, and you could feel the evidence of your arousal soaking his lips and beard.

He groaned against you, the vibrations adding another layer to your mounting pleasure. "So fucking sweet", he murmured between licks, his voice husky and thick with desire. "I can taste how much you want this".

His words only heightened your arousal, making you buck your hips toward him, craving more. Ben responded by gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you closer as his tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your sensitive folds. His beard brushed against your inner thighs, slick with your juices, adding a deliciously rough texture to the sensations overwhelming you.

The sounds he made, guttural and primal, mixed with the wet, slick noises of his mouth against you, creating an intoxicating symphony of lust. You couldn't hold back your moans any longer, your hands tangling in his hair as you urged him on.

Ben's fingers joined the fray, sliding into you, curling just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. Your back arched off the couch, a sharp cry escaping your lips as he found your rhythm, working in tandem with his mouth to push you closer to the edge.

"You taste so fucking good", he growled, his beard now completely soaked from your arousal. "And you're going to come for me, aren't you?".

The combination of his relentless tongue, skilled fingers, and the deep, commanding timbre of his voice drove you wild. You could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core until it was almost unbearable.

"Ben", you gasped, your voice breaking as you teetered on the edge. "I'm—".

He didn't let you finish. With a final, intense suck and a precise thrust of his fingers, he sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure radiating from your core, making you tremble and cry out his name.

Ben didn't let up, continuing to lap at you, drawing out your release until you were a quivering, breathless mess.

When he finally pulled back, his face was glistening with your juices, his eyes dark with satisfaction and a promise of more to come.

"Such a good girl", he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and lust. "But we're not done yet. Not by a long shot".

Still breathless from the intensity of your orgasm, you barely had time to recover before Ben was on you again. His wet mouth pressed against yours, the taste of your own arousal mingling with the raw hunger of his kiss. He didn’t give you a moment to hesitate, his tongue pushing roughly into your mouth, exploring and claiming you with a fervor that left you reeling.

“Taste yourself”, he growled against your lips, his voice a dark, commanding whisper. The wetness of his beard and lips brushed against your skin, a constant reminder of what he’d just done to you.

You could taste yourself on him, the intimate flavor combined with the heat of his mouth sending another wave of arousal through you. His kiss was demanding, his tongue tangling with yours in a fierce battle for dominance that he inevitably won.

The roughness of his actions only heightened your desire, making you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed your body, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

Grinning against your lips, Ben’s hand tightened around your breast, squeezing harder. This time the pressure was enough to make you wince, a sharp intake of breath mingling with the heat of his kiss. His grin widened, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched your reaction.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I love hearing those little sounds you make”. His fingers kneaded your flesh, alternating between rough squeezes and lighter caresses, keeping you on the edge of pleasure and pain.

You moaned against his mouth. Ben’s other hand trailed down your body, his touch leaving a burning trail in its wake. He cupped your ass, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin there. “You’re mine tonight”, he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Every inch of you”.

You could only nod, your body responding to his every touch, every word. His hands continued their exploration, one slipping under your dress to find the wet heat between your legs. He groaned in approval, his fingers sliding through your slick folds.

“I can’t wait to feel you around me”.

His words sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, and you arched against him, desperate for more. Ben’s fingers teased you, brushing against your clit before dipping inside once more, making you gasp.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please”.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. “Please what?”, he asked, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“Please”, you repeated. “I need you”.

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his fingers moving with more urgency. “You’ll get what you need, sweetheart”, he promised. "But you’re going to have to beg for it”.

You bit your lip, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Please, Ben”, you said, your voice trembling. “I need you. Now”.

Ben’s mouth traced a hot path down your neck, his breath sending shivers across your skin. He grasped the neckline of your dress, pulling it down with a swift, determined motion that left your breasts exposed to his hungry gaze. Your nipples, already hardened from the intensity of his touch, stood out proudly.

“That’s not good enough”, he murmured against your skin.

Before you could respond, his mouth descended on one of your nipples, sucking hard. The sensation was electric, a mix of pleasure and pain that made you arch against him, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, drawing it deeper into his mouth before he bit down, sending another jolt of sensation through you.

You moaned loudly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you clung to him, the pleasure overwhelming. “Ben”, you breathed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need.

He chuckled darkly against your skin, his mouth moving to lavish the same attention on your other nipple, sucking and biting with a roughness that left you breathless. His hands continued their exploration, one sliding up your thigh to push your dress higher, the other cupping your breast, squeezing and kneading with a possessive intensity.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?”, he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “I can feel how much you need it, but I want to hear you beg properly”.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to steady yourself. “Please, Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need you. I need you to fuck me".

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “Not good enough”, he said again, his voice a dark command. “Beg me like you fucking mean it”.

You could see the challenge in his eyes, the demand for complete submission. Your body ached with need, the desire to please him overwhelming. “Please, Ben”, you said, louder this time, your voice filled with desperation. “I need you inside me. Please fuck me. I can’t wait any longer”.

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “Good girl”, he murmured against your mouth, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt. “Now let’s see how well you can take it”.

As Ben freed himself from his jeans, the sight of his impressive size made you mumble a breathless “Fuck”. The reality of the situation hit you with full force, and a mix of fear and excitement coursed through you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, instinctively backing away slightly.

“No, no, no”, you stammered, your voice trembling. “I changed my mind. No thanks, fuck, no”.

Ben’s eyes darkened, but there was a glint of amusement in them as well. He reached out, his hand gently but firmly gripping your ankle to keep you from retreating further. “Oh, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and velvety, “you can’t back out now. Not after all that begging”.

He moved closer, his grip on your ankle tightening slightly as he leaned over you, his presence overwhelming. “I promise”, he whispered. “I’ll take good care of you”.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, the mixture of fear and desire making your heart race. Despite your hesitation, there was a part of you that craved the intensity of what was about to happen. His hand slid up your leg, his touch both reassuring and commanding, as he positioned himself between your thighs once more.

“Trust me”, he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. “You’ll fucking love it”.

Before you could protest further, Ben’s lips captured yours in a searing kiss, his hand moving to hold your hip in place. His other hand guided himself to your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate push, he began to enter you.

As Ben pushed inside you, a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips, only to be muffled by his kiss. The stretch was intense, every inch of him filling you beyond what you thought possible. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

“Fuck”, he groaned into your mouth, his voice thick with arousal. The tightness of your body around him seemed to drive him wild, his grip on your hip tightening as he held you steady.

Ben didn’t give you time to adjust. Instead, he thrust deeper, making you gasp against his lips. The intensity was almost too much to bear.

“All that teasing”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “All those smart remarks and your big mouth. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”.

You whimpered, the mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming. Ben’s grip on your hip tightened more, his pace unrelenting as he pushed even deeper, driving the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been begging for this”, he continued, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “Now you’re going to take it”.

With that, Ben pushed forward hard, bottoming out inside you, and the intense sensation took your breath away. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders with such force that you could feel the skin break beneath your fingers. He groaned in response, the mixture of pain and pleasure driving him further.

“That’s it”, he growled, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “Feel that? Every inch of me inside you. This is what you wanted all along”.

You could only whimper in response, the overwhelming sensation rendering you speechless.

Ben’s eyes bore into yours, a feral satisfaction gleaming in them as he reveled in how you felt around him. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. Without hesitation, he pulled out until just the tip of him remained inside you, then slammed back in deep and hard, making you jolt back on the couch.

The force of his thrusts sent shockwaves through your body, each one driving you further into a state of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries filled the room, a mix of pain and ecstasy, as Ben maintained his relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, holding you in place as he took you with a raw intensity.

“You feel so fucking good”, he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “Tight and perfect around me”.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving trails of red as you clung to him, your body arching to meet his every thrust. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, your mind a haze of sensation and need.

Ben’s pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent as he pushed both of you closer to the edge. “You like this, don’t you?”, he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “You love being fucked like this”.

“Yes”, you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “I love it”.

He growled in approval, his thrusts growing even harder, deeper, driving you both toward an inevitable climax.

The rhythm of his thrusts became a wild dance of dominance and submission, a fierce and primal connection that left you breathless.

“So fucking tight, so perfect. I could fuck you forever”, he groaned

The words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you tried to hold on, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Each thrust sent ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core, mingling pain and pleasure in a way that left you trembling.

“Ben”, you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. “I’m so close. Please, don’t stop”.

“I won’t”, he promised, his breath hot against your ear as he drove deeper, each thrust more powerful than the last. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you”.

The intensity of his words and the relentless pace pushed you over the edge.

“That’s it”, he growled, his voice filled with satisfaction as he felt you tighten around him. “That’s my girl. Come for me”.

Your body convulsed, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing through you as you cried out his name. The world dissolved into a haze of white-hot ecstasy, every muscle tightening around him as you reached the peak of your climax.

The sound of his voice, the feel of his body driving into yours, sent you spiraling higher. The waves of your orgasm seemed endless, each one more intense than the last, until you were left trembling and breathless beneath him.

But Ben didn’t intend to stop. Even as the waves of your orgasm began to subside, he sat back, pulling himself out of you with a low groan. His hands gripped your hips, and he looked at you with an intense, commanding gaze.

“Get on top”, he ordered, his voice rough with desire. “I’m not done with you yet”.

Your legs were trembling from the intensity of your climax, but the need in his eyes spurred you into action. You moved to straddle him, your heart pounding in anticipation. But as you hovered above him, you hesitated, a flicker of fear crossing your mind. The intensity of the new angle was daunting, and you could already feel the promise of how deeply he would fill you.

Ben’s hands tightened on your hips, his eyes darkening as he sensed your hesitation. “I know you can handle it”.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, feeling the stretch as he filled you once more. The sensation was overwhelming, even more intense than before. As you paused to catch your breath, your legs trembling, Ben’s hands gripped your hips firmly.

“All the way princess”, he urged, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “There’s still a few inches left".

You were already breathing heavily, the fullness almost too much to bear, but his words spurred you on. With a determined breath, you slowly sank down further, inch by inch, until you were seated completely, taking him all the way in. The depth was incredible, pushing you to your limits, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan as you adjusted to the intense sensation.

“That’s it”, he groaned, his eyes locked onto yours with a look of raw desire. “You feel so fucking amazing”.

His praise sent a shiver down your spine, and you began to move, slowly at first, lifting yourself slightly before sliding back down. The friction was exquisite, every movement sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Ben’s hands guided your hips, helping you find a rhythm that made you both gasp with pleasure.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this”, he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Riding me, taking me so deep”.

You bit your lip, the words making your heart race even faster. The intensity of the new angle, combined with the raw desire in his eyes, drove you wild. Your pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Ben”, you gasped, your voice trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “It’s so much… I can’t…”.

“You can”, he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, urging you to move faster.

The command in his voice sent a surge of arousal through you, and you moved with renewed urgency, your hips grinding against him as you rode him harder. The pleasure built to an unbearable peak, and you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

“That’s it”, he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. “Come for me”.

With a final, powerful thrust, the pleasure exploded within you, a wave of ecstasy that left you trembling and crying out his name.

About an hour later, the room was filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by your ragged breaths and Ben’s deep, guttural groans. Your face was shoved into the couch, your ass raised high by his strong hands as he pounded into you from behind. The relentless rhythm had turned you into a moaning mess, unable to form coherent words.

Sweat slicked both your bodies, your hair sticking to your face and neck as you gasped for breath. Every thrust sent shockwaves of sensation through your sore, overstimulated body. Your hips ached from the bruising grip of his hands, and your pussy throbbed with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Please, Ben”, you finally managed to gasp, your voice trembling with exhaustion and desperation. “Please, finish. I can’t take any more”.

He growled in response, his pace never faltering as he drove into you with relentless intensity. “Not until I decide”, he replied, his voice rough and commanding. “You’re going to take everything I give you”.

You whimpered, the sheer force of his thrusts making it hard to catch your breath. Despite the exhaustion, a part of you still craved more, the primal desire to be taken completely overriding your fatigue.

Your moans grew louder, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge once again, despite your exhaustion. The pleasure and pain intertwined, creating an intoxicating mix that left you trembling.

Ben’s breathing grew heavier, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own climax. “Hold on a little longer”, his voice strained with the effort of holding back

You nodded weakly, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity.

With a final, powerful thrust, Ben drove deep into you, his grip bruising as he found his release. You felt the warmth of his climax fill you, his body shuddering against yours.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sounds the ragged breaths of both of you as you came down from the high.

Slowly, Ben eased his grip, his hands gently caressing your sore hips as he pulled out and collapsed beside you on the couch.

Ben's breath was still heavy as he reached over, grabbing your discarded panties and handing them to you. "Here, keep this from making a mess", he said, his voice rough but tinged with a teasing edge. You took them, barely able to sit up, your entire body aching and weak from the intensity of the past hour.

As you struggled to pull your panties back on, every movement felt like a Herculean effort. Your muscles protested, and you could barely keep your eyes open. Ben watched you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and amusement.

"What's the matter?", he teased, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. "All worn out already? I thought you said you could handle it".

You managed a tired glare, but it lacked any real heat. "I did handle it", you retorted weakly, finally managing to pull your panties into place, feeling the uncomfortable yet strangely satisfying sensation of his cum trapped against your skin. "You just didn't know when to quit".

He chuckled, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from your face. "You actually did pretty good for a human", he said, his voice softening for a moment. "But I'm not done with you yet".

Your eyes widened slightly, a mix of dread and anticipation swirling within you. "Ben, I don't think I can…".

"Relax", he chuckled. "I mean tomorrow. Rest now. You'll need your strength".

You let out a sigh of relief, your body sinking back into the couch as exhaustion finally overtook you.

"Get some sleep", he mumbled. "You earned it",

You nodded, your eyes drifting closed as you let the fatigue wash over you.

Within seconds, you fell asleep against his biceps, your exhaustion finally overtaking you. "I didn´t mean on me", he grumbled.

But as your head sank onto his lap, Ben chuckled softly, his amusement mingling with a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.

"Right now, you don't have a big mouth or that fucking attitude", he muttered to himself, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You're actually kinda likeable".

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, his fingers brushing gently over your hair.

"Well, your pussy definitely is", he added under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for you. You had pushed him to his limits, met his intensity head-on, and somehow, you'd both come out of it changed.

He leaned back against the couch, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as he took a deep breath. The room was quiet now, the only sounds your soft, even breaths and the faint hum of the city outside. Ben's mind raced with thoughts and emotions he wasn't entirely prepared to face.

"Shit", he murmured, running a hand through his damp hair. "What the hell am I getting myself into?".

Despite the uncertainty, there was a part of him that welcomed the change, the unexpected connection that had formed between you. As he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping form, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness, a desire to see where this newfound bond would lead.

With a sigh, he settled back, allowing himself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

As he closed his eyes, the last thing he felt was the warmth of your body against his, the steady rhythm of your breaths a comforting reminder that, for now, you were both right where you needed to be.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny

[mischiefmaker615]

Daddy Issues

Summary: Hiding in a closet gets you both closer than you thought..

Song Request: Daddy Issues by aWannabe

Rating: R

Requester: @grim-reapers-wife

You shut your eyes while you concentrated on regulating your breathing- considering that with each deep breath, your chest practically pressed up against the tallest man in the compound.

Loki.

It would seem he was doing the exact same thing while the gentle breeze of his exhales landed on the top of your head. There was barely enough room for either of you to take a step back and if you even considered to try to explore your options- it would risk to much noise.

Of course something awkward like this would happen to you.. first mission of the year paired up with the new addition- the god of mischief. You two have become quite close- as close as friends could be and nothing more.. He worried for you, cared and truly opened up his personality whenever you two were together- noticeably seeing how fast it would shut down if it was any other Avenger. You favored his presence, and thus kept your feelings to yourself- rather than make what you two had awkward if he so happened to not feel the same way.

The sound of his not-so-subtle sharp inhales, made you glance up at him with a raised brow. You couldn’t see much, but you tried to look through the small crack in the door again before his breathing got your attention once more. The warmth of his body seemed to get much closer- before you felt his knees brushing up against yours, indicating how he was bending down ever so slightly towards you.

Quickly leaning back, your back found the wall instantly without even having to take a step in the ridiculously small space to look up at Loki with a ‘what the fuck’ expression.

‘’what are you doing?” you hiss.

‘’I smell a man.’’ He whispered, his voice not really indicating emotion but seemed to hint for you to explain yourself.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and glanced at the crack in the door, seeing now that with your slight change in positions, you would have to lean in closer to Loki to look outside- and he didn’t seem to wish to move anytime soon while he looked down his nose at you.

‘’you’re probably smelling yourself.’’ You said sarcastically, hearing him scoff and you knew he rolled his eyes.

‘’I do not touch such cheap scents your realm has to offer, and I know it’s not something you would wear either, so who is he?” he asked, his voice having a hint of demand while he began to sound like a jealous boyfriend.

‘’why do you want to know?” you asked after a moment, not even looking at him while you looked along the door with your eyes for a distraction- to look busy as if it would somehow end this conversation.

‘’it might help explain your change in mood lately.’’

Your eyes raised up to look at him, giving a dull yet questioning look with his accusation which only earned a pointing finger in your face, causing you to flinch back with his almost off calculated distance in the dark.

‘’right there darling, you haven’t been your natural self, something has clearly been bothering you. Considering we had started this particular mission in the afternoon, your whereabouts vanished this morning, so I could only assume now that you must have met up with this.. whoever.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you began, your voice hesitating and you were clearly uncomfortable. You knew he cared, and he was right. You hadn’t been your normal self, and it wasn’t a surprise that practically your best friend had noticed your difference.. ‘’do we have to do this now?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, probably resisting an urge to smirk that you had pretty much confirmed his accusations while he gave a small shrug, still keeping his voice as low as yours while you two remained hidden. ‘’if we are to be stuck here for awhile until we officially know the coast is clear, I don’t see why not.’’

You shifted uncomfortably, your mind trying to gather any excuse to avoid this since lying wasn’t an option with him. it wouldn’t have worked. You knew he cared, and even now as he looked down at you with concern, it didn’t have to be dark to know. Your chest had fluttered with a slightly red hue to your cheeks. ‘’..I just had to drop a friend, okay?”

Loki raised a brow, as if almost surprised you had other friends than just him while he processed the Midgardian term. ‘’a.. friend?”

You shook your head and looked at him seriously, hoping he was able to see it. ‘’just a friend.’’

Loki nodded slowly while his eyes raised up in thought. ‘’it was a long-term friendship?”

‘’not as long as you’d think, but we got along quite well.’’ You assured him, your eyes resting on the light that seeped in while your mind went distant. ‘’..he admitted to have grown feelings for me.. I refused him and thought it be better if we stopped hanging out entirely because.. it’s awkward now.’’

Loki nodded slowly, shifting in place as well which you could hear the leather and metal he was wearing rustle against him before he could be heard resting his own back on the wall behind him. ‘’I’m sorry..’’ he started, his voice still figuring things out while he crossed his arms for comfort. ‘’..you had no attractions towards him?”

You shrugged and crossed your own arms, being careful with any of your movements considering how your shoes practically touched his. ‘’he was a good guy, it’s just.. he had his own toxicities he needs to work out and the fact that I already.. have feelings for someone else.’’ Your voice suddenly went dry while you avoided eye contact.

Loki however, was mesmerizing every little thing you did, said, and openly showed. You two have always been honest in your friendship- brutally and calling each other out for the most part- but it was all in mostly fun and care. This was the first time you had mentioned this particular friend, and had shown how bothered you were to lose someone over the sacrifice of respect. Whoever this.. person you had feelings for, Loki respected the fact that you didn’t want to lead any false hope towards another- even if you had to drop the friendship.

Still, you were clearly still recovering from the situation, carrying on like everything was normal and staying strong for the team. It was difficult dropping a friend, much like a breakup where it could hurt practically as equal, if not more if you’ve grown up with this person.

Your honesty showed, your knowledge and ability to make the right decisions never failed to amaze him. you noticed how silent Loki had gotten and pointlessly looked at him through the dark. Although you couldn’t see him, his breathing was slow and you could almost feel him watching you while he now and again shifted where he leaned and tried to speak before bailing.

‘’it’s okay- I’ll be fine,’’ you reassured him, worried you might have said something wrong, to much, or worried him in a way where now he couldn’t speak.

Loki shook his head, mainly to snap out of his thoughts while he looked at him with a cleared thought. ‘’..Y/N, why do you smell of him?”

To be honest, you weren’t aware of the scent yourself. It might have been the god ability where his senses might be heightened to notice such a thing, but now your silence was starting to worry him, worry him to the point where his arms fell to his sides and he stood up properly to face you. ‘’..Y/N..’’

‘’we hugged Loki.. it was a hug goodbye..’’ you said quietly, your eyes falling down to the ground while your hands rubbed at your sides. ‘’it’s just.. he didn’t want to let go..’’

Loki tensed, looking like he was about to take a step forward if he wasn’t already right at your shoes while a hand hesitantly raised to you- not exactly sure what it would have done. ‘’did he-‘’

‘’no.. no he didn’t’’ you shook your head and your hands slowly pressed flat against the wall, feeling like you wish you could just be absorbed while you took deep breaths. ‘’it’s just.. I had to shove him off a bit but it’s just that.. that piece of affection.. the lingering touch.. I’m not sure what to feel..’’ you eyes slowly lifted, still a little uncomfortable talking about this outload but the dark made it a bit easier to face him. ‘’I might miss him but my true feelings aren’t towards him..’’

‘’your lonely Y/N.’’

‘’what?” your eyes lifted quickly to find Loki seeming impossibly closer, hands clasped behind his back while the both of you paused when a few shadows passed by the door before Loki continued in a whispered tone.

‘’you are lonely..’’

You blinked up at him, hands coming in front of you so your fingers could fiddle with themselves nervously while you tried to find proper words. ‘’I’m.. I’m not lonely Loki- I have plenty of friends, family and-‘’

‘’you long for companionship.’’ He said gently and could hear how your breath hitched and eyes fell towards the door with no present interest in it except for distraction. His hand slowly rose up and a single finger came under your chin, a light pressure urging you to look at him. ‘’this someone you have feelings for.. knowing you, you’ve apparently been waiting for a long time or else you would have shown signs that you were with someone.’’ He said gently, his eyes seeming to study you through the dark with sympathy and understanding.

‘’waiting for to long.. where the male affections of someone your comfortable with, your friend, seemed to tease what you so desperately long for from the one you truly wish to be with.’’

Even now your thighs pressed together, his words seeming to comfort your nerves by his tone alone while the warmth of his hand seemed to make your skin tingle. ‘’..desperation?” you whispered out, damn near squeaking it while his hand slowly slid against your skin so his hand now cupped your cheek gently. You didn’t come off as desperate.. did you?

‘’it can be. Why do you think beings cheat on each other? They lack communication. They seek out what their partners lack and tend to find it in another that can. You long for companionship, refuse to speak on it to this one you have concealed affections for and unfortunately have tried to latch on to a being that provides you with perhaps half- maybe even a fraction of what you truly wish for.’’

His thumb then begins to stroke your cheek, your back pressing up now against the wall while the brush of his knees against yours shown he was close and bending down. His soft breath appeared again to gently hit your face while your eyes flicked up to meet his- mere inches away from your own. Your hands weren’t sure what to do with themselves as they pressed flat against the wall once more at your sides, your lips searching for words with only stuttered beginnings and frustrated signs.

‘’you do not lack communication with me Y/N, just prolonged subjects because you tend to get nervous over matters, like now.’’ The corner of his mouth threatened to tug up into a knowing smirk while he gazed at you with soft comfort and reassurance. Maybe a little amusement by how cute you were getting that he couldn’t help but not stop now.

He needed to know too..

‘’so I ask you darling, who is this being you have so desperately longed for? Waited this long as to let another male get their scent on you and rid of their companionship to secure a proper chance at who you might win..’’

‘’L-Loki..’’ you began, not sure if you were answering or beginning a sentence as his nose brushed the side of yours while his gaze looked at you through half lidded eyes. ‘’I think you know..’’ you whispered, your eyes fluttering while your breath held and lips parted.

‘’say it darling..’’ he almost seemed to growl, his other hand resting against the wall just beside your head with a mild thump that might have been able to alert anyone who have passed the door at that moment.

Your knees moved to close, to relieve some of the pressure that was throbbing only to find them meet his leg in the middle, keeping them apart. Your breath hitched again, your skin practically forming goosebumps while your heart raced. This was it.. this is when you will tell him..

‘’You..’’ you whispered out, almost with a desperate whimper while the pressure of your precious secret finally began to leave your shoulders. No sooner did you draw in your next breath- did you feel his soft lips press against your own.

His gentle hum was as gentle as his lips, caressing yours while he leaned his weight on the hand against the wall, pressing more of himself against you until you found yourself sandwiched between him and the wall with no escape from his mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, kissing him back with desperation you knew he shared while your hands flew up to grip his shoulders. Neither of you planned on parting but clung to each other as if one would do so.

The hand on your cheek had began its journey into your hair, cradling the back of your head until he pushed you firmer against his mouth, pushing his tongue in to massage yours until you ceased and let him explore. There was a particular firmness getting your attention against your groin, sending yet another spark of electricity through you and heightened the throbbing that ached between your legs. It grew to the point where you body began to shake, taking heavy pants while he gave your mouth a break and pressed open mouth kisses amongst your cheek and jawbone, making his way to your neck.

‘’gods Y/N I’ve wanted you for so long.. I just couldn’t risk losing what we already had if it meant you did not feel the same..’’ he breathed, his eyes closed as he felt the same pressure release from his shoulders while he sucked at your pulse point.

‘’I don’t think it would have even ruined our f-friendship..’’ you breathed, your head resting back while you squired a little against him. ‘’oh gods..’’

‘’no matter what, my shoulder would have always been there for you to cry to.. my attention present if ever you needed saving.. to hold you in those lonely nights you’ve longed to be with me.. I should have told you sooner..’’ he breathed, his mouth becoming desperate as his nose briefly pushed the fabric apart to have access to your collarbone, making your fingers squeeze at his shoulders while his hand fell to hold firm onto your hip.

‘’I should have confessed sooner… but we have each other now..’’ you whispered, your teeth biting into your bottom lip as his knee shifted ever so slightly in his stance, brushing up against your aching cunt that so desperately needed attention.

‘’we’ve always had each other darling, and now.. we have much time to make up for..’’ his voice got a bit husky, trailing his lips up until he pressed them back to yours with increased desperation.

You moaned against his mouth, hands tangling in his silky hair and tightening ever so slightly that made him growl and take hold of your bottom lip in his own teeth.

‘’your going to make me lose control darling..’’

‘’it’s been quiet for awhile, I think the mission might be wrapped up..’’ you hinted, pressing your forehead to his while his hands went to grip your waist and pull you against his with a smirk.

‘’jet might leave without you.’’ Tony’s voice rang in your ear piece, causing you both to flinch and press a hand to the device in each other your ears.

‘’Stark-.. how did- wha.. what are you-‘’ you stutter with cheeks reddening.

‘’chill Y/N, it’s okay.’’ He chuckled in the ear piece. ‘’just noticed both your trackers haven’t moved from a particular spot and put two to two together. Wrap it up, we’ll meet you up stairs.’’

You gawked as your body tensed. ‘’we’re not even-‘’

Loki’s hand quickly took your hand away from your ear piece, smirking down at you while he moved his hand so he could lace your fingers together and bring it up to his lips. ‘’shh darling, if that is what he wishes to assume, then why not let him be right for once.’’ He teased, his voice dark while his other hand slowly slid across your hip so it lay flat against your lower back, pulling you forward against him waist to waist.

‘’like you said, we’ve got some catching up to do..’’

DM a song for your very own Loki Musical Mischief one shot :D

based off a true story LOL not really.. ish. but i needed a bit more inspiration to complete this one shot. I liked this guy, but couldn't confess cause he was with someone else. but i loved him.. we were literally best friends and it was hard to just try to focus on being friends cause i wanted more yet he wasn't aware. even if he was, he was with someone else so.. it doesn't matter. anyway, i guy friend of mine came along and we got really close AS FRIENDS i swear and he caught feelings for me and confessed. my mind enjoyed the attention, the feelings he had and i guess maybe its like i imaged my crush liking me back while i was around him. nothing serious happened. long story short, crush ended up calling me out on my feelings when he was leaving his previous chick. i told him i didn't want to be treated like a rebound and gave him time to heal and grow. fast forward, we're together now and i had to tell his dude best friend i couldn't be around him anymore because since he has feelings, my "Now" boyfriend doesn't feel comfortable me hanging out with him one on one. i respect the relationship and wouldn't feel comfortable with my man hanging with chicks either that had feelings towards him. I'm young, dumb, still learning and happy. it all works out in the end and least it inspires stories Lol..

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Bad Day

Summary: The reader's been kidnapped while working a lead in Montana. But her old friend Beau doesn't seem all that thrilled when he finds her...

Pairing: Beau x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, minor kidnapping

A/N: Wrote a little Beau to get over some writer's block. Enjoy!

_________

You sighed behind the tape over your mouth. God this was embarrassing. Held hostage by a pair of idiot drug dealers. You couldn’t believe it. To be fair, you weren’t expecting a guy to come around the corner of the house with a shotgun in hand.

A door kicked in nearby, your eyes darting to the left. A familiar shadow fell over the room, your shoulders relaxing as Beau cleared the space, jaw hard set. He frowned as he approached you, kneeling down slowly, careful as he pulled the tape away. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, leaning you forward slightly so he could cut through the zip ties behind you.

“Only hurt my pride,” you said, stretching your arms out in front of you. Beau’s face was grim though and a churn formed in your gut. “Did someone get hurt?”

“No,” he said, pulling you to your feet. He grabbed the radio off his belt, focus back on the doorway. “I got her. She looks alright but make sure a paramedic looks her over.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked, not expecting the cold shoulder from Beau of all people. 

“Just be quiet until we get the all clear.” You took your turn to frown. You’d known Beau a long time. Hell, he’d been your senior partner when you were a rookie back in Houston when he was still doing street patrols. It hadn’t been that long a run as partners but you’d always been friends, would run your cases by each other. Shit, that’s the whole reason you were up here, Beau helping you with a case you tracked this way. He didn’t still see you as that kid who didn’t know anything, did he?

After getting caught though, who the hell knew. You were disappointed in yourself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were too.

A long sixty seconds passed before everyone had checked in, Beau’s stance easing. You brushed past him and went upstairs, found your own way outside and over to an ambulance pulling up the drive. They examined you, wrapping up a scrape you’d gotten on your arm but otherwise you were fine. 

Beau stormed out of the house grumpily as they were finishing, stalking over to where you sat at the end of the open abundance. 

“Is she alright?”

“Yeah. Minor bumps and bruises.”

“My officers are bringing two suspects out of the woods any minute. I’m told they’ll need medical attention.” Beau nodded towards a red truck and then his large hand was wrapped loosely around your bicep. You stared at him as he urged you forward, scanning the area once before your gaze shot to where he was focused straight ahead.

“I can walk on my own,” you said, tugging on your arm once but Beau ignored you. You opened your mouth but he ripped open the passenger side door, practically shoving you inside. You glared when he slammed the door shut, Beau behind the wheel quickly. “What do you think-”

“Can you just-” He bit his tongue, backing the truck out as you shook your head. 

“What the hell is your problem? Yeah, I let two guys get the jump on me. That doesn't make me weak or a bad cop. It certainly doesn’t give you the right to treat me l-like I’m some sort of idiot. I asked you for help because my trail led me up here. I found that, that was my work. I am not-”

“Y/N, could you stop for one fucking second?” Beau snapped. He quickly pulled over and got out of the vehicle, walking on the shoulder. He stopped ten feet away from the truck, leaning over, hands on his knees, head tucked down low. You slipped outside, one hand on the door.

“Beau?” You took a few steps closer, Beau righting himself, hands on his hips. “What’s wrong?”

He laughed dryly, lowering his head as he spun around. 

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he asked back, shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders as he raised his head to face you. “Em found a dead body five months ago. She was kidnapped. I barely managed to convince Carla to let Em stay so I could be there for her. I have just, just stopped hating myself for not being able to protect her and what happens again? Another fucking person I love gets kidnapped.”

“Beau…” You stepped closer, grabbing one of his hands as he took a deep breath. “I’m a cop. I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I don’t care if you are capable, Y/N.” Worried green eyes watched you, an unease in them you didn’t like. “You are still mine to protect.” 

You wanted to argue that you weren’t weak but his hand cupped your cheek in a so not friendly way, sliding back to your ear to brush a sweaty strand of hair aside. 

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly, his hand starting to pull away. You caught it, Beau leaving it on your shoulder, playing with the ends of your hair. “Beau.”

“I should have been investigating with you. You could have been so hurt, darlin’.” 

“For a chatterbox you know how to avoid a question, don’t you?” His lip nearly twitched up at that and you smiled softly. “Talk to me, Barlen.”

“Such a stupid nickname,” he chided, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“You always liked it.”

“I did.” He swallowed thickly, tracing his thumb over your lip again. “You were always a good friend but when you came up to Montana without me even calling when you heard about Em…you were so good with her, keeping her mind off stuff while I found us that bigger place…I think I finally saw you for the first time. I was so goddamn scared you would get hurt today. I couldn’t think straight and I have only felt that helpless on one other case before. Em’s.”

Beau leaned in close, moving his hand to the back of your neck, pressing soft, moist lips against you. It was slow, oh so slow, but you could feel the heat behind it. The need for more. He moved away too soon though, fixing your hair once more as he did so.

“I didn’t mean to be an ass earlier. I just…didn’t want my team seeing me freaking out.”

“...We will discuss that later,” you said, wrapping your arms around his trim waist. He raised an eyebrow as you smiled. “Come on, we both had bad days. Give me a hug and kiss to make it better.”

“You…what are you saying?” You playfully growled, pressing your forehead against his strong body. “Do you…like me too?”

“It’s a miracle you were married once before. We’ll figure out labels tomorrow. Just kiss me, Barlen.”

“Fine, but only cause I was holding back on that last one.”

__________

[vezpr]

corporal: ch 3 - denial

.・。.・゜⛧・.・⛧・゜・。..・。.・゜⛧・.・⛧・゜・。.

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS ▪︎ CH3: DENIAL

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, extra mouths and arms and dicks, eventual smut, references to cannibalism, angst, masturbation, size difference, pining, denial of feelings, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu ; @coldluminarykoala ; @paradisestarfishh ; @maellem ; @vitoshi ; @watashiwasohidesu ;

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 4.1k TOTAL: 11.8k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. Thanks for reading. & if you reblog, comment, follow, give kudos I appreciate you sm! Thanks!🖤

"What do you want?"

You.

Sukuna wonders if you realize how little good it did you to cover yourself in the white servants kimono before you hauled your little body out of the water. The way the fabric clings to your curves, the shadows of your nipples, the  'v' of your sex, the cleft of your ass, all shadowed darkly against the nearly transparent fabric. His heart stutters at the sight. In a way, it's almost better than if you were naked. Almost. 

Then you lift the sodden hem pointlessly to slip your creamy calves into the water. Your face pressed fearlessly, stupidly close to his. Close enough to sink his teeth into. The image of you screaming, skin flecked with drops of his blood that morning in the woods swims to the surface of his mind. Reckless, rageful, radiant. He would like you to scream for another reason. 

What do you want?

"You. I fucking want you," he rasps.

His hand spreading this fabric of your robes. His palm flat against your bare and heaving chest, his hand nearly spanning the width of your shoulders. He pushes you back to lie pliant and pressed between his warm skin and the cool stone. He buries his face in your cunt, hands everywhere, hard just from the taste of you. 

"Oh fuck," he grits out, stuttering consonants and drawing out the vowels as he strokes himself to completion. He presses his cheek against the futon and exhales raggedly while his cocks still twitch in his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut, already willing his brain to forget that shameful reverie, wishing he could swallow back the syllables he just uttered to the empty room. 

You.

I fucking want you. 

"Tch." 

Maybe I should've kept at least one of the whores alive, he muses, mouth pressed into a grim line. 

But they weren't like you. They were dutiful, needy, false, frightened or a combination thereof. Spines good for nothing but lying on. Barely a backbone among them. 

Boring.

Good for little but eating, and gamey, even then. Fear tainting the taste of their flesh. Even the one who had run offered only a very brief diversion before collapsing and begging shrilly for her worthless life. 

He hauls himself up and pulls his hakama over his hips. He wipes away the mess on his belly with his kimono and tossing it aside before falling back onto the cushions, his back thudding against the wall.

And then there was your potential. You were ignorant to it, that was clear. Couldn't exactly blame your cunt of a father for that, as much trouble as you caused him without it. 

"What will I do with you?" He wonders aloud, but before he can think any more on it, there is a loud knock at the door. His brows furrow.

Who the fuck could that be?

Oh. He smirks. 

"What do you want?"

...

"What do you want?" You had said, leaning over the steaming water. Rage overriding any minute sense of self preservation you might have left. You thrust your haughty chin right into his smug, tattooed face. 

Although, the darkness that settles into his eyes has your heart galloping. True to your defiant nature, you stand your ground, despite the potentially deadly consequences.  For several agonizing moments, the two of you stare at each other in silence.  You swear you can see the gears turning behind his eyes, formulating creative methods by which to end you. 

Finally he snorts and lunges at you. Too slow to dodge, you are dragged by the hair into the spring, where he relieves you of your kimono before shoving you roughly under the water. By the time you finish coughing and sputtering, he is lifting himself onto the lip of the hotspring, using his lower pair of arms. The string of curses and insults you had waiting for him die on your parted lips as your gaze inadvertently falls between his legs.

What is that... oh... oh my god... two?

Too late, you avert your gaze as all the blood in your body rushes to your face. He crows with laughter. Too late, you realize the white swatch of fabric he held in his upper arms when he lifted himself out of the pool is your kimono. 

"Hey!" You call out, spinning in the water just in time to see him grabbing up your dirty kimono as well before turning his back and striding towards the shrine, laughing still.

"Hey," you shreik, so loud your throat burns. "Hey, demon!"

That seems to get his attention. He stops and slowly turns towards you. He takes his time approaching, the wad of fabric in his hands thankfully covering the dual appendages between his legs. 

"Don't call me that," he says, smile faded from his lips.  "Try, 'my king' or 'my lord' or even, 'master,'" he says, "but don't refer to me as if I am some creature that is beneath you."

Another tense and silent starting contest ensues. 

"Alright, master," you coo in syrupy false tone that you're sure he's used to hearing from his whores. "Can I please have my clothes back?"

He looks at you in such a way that makes you cover your breasts with your arms under the water. He chuckles and looks away.

"Your clothes?" He says, at last. "These are mine. Everything-" He sweeps an arm in the general direction of the estate, "-is mine. You have nothing."

With that, he turns on his heel and is soon gone from sight, leaving you naked and alone. The water suddenly feels entirely too warm, so hot you might suffocate. You want nothing more than to crawl out unto the Autumn air so you can breathe. 

You are steeling yourself to walk naked to your room with your head held high when the sound of gravel skittering across the stone signals that someone is approaching. Uraume carries a neatly folded stack of white fabric in their hands. "Thought you could use these," they say, laying them on a nearby rock before turning to go and give you some privacy. You call out your thanks before splashing to the edge and climbing out. 

...

You seclude yourself in your room for the day until, around dusk, boredom and hunger draw you into the kitchen, where you find much of the staff already gathered, eating. No one so much as acknowledges you as you fix a plate for yourself, which is just fine. You sit at an empty place at the end of the table across from Baba. She fixes her rheumy eyes on you. Just as she opens her mouth to speak Uraume appears from the back of the kitchen.

"Be quiet, Baba," she says.

"I didn't say anything!" She squawks  pouting at her salmon. "I didn't."

She looks at you as if she can barely contain whatever information is whirling around in her brain, eyes sliding between you and the monk as you eat. She never gets her chance, as Uraume lingers until after you have risen and cleared your place to go, carrying a tray stacked with food, presumably for Sukuna. Distantly, you wonder if he always eats alone.

A short walk around the estate eventually brings you back to your room, where you collapse onto your futon and close your eyes. Unfortunately, your mind keeps returning to the scene at the hot spring, to Sukuna parading around naked and demanding to be called by some title or another. "Such an ass," you mutter, brows furrowing over your closed eyes. "More clown than king. Clown of curses," you smile to yourself, wishing you had thought to say that to his face.

His face. Your hand on his face

"Look at me."

Your fingertips, reaching up, tracing the tattooed angle of his jaw, where, once, you had laid his flesh open. Steam rising up from the water between you, thick in your lungs, it leaves you breathless, the oppressive heat of this place. Spider eyes looking down at you, embers that threaten to burn in the dark of your charcoal heart. His hand on your wrist. Your thumb traces the blank space between the black inked into his chin, just under his lip. 

What do you want

What do you want

What do you w-

A loud thud against the wall has you gasping as you sit up out of the dream. Shuffling. Muffled words. Out of the window, there is only quiet starlight.  Sighing, you close your eyes again. 

"- fuck!" Muffled, but loud enough to discern the words, your eyes snap open at the sound of his voice. You dislike the way it makes your insides roil.

It's pissing you off. Yeah. Fucking infuriating.

"Can't even get a peaceful night's sleep," you grumble, throwing the covers off of you and striding to slam the poor, abused shoji doors open again. 

It doesn't take you long to find his room, amber light flickering under the door.

...

"What are you doing in here? You're noisy as hell," you say, standing with your hands on your hips as you peer into the room the best you can around his massive frame.

He stares.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He asks, smirking down at you. He looms over you, half naked, you notice, making a point to look at his face, not the cords of tattooed muscle that make up his chest and abdomen. 

"I don't know," you say, "killing? Torturing? Stubbing your toes? Do you have extra of those, too?"

You attempt to shoulder past him, hoping to hide the flush that crawls into your cheeks as you find yourself remembering his extra cock. Of course, that isn't what you were referring to, specifically. It is like throwing your shoulder into a brick wall. You resist the urge to rub at the injured muscle as you scowl up at him.

He chuckles.

"Quite a change of pace for you," he says, "showing up in the middle of the night, eager to get into my chambers and overly concerned with my extra appendages."

"Don't flatter yourself you-" the mouthful of ire you intend to spill is cut short when a warm puff of air against your arm draws your eyes downwards. You stumble backward as your eyes settle on his stomach, which is yawning open, quite literally. 

"Is that," you point a shaking finger, stammering as the mouth in the monster's abdomen grins, it's pointed teeth glinting in the dim light. Sukuna is laughing. He advances on you until your back hits the opposite wall of the corridor, his extra tongue, alarmingly large, licks at your outstretched hand.

You shriek in disgust, wiping your drool slicked hand on your robes and cringing away from him as he cages you in with his arms. "Quiet," he hisses, "You'll wake everyone."

"Now you're concerned for other people's rest?" You hiss back, straightening your spine.

"I would be ashamed to be seen with you," he grins.

"Ashamed to be seen with me? You're the fucking freak of-"

"Want in my bedroom so bad," he cuts you off, grabs you up by the waist while you flail and kick at him like a toddler. "Come on then," he drags you inside and slams the door shut behind him. Flings you down on the mattress like you weigh nothing. All the while you shriek and he's telling you to be quiet.

"I said quiet!" He finally roars, his face so close to yours that the volume of his voice makes your ears ring. 

Fuming, you clamp your trembling lips shut and look away, horrified at the tears that prick at your eyes and the way your hands tremble in your lap.

I can break you and mend you

break you and mend you

His words echo in your mind. 

never let you die.

If he notices the lapse in your courage - or insanity, whichever it may be - he shows no sign. He backs away from you and seats himself on the opposite corner of the futon, which, you notice, is massive to accommodate his frame. His back is to you, its tattoo-framed musculature cast in stark relief in the candle light. 

"Come here," he says quietly after a long stretch of silence. He pats the mattress next to him, evidently expecting you to sit next to him. 

When you hesitate, he looks over his shoulder at you and sighs. "I want to show you something, I won't hurt you," he says. You have never heard him sound like this before, his voice like velvet. For some reason, you believe him, so you move next to him, careful to leave a modest gap between his thigh and yours, willfully ignoring the fact that you are well past worrying about modesty after the incident this afternoon.

To your surprise, he sinks to his knees in front of you, although, even in this position, he still towers over you. You can hear your own rapid pulse in your ears. 

"Hurt your shoulder?" He asks. Your mouth is a desert.  

Not wanting to admit it, you shrug, but the action makes you wince. 

"I see," he says, slipping his fingers under the neckline of your kimono. You try to swallow what feels like a mouthful of sand. His hand slides along the column of your neck, over your collar bone until it envelops your shoulder. That strange tingling warmth seeps into your muscles until all the pain fades away. His hand travels back along the same route, but slides to the center of your chest, where it pauses. The warm weight of it keeps you rooted in place.

"Are you scared," he asks in his velvet voice, cocking his head to the side, leaning in,  "your heart is beating so hard."

Your lips part, but there are no words in your mouth. 

There is movement beneath his palm that is not your heart. It is warm and wet. Recoiling, you grasp his wrist with both hands and he allows you to pull his hand away.  

You scream when you see it, another mouth open in the palm of his hand, the tongue that had lapped at your chest lolling out. He throws his head back and laughs, at the look of terror on your face. He even allows you to push past him and escape through the door. His laughter follows you all the way down the corridor  back to your room.

...

The place between your breasts is still warm from his touch when you dive onto your futon and gather you linens around you like a kid hiding from a monster in the dark. Except your monster is real. Although he is quiet now, you still have a difficult time falling asleep. You toss and turn, trying to think of anything but his anatomical idiosyncracies, his touch, or his soft serpent voice, deceiving you. 

You will not let him make a fool of you like that again, you tell yourself.

When Uraume wakes you, calling your name from the doorway of your room, you feel as if you had only just drifted off. You struggle to hold your heavy eyelids open. "Yes?" You call out.

They step inside. "Master Sukuna requests your presence in the throne room."

"What?" You say, sitting up, suddenly wide awake. "Why."

The monk's stoic expression reveals nothing. "Your father is here and Master Sukuna requests your council on a matter involving him."

"What?" You sputter. "What matter?"

"I am instructed not to tell you."

"No," you say, pulling the blankets tighter around your shoulders. "I won't go."

Uraume sighs. "It would be better for you, I think, if you did."

You stare at them silently. 

"No one can know exactly what to expect from Master Sukuna," they continue, "but I have served him for a long time, and... if it is your safety you are concerned for, I believe there is no need. You are safe."

"I'm not concerned for my safety," you reply, crossing your arms under the blankets. 

The monk appraises you for a moment, then continues, "Alright, then. If you refuse, he will come here and drag you out himself, which, I believe, he will rather enjoy."

You stare at one another for several long moments as you grit your teeth. 

"Fine," you sigh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "I'll be there as soon as I'm dressed."

Uraume nods and you think they almost smile before they turn and leave you to prepare yourself. 

...

As you make your way to the throne room, you turn the bizarre request over and over in your mind. You decide that it must be some kind of cruel game, another method by which to torture and humiliate you.  The thought makes you preemptively angry. Your fingernails are biting into your palms by the time you enter the throne room. Your irritation softens somewhat with a bit of stage fright as you observe the crowd gathered. Just as quickly, it sharpens again as you lay eyes in the man that brought you here.

"You look well, daughter," your father says, unable to hide the note of surprise in his voice. You realize, for the first time, that it is true. Life at the shrine has agreed with you, physically, at least. Since your arrival, you have gained some healthy weight, your injuries from various punishments have had an opportunity to heal, and your time outside has brought some color back to your complexion. Even your hair and nails have gained a healthy sheen. You preen under your father's gaze, hoping to amplify the impression that he's inadvertently done you a favor by sending you here.

"You don't," you spit. This is also true, he seems to have wilted under his robes and you notice that he keeps the arm that is missing a hand tucked into the folds of the fabric. His pathetic appearance fails to elicit any sympathy from you. Satisfaction, if anything. 

The King of Curses, looking bored as usual, is sprawled on this chair of skulls and bones, cheek resting against one fist, robes hanging open nearly to his waist. He looks more petulant prince than king, you note, as you turn to face him. "You requested my presence?"

He nods and straightens himself somewhat as he beckons you with his fingers, "Come."

You want to seem comfortable to your father, not like the prisoner that you are, so you comply without argument. 

"Closer," he says. Although his expression remains neutral, you imagine that you see a glint of amusement in his eyes. This time, you obey with only slight hesitation. 

"Sit," he says, patting a thigh when you are within arms reach of him. Thinking of how it will irk your father to see you obey this man, this demon, when you had ceaselesly rebeled against him, you stand on your tip toes and climb into Sukuna's lap.

You wonder if he has to work at not looking surprised when you obey the way you have to work at not looking disgusted when he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. It is impossible not to think of the mouth on his abdomen beneath his robes as he pulls you directly up against him. "Compliant today," he whispers low enough that only you can hear.

"For now," you whisper back, turning to face him you ask,  "What do you-" What do you want "-require from me, master Sukuna?"

He nods toward your father, although his eyes remain on you.  "Your father comes with a request," he says.

You turn to look at your father, huddled into his robes, looking tired and wan. Silently you wonder if he is sick, perhaps from the wound Sukuna inflicted on him the day you were brought to the shrine. 

"He asks that I restore his hand," Sukuna says. While you were appraising your father's appearance, he had leaned in close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath on your neck and you startle at the rumble of his voice.

"Bold," you say, furrowing your brows, you still can't understand why he would bring you here, sit you in his lap and tell you this.  Bizarre.

"Do you wish it?"

"What?" You ask, perplexed, your narrowed eyes slide between Sukuna and your father. What is the trick here? 

The truth is, you don't want anything restored to the bastard, much less the hand he used to strike you with.  Surely the monster knows this, especially after your less than warm greeting on seeing him. You suspect that you're wishes only matter to Sukuna so that he can go against them. 

"Do you want me to restore you Father's hand or not?" He says, impatience creeping into his tone at having to repeat himself. 

"Why does it matter what I want, my king?" Thinking quickly, you answer with a question of your own. You hadn't meant to sarcastically emphasize his title, but it slips out before you can catch it. 

Sukuna's expression darkens, obviously irritated. "It matter, my dear, because I want to know. Now answer! Do you or do you not want me to fix the bastard's hand?"

The snickering that rises from the crowd is abruptly silenced when all four of Sukuna's eyes snap up.

"I- I do," you stammer.

"What?" Sukuna blurts, then he hisses low in your ear, "Why? Do you miss being slapped around?" His fingers dig into your waist. "All you had to do was say so," he coos.

Your heart stutters when you turn your head and find his eyes only inches from yours. "He is my Father and I- I love him," you lie through gritted teeth, choosing to ignore his last statement.

A familiar laughter echoes behind you and you know even before you look that it comes from your father. Anger roils in your gut when you turn to see him suddenly standing tall and looking as hale and healthy as ever. The wilted look he had before, an act. "What are you whispering about, demon? We had a deal."

You whip your eyes back at Sukuna to find his gaze locked on your father, his mouth tight and grim. "What is he talking about?" You demand.

"Fine, Kamo. I will keep my word," he says, eyes trained forward, ignoring you. "Approach."

"What deal?" You ask again, wriggling against Sukuna's arm now, although he hold you tight against him, still ignoring you.

Your father is still laughing as he draws near. "We had a little wager, the monster said he would restore my hand as long as you agreed, sweet daughter."

"So you're good friends now?" You cry at Sukuna's  impassive face. "Playing games? Placing bets?" You spit out the words like bile even as Sukuna reaches out to touch the pink flesh of the wrist where your father's hand used to be. You watch, anger rising to new heights as new fingers emerge out of the bubbling flesh.

You fathers face splits in a cruel grin as he flexes his restored hand. "Thank you, daughter," he sneers, "it seems that being a demon's slut suits you- has certainly softened you little black hear-"

Unable to either contain or articulate your rage you spit at his face. His grin disintegrates as the glob of saliva lands on his cheek. His reaction is just as lightning quick, he cocks back his arm and slaps you hard enough across the face that you see stars and taste blood.

The next thing you know, Sukuna has grasped you under the chin and turned your head back towards the man. "Watch," he hisses in your ear.

With a flick of his wrist, a slit appears in the front of the general's robes, an astonished groan falling from his lips as his hands rush to it. They do nothing to staunch the gush of blood that follows, spilling between the gaps in his fingers. Nor are they effective in stopping the ochre tangle of guts from tumbling to the floor, although they grasp and clutch at the errant loops of intestine as he falls to his knees, eviscerated.

Your eyes track from the ghastly scene to Sukuna's scowling face in dreamy slow motion. 

"Do you not wish to comfort your beloved father, as he dies?" Sukuna asks, eyes boring into you as a high, keening laughter splits the air. It takes a moment to realize that the sound is coming from you. You struggle to stop, even when you hear the gurgled threat at your back.

"Even better... why don't you join me?"

[bunni-v1]

First Years Finding Out Your A Girl?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Mild swearing, STRICTLY Female Reader, Discussion of Jack having a good sniffer (lol)

Info: Headcannons; Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel x Reader (platonic); Mostly for fun

🍓Hi. I'm back... sorta. I didn't have much time to write over the summer, and I honestly don't know how much I can write during school cause my schedule is... yikes. But I picked up something I wrote a while ago, edited it, and decided to post it. I'll be answering whatever's in my ask box right now, and then maybe work on some other stuff.

Ortho & Sebek

Second Years

Third Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part. 

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course, but we’ll get to him).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

FIRST-YEAR SQUAD

Ace

-He’s one of the first ones who find it out, and it’s in the very cliche anime way.

-After some point of knowing you, Ace is so comfortable that he just invites himself into ramshackle. 

-It’s never been an issue or anything. You’re thick as thieves now, you’ve survived death together a handful of times. If you ask Ace, that’s about as close as you can get with someone.

-Normally, you and Grim are just sitting around in the living area, but this time you aren’t. However, he does hear voices coming from your room. His curiosity is peaked.

-So, slippery guy that he is, he sneaks up to your room and his curiosity only grows when he hears a woman’s voice. Prefect getting lucky? And he didn’t tell him? Ace thought you guys were friends.

-He creeps up to your room, slides open your door, and!!! Holy shit it’s you. It’s you in a towel. It’s you and you’ve got tits?!?! 

-His first reaction is to… well… scream.

-“You’re a girl?!?”

“Why are you in my room???”

“You’ve got- boobs!”

 “Get out Ace!”

-Bro sits very politely and very quietly on your couch after that. Deep behind his blank stare, he is seething. You were a girl this whole time, and you didn’t tell him! He thought you guys were friends!

-He definitely fights you about it once you’re down and dressed. He’s just salty, he’ll get over it. 

-Swears up and down he won’t tell anyone.

-Immediately tells Deuce.

-That's it though! Deuce is part of the main quartet, he deserves to know! (You scold him for this too, but you figured it would happen one way or another).

-From him finding out, he doesn’t really treat you differently. You’re still a person, why should he act differently cause you’ve got different body parts than him.

-Though, and he won’t admit this, he’s a bit more… watchful of the others around you. Yeah, you can hold your own and he respects you… but guys like Azul exist, and he’s seen firsthand the torture Azul is capable of. 

Deuce

-As stated before, Ace outs you to Deuce almost immediately after finding out.

-Deuce, in all his awkward glory, completely shuts down. Disconnects from this plane of existence. He cannot believe the news he was just told.

-You, one of his best friends in all of twisted wonderland. You, the person who survived multiple overblots alongside him. You, who have seen him at his most vulnerable… are a girl.

-It isn’t even the fact that you’re a girl, it’s the fact that you kept this a secret from him for so long. You guys are… bros… how could you possibly hide something so important from him. Did you not trust him?

-Yeah… he overthinks things quite a bit.

-He also ambushes you the very next day with a million questions (very loudly (very in public)), to which you calm him down and reassure him that “No, Deuce, I don’t suddenly hate you. I wasn’t hiding it from you maliciously. I was going to tell you at some point, I just hadn’t had a good time to.”

-Deuce’s behavior definitely… changes… in some ways. 

-Deep down he knows you’re a kick-ass bitch and you don’t need to be cared for, but he can’t help but want to. 

-It’s definitely his mommy issues in play here.

-He just becomes more… protective and aware around you. Not in a creepy obsessive way, just in the same way a guard dog would. 

-Like Ace, he’s more than aware of what the people on this campus are capable of, and you’re completely magicless on top of being more feminine. Some guys at NRC would hop on an opportunity like that like nothing.

-He just doesn’t want to see his friends getting hurt okay :(

-It’s like you gained an overprotective older brother who also sometimes barks!

Jack

-Out of everyone, Jack was the first to find out.

-I don’t wanna be the cliche writer but… he’s got a sniffer on him. 

-He definitely could smell that something was up, but he didn’t want to assume! 

-You could be trans, you could be genderfluid, you could be anything other than a woman! It’s not his place to judge, and smell isn’t always the end all be all. You could just really smell feminine and that's how guys come in your world.

-Mr. Respectful would never want to assume anything… but he’s a little curious he won’t lie.

-Jack REALLY found out shortly after Ace, Deuce and Grim got their asses in trouble with Azul. 

-He’d never been given a reason to spend any more than a few minutes around you at a time. However, since he got pulled into this mess, he’s spent a lot more time with you.

-It happened when he was forced to hide under the desk in his office.

-You were so close and you just… smelled like a girl.

-He is so polite and so upstanding, he would NEVER ask you directly. But the suspense of not knowing really does take a number on him.

-By the end of Azul’s overblotting he is so awkward and nervous around you, that you absolutely have to say something.

-At this point, you figured most of the beastmen had an idea of you being feminine, however, you had no real confirmation of that. 

-Jack is such a “let's not bother other people” kind of guy, that you knew he wouldn’t want to say anything to you if you knew… so you decided to take the plunge.

-At the museum, you pull him aside and you have to ask.

_”Jack?”

“Hm?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“…”

“I figured as much. Don’t tell anyone, m’kay? I want to tell my friends on my terms.”

-It makes Jack respect you more than he already did. Not only did you have the confidence to confront him, but you did it calmly and you were understanding of his position.

-And honestly? Not much changes between the two of you.

-He just respects you a little more. He’s not particularly protective around most other students, he talks to you the same, and he doesn’t act like you’re special. You’re just… a friend. 

-The only thing that he may be different about is other beastmen. He does his best to shield you from them if he feels they might be a threat to your well-being. 

Epel

-Epel, being a more feminine-looking man himself… doesn’t think much of you.

-At this point, you’re well acclimated to things at nightraven college, and are very good at being “one of the boys.”

-His ONLY implication is how… differently Rook and Kalim treat you.

-At this point, Kalim has found out via the previous chapter, and Rook knows because of course he does. (We won’t be getting into that today though)

-They both are more… delicate with you? Rook whips out the charm times ten when you’re around. Kalim, although friendly with everyone, seems to be even MORE friendly when you’re around. Like he wants you to like him.

-Even Deuce and Ace have a few… odd tells.

-They both pointedly ensure Jamil is at least five feet away from you at all times. Glare at Rook when he’s a little too charming.

-Other than that, nothing really gives it away.

-Epel is completely and totally in the dark because you’re really good at hiding that you’re a woman.

-He does, however, eventually find out because… Deuce slips up. He’s there giving his big speech on the beach, hyping Epel up, and somehow he manages, “And the prefect is a woman, but she never lets that get in her way!”

-Epel: Shocked, confused, in awe… says nothing. He lets the information ruminate.

-He lets it ruminate for a very long time.

-So long, in fact, that he doesn’t raise his suspicions until the two of you are on a broom heading off to save Vil’s life.

-The silence was killing him, so he had to ask.

-“Prefect, are you a girl?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I couldn’t be sure, I look like a girl too, so you never know.”

“Yes, Epel, I’m a girl.”

“…Cool.”

-Honestly, he’s kind of jealous of you. You passed better than him, and you had to try harder.

-It doesn’t change how he treats you, honestly. He’s not that kind of country bumpkin, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t have a little resentment held against you.

-He thinks you’re cool as hell, and you help redefine what femininity can look like to him much better than what Vil does.

-He, however, does actively become more protective of you. 

-Not because he thinks you can’t fend for yourself, but because he kinda wants to show off a little.

[thegoodwitchsworld]

COLD

Pairing- Andy Barber x reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS- Rape!, Forced sex, Poorly written smut (unprotected sex, violence), non-con, , violence,  Minors DNI, angst (hurt reader), abuse, swearing

Summary- You come to Andy looking for help, only to be betrayed by his desires. 

You shivered uncontrollably, pulling your thin shirt sleeves into your hands in a feeble attempt to keep yourself warm. Your breath was condensing in front of you, the rain pouring down torrentially on the dark and completely empty streets. 

“Just a few more miles”, you promised yourself. “Just a few more”. 

Your car had shut down in the middle of nowhere, and on top of that, the rain and the lack of your phone signal made things infinitely worse. Your chest hurt with the cold, your eyes blinking constantly to keep out the rain. You needed to reach Andy’s house- it was your last resort. 

Your fingers were so numb that you had to attempt thrice before you could ring the doorbell. Andy opened the door a few moments later, his eyes widening as he took in your state of mess. 

“Y/n! What happened!?” He quickly pulled you into his living room. 

“M-m-my car-” You began to speak, then gave up, your teeth chattering like a jackhammer. 

“Shit, you’re soaked! Wait, let me get you a towel.” Andy rushed into the kitchen, leaving you there standing, soaking his carpet. 

It took you an entire thirty seconds to pass out on the floor with a thud. 

“Y/n? Are you o-” Andy saw you on the floor and gritted his teeth, rushing to your side, picking you up in his arms and carrying you to his bedroom upstairs. He decided to remove all your wet clothes or you’d be down with hypothermia in no time. 

In all the times Andy had dreamed of seeing you naked, he had never imagined it would be like this. You were his best friend, but you had never seen him as anything more than that. He had wondered what you would look like under those too many layers of clothes, and he had gone to sleep on multiple occasions fantasizing about your curves and how they would fit in his large hands. 

And here you were, lying unconscious on his bed, skin turning blue due to the cold. Andy peeled off your thin white shirt and blsck skirt, and when he pulled off your bra and panties off, his hard dick almost forgot what he was supposed to do with you- take care of you. 

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you warm.” He murmured to you as he pulled you close to his shirtless body. He wanted to fuck you so bad, especially with your soft pump lips just begging to be kissed till they were bruised, but what could he do? There were boundaries he needed to respect, after all. 

He was rubbing your back in circular motions when you moaned softly, pressing your cheek to his chest. Andy froze. 

“Hey, hey baby, you awake yet?” He whispered, stroking your other cheek. You moaned again, and he groaned. That sound you had made was enough to send his head spinning. He had sworn he couldn’t get any harder when he had seen you naked a few moments before, and yet, all he could remember now was that he wanted to fuck you till you couldn’t make a sound no more. 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “You can’t fuck her Andy-she’s your-”

You let out another moan and shuffled so your hand rested almost on top of his rock hard dick. 

Andy gave up on all self-control he had ever had. His eyes darkened with a hunger that would have terrified you had you been awake right now. He pushed your body off him gently, and leaned over you, his mouth pressed in a grim line. You were going to be his tonight, and no one could stop him. 

He wished he had had the patience to prepare you for him, but he was too far gone to care for anything apart from the soft, innocent, unconscious woman lying beneath him. He took off his sweats and palmed his dick before pushing  your legs apart. He groaned again, then lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing his dick leaking with precum through your folds a few times. 

He entered you in one swift motion, letting out a loud noise of satisfaction as he did.

Andy started off slowly, your cunt so tight it gripped him like a vice. But soon, he was ramming into your body like there was no tomorrow. 

“Shit-fuck-fuck-fuc-shit you’re so tight angel! I never imagined you’d be this good! You are all mine, you were just made for me-fuck!” He rambled on, your helpless body making him even harder.   

And beneath him, you let out a loud whimper of pain, your eyes finally fluttering open.  Andy watched you stare up at him in utter confusion as you tried to make sense of what was happening, before realization hit you like a truck and you started to push on his chest with all your might, shaking your head frantically, your eyes wide with fear. 

“No. no, no-Andy, stop!” You screamed. “You can’t do this! You can’t-STOP, I said!”

Andy kept rutting into you passionately, each hit jolting your body with pain deep in your cervix. He looked at you with hooded eyes, his mouth open, breathing harshly as he made love to your body. He grabbed your hands in one of his own and held them up above your head as he leaned in and captured your lips in a bruising kiss, not letting you go till you were almost out of air. 

Tears fell down the sides of your face as he looked at you darkly, one hand roughly palming your left breast as he spoke in your ear. 

“I have waited long enough for you, baby. You have no idea how hard I tried to play nice today, how hard I tried not to take you like I should have all those years before. But then you go and make those pornographic sounds like you did, and you expect me to still have even an ounce of control left?”

You were sobbing so hard by now that you choked on your own tears. You hadn’t stopped struggling under him, tired as you were. But what effect could you possibly have on a man as large and as strong as Andy?

He bent down to take one nipple in his mouth, and then he bit down, hard. 

You screamed in pain. “Pl-please Andy- you are my friend- I trusted you- please-st-stop-Ah!” You choked on another groan as he pumped deep inside you, your back arching off the bed. 

Andy’s hand found his way to your clit, rubbing it roughly as he bit your collarbone gently, before soothing the skin with his tongue. His lips curled thinly into a sneer, and he leaned in to kiss you hard again. 

“I am sorry angel, but those huge eyes filled with tears and that perfect little mouth of yours are doing little to stop me now. You- belong-to-me”, he punctuated each word with a thrust deep enough to make your toes curl with pleasure mixed with pain. 

Your screams were swallowed up by his mouth as he came inside you, followed by you soon after. Your eyes rolled back and your vision blurred as you came down from your high, panting hard to catch your breath. 

Andy finally let go of your wrists, kissing both of them in turns as he pulled out of you gently. He lay back down on the bed and pulled you on top of him, your limbs too weak to push off him, or even try. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then your nose, then finally your lips. He chuckled at the sight of your beautiful face, wide tearful eyes staring up at him as you continued to cry softly. 

“Well, at least we got you warm, angel.”

[heybrownieboy]

CHAPTER IV: IF YOU LOVED ME

POV: Jeongin’s. 3rd Person.

— Screenshot Count: 3.

— Word Count: 1.2K +.

Author’s Note: Another late update😔. But I promise to be updating more regularly. Buckle up for a lot more written parts coming soon. they’re going to go a lot more in depth. I do promise that this will begin to speed up— I know it’s been a slow start.

Jeongin shook his head, locking his phone and slipping it into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

He had a feeling the party this weekend was going to be a wild one. Beomgyu’s birthday parties always were. But now that he invited everyone, so many more people would be there. Something crazy is bound to happen.

Let’s just hope the cops aren’t called again this year.

He shivered at the memory— and maybe a little from the cold— and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“What should I eat?” he questioned out loud to himself, eyeing the restaurants he was approaching. 

“Jeongin?” 

Jeongin froze at the sound of the familiar voice, his body tensing up. He turned slowly towards the person, eyes wide. 

There stood Kim Seungmin. 

The Kim Seungmin that Jeongin had been oh so close to until about eight months ago. 

The Kim Seungmin that he had only caught glimpses of anymore around campus. 

The Kim Seungmin who was now a stranger to Jeongin, completely and utterly vacant from his life. 

Seungmin looked, puzzled. Like he never expected to see Jeongin here. Jeongin almost wanted to make a stark comment. He wanted to ask if the other man remember that they still went to the same university. 

But the two of them stood in a tense, awkward silence. Jeongin took the time to take in Seungmin’s appearance. His hair was cut shorter now, dyed a rich raven black. He wore a pair of gray sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a gray floral hoodie that looked way too familiar. Jeongin’s brows furrowed as he thought. 

Where have I seen that sweatshirt before?

“Jeongin-ah,” Seungmin said, finally deciding to break the silence. “How have you been?” 

Jeongin’s eyes ripped away from the hoodie and up to meet Seungmin’s eyes. He immediately noticed how exhausted the older man looked. All STEM majors look like that, Jeongin consoled himself, trying hard to swallow down his worry. Especially during this time of the year.

“I’m fine,” Jeongin said simply, keeping his voice steady. “What about you Sunbae?” 

Seungmin’s face twisted in confusion at that. “Sunbae?” he asked. 

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to call you Hyung? Do you?” 

“We’re best friends—“ 

“No we aren’t,” Jeongin said firmly. “We’re peers.” 

Seungmin’s eyes widened at the coldness of the younger’s tone. He opened his mouth to say something— probably to protest— but was interrupted when the door to the restaurant the two had been standing adjacent to opened.

“Yah, Minnie,” the man walking out of the restaurant said, looking down at the bag he was carrying. “I got us mandu, jokbal, and japchae. They didn’t have any kimchi stew so I thought we could just—“ His mouth snapped shut as soon as he looked up, eyes zoning in on Jeongin. 

Jeongin simply stared back, shocked. The rush of anger that hit him almost completely took over his senses. “Are…” his voice shook. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Baby—“ 

“You have no fucking right to call me ‘Baby’ Hwang Hyunjin!” Jeongin snapped at the man. 

Hyunjin winced, shifting the bag of food to his other hand. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Jeongin please,” he pleaded, taking a step forward.

Jeongin took a massive step back, pulling himself away from the man reaching for him. His glare focused over to Seungmin who looked almost grim. 

“So you ask me how I’m doing,” Jeongin hissed, “all when you knew he was in the restaurant and would come out at any moment?”

“I thought that we could talk,” Seungmin said, tone steady though his eyes were now pleading. 

“About what?” Jeongin asked. “The fact that you two are talking again?”

His eyes focused back on the hoodie and it clicked. It was Hyunjin’s. Hyunjin’s Supreme hoodie that Jeongin remembers stealing more times than he could count. He scoffed. 

“So my ex and my so called best friend, huh?” He asked, bitterly. 

“What?” Seungmin asked, confusion taking over again. He looked down at the hoodie and blinked a few times. Panic took over now and he shook his head. “It’s not like that. I promise. We just…” 

“We wanted to talk to you,” Hyunjin said, taking over when Seungmin trailed off. “We just didn’t know if we should after we hurt you.” 

Jeongin let out a laugh, completely void of humor. “Hurt?” He asked. “You didn’t hurt me. You fucking broke me. You broke my heart. You were the ones that decide to go ‘our separate ways’. To stop being friends. When I… When we needed each other the most. Eight months. Eight fucking months of no contact. Absolutely nothing. Because you all were the ones that decide it was for the ‘best’. Do you know how fucked up I was? You may think when those two went missing it was bad. But after I lost you two and the other three…” Jeongin shook his head, not wanting to think about how dark his life had been then. “I’ve just gotten back to some semblance of normality. But now…” 

“Baby please—“ 

Jeongin shot a glare towards Hyunjin, immediately causing the man to drop his head and back off with a mutter apology.

“How long?” Jeongin asked. 

“About two months,” Seungmin said.

“Have you been in contact with the others?” 

“No,” Hyunjin said. “We.. we just started talking again. It was random.” 

“It looks like there’s been hell of a lot more going on than ‘just talking’,” Jeongin said, unable to hold back his jealousy. 

The guilty looks that took over the two’s faces gave Jeongin his answer.

“Wow,” he breathed in disbelief. He took another step back, trying to ignore the way his heart felt like it was breaking. All over again. “Why am I even surprised? You two have always been… whatever the fuck you are.” 

“Jeongin please,” Seungmin said, now the one to plead. “We love you. We—“ 

“If you loved me you would have never done something like this. If you loved me you would have never left me. You chose this.” 

And with that, Jeongin spun on his heel and started running the other way.

He ignored the way they both called his name.

He ignored the looks he got from other people around him as he sprinted down the sidewalk.

He ignored the pain. The sharp pain that ripped into his heart over and over again.

He ignored the tears that welled up in his eyes. The way his vision began to blur over and the sting that only formed more.

And apparently he was ignoring his surroundings too. 

Jeongin grunted as he slammed into someone. He immediately noticed the person stumbling and he somehow managed to catch their arms, even in his distressed state. He pulled that back upwards, trying his best to steady them.

“Sunbae?” The person asked, confused. 

Jeongin’s eyes connected with theirs and he blinked a few times. “Y/N-ah,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” 

You tilted your head at him. He noticed how your eyes began to drift to somewhere behind him and he let out a soft sign. 

“I’m sorry for bumping into you,” he said, releasing your arms after he knew you were completely steady on your feet. “Really. But I have to go.” 

He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t stay outside. Not while the other two were close. 

Is that who you saw? Were they coming after him? The thought caused a knot to form in his stomach.

He couldn’t be here. He can’t face them again. He needed to get back home.

“Go—“ 

Jeongin simply shook his head, cutting off your question and slipped past you without another word. 

He really should have just ordered in. Maybe it would have saved him the heartbreak. 

<PREVIOUS | NEXT>

Of Chaos And Spirits Masterlist

©️heybrownieboy 2025

Taglist (Open): @lily-loves-kpop @f9clementine @bookswillfindyouaway @lilyuwon @kpopjackie @i-dont-know-me-either @tirena1 @velvetmoonlght @whiteghostt @iambangchanswife @mehli-00 @chantalkkate16  @briar-rose23 @fic-for-readers  @to-toad @fr34k4c1dr41n @miudollie @estella-novella @rhonnie23 @fackeraccount @upsidedownchaire @heusalettle @akindaflora @karma2997 @inniesfanblog @loverlixie @heeee24 @masterguccio @y2kur0mi @ot8girlfie @moon-gyus @puppyminnnie @jiminssluttyminx @inejghafawifesblog @eridanuswave @lezleeferguson-120 @avilio-is-dead @annovaz 

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Nine

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Violence, bloodshed, injuries, Premeditated murder on the brain (Female Reader), swearing.

Words: 756

Note: Sorry for a short one. Wanted to get this one out. Next one will be longer I promise.

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU — Poem

Credit for Dividers:@cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I the problem? Did I do something to make you hate me so much? 

Why didn’t you just leave me instead of lying so many times to my face?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? 

I hope you rot in this hell you have made yourself. It’s my last gift I will give to you.

You knew how my life was before I met you. Yet you still did this to me. 

Cold. Calculated. That is all you will ever be.

If I had the power to curse you. I would have done it long ago. 

Once I leave this house, this country all over again. Do yourself a favour. Stay away from me.

Stay far, far away from me.

Otherwise, I can and most absolutely will kill you myself.

If you wish to keep your life.

Stay in your country and I will stay in mine.

I don’t want to be pushed into a corner. But you keep being adamant on doing so.

Don’t blame me when I bite you. Blame yourself for ignoring the warning signs.

You are the reason we are no longer married. Take accountability for your actions and shut the fuck up. 

König. You still don’t know if that’s his actual name or just simply a call sign. He never told you either way. 

But what does it matter? 

The man who had once been the epitome of comfort and support in your life had become a shadow of his former self. The trust that had once been as solid as steel between you had been shattered into a million pieces.

Leaving a gaping chasm of doubt and anger in its place. 

The coldness in his eyes, the way he looked at you now, it was like you were nothing but a stranger to him. 

Someone who had merely crossed his path at the wrong time.

"I will leave, and you won't see me again." you snarl, getting up to get your things.

König remains seated, his expression unreadable. "Reaper, I know you're upset, but we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You chose to cheat. You made that choice. Suffer the consequences. I'm not the one who needs to explain anything. You're the one who broke our vows.” 

“My life is in my hands. I will not become who you are.” You told him. Your knuckles turning white from the way you turned your hands into fists. You were so tired of the kind of excuses coming from the mouths of men who neither cared nor wanted you around. 

You weren’t going to let König know you again. To choose death than suffer through his presence a second time. It made so much sense to you. You do enough talk. What did you learn from your mistakes? Did you even learn from them at all? 

If he can’t see it. May he drown inside his endless well of pitiful tears. 

You are not his wife, his friend, his punching bag. The call sign ‘Grim Reaper’? You earned it for a reason. Too bad he’s too blind to see it. 

What has eyes but cannot see? 

Escape.

Escape and run faster than he can hope to catch up. 

If he can’t take the hint, then…..you would have to kill him yourself.

Can’t be too hard to kill a six-foot ten adult man, right?

You can hear the shouting between him and his girlfriend. A sickening, twisted grin spreads across your face. Sweet revenge for the child you lost years ago.  Weight began to lift from your shoulders. It wasn’t over by a long shot. But now you know how to twist the knife to get what you wanted in order to leave. 

To head back home where you felt like you belonged completely. 

Home. Your home. 

The one where you don’t have to hide from broken bottles, yelling, shouting, endless need to feel like you have to explain yourself. 

Could it still be there when you go back? Will it still be there now?