#she SET AN ALERT to order the book for him đ„ș
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oops i did it again i ran out of tags pls read those then read this! (this might end up longer than the last one i apologise in advance)đ
the DING of the BELL reminds her of him đ„ș i love them đ„ș
'you'd be lying if you said you haven't enjoyed seeing the world in technicolour again' BANGER after BANGER after BANGER line! i know i said it before but you're getting her feelings across SO WELL
yes girl go treat yourself you deserve it
there is something special about existing in a city, even when you know it's a little rough around the edges (okay my city is NOT THIS BAD but it has a bit of a reputation ya know but i love it anyway)
i love the way you write about the city and how they feel about it - she knows its dangerous and it's shit but there's some kind of deep seated attachment nevertheless, even if it's to nothing more than the memories of what was
MITSURI MY SWEET ANGEL BABY GIRL
her voice is scratchy from lack of use đ„ș oh sweet girl
she does still have a sense of humour about the situation though, good for you girlie
oh i know who this BITCH IS STAY AWAY FROM HER BITCH BOY
run girl run he's a bitch and he sucks
omg did i SAY you could touch her bitch boy?!?!??! girl you are right to run and evade and dodge he is bad news
not wanting to cut ties completely with her parents just so SOMEONE confirms she's alive đ
oh this girl is going THROUGH it rn
yes sanemi please acknowledge that your brother figured this out before you, he's a good boy and not a dummy like u
'given your responses to his bullshit in the past, assault and battery are very real possibilities' I LOVE THEM honestly boy she deserves to hit you with a book just a little .... gently .... as a treat
oh sanemi she won't leave you any more than you could leave her
OH NO sanemi bby he assumes the worst but her phone is just in her couch bc of him
HE WOULD TEAR THE CITY APART FOR HER!!!!! oh i feel awful for him bc he's so scared for her but also protective devoted sanemi do be looking good đ
HIS YOU?!?!??!?! screaming, actually screaming i've read this twice now and this line IS STILL GETTING ME
he hasn't seen her in over a week (since he did a fuck and run!!!) and this is how he greets her
also i love that she's just following him around smacking him while he checks the place out they're both such idiots i adore them
this whole mini argument is so funny she just calls him a stupid đ the drama of them honestly
he nearly breaks down her door, takes her keys and LEAVES boy you are a chaotic mess you didn't even EXPLAIN anything indignant spluttering is the LEAST you deserve
he went to buy snacks and period stuff for her đ„ș oh he is down so bad at this point she could ask him to bark and he would 100% he would be sassy about it but he would do it
he accurately predicted shit being thrown at him đ he knows her so well - the visual image of this scene is SO FUNNY
i said it before and i'll say it again - being a shit is one of his love languages!
i adore this scene so much - it fits their dynamic SO MUCH - there's so many feelings at play but underneath it all they just want each other - it's absolutely MASTERFUL
the KEY oh he loves her so much THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH
he sees her for everything she is and LOVES HER ANYWAY HE CAME BACK
closing his hand around the key - 'i'm yours' !!!!!!! đ
'it was inevitable' YES THEY ARE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER
and of course they're right back to sassing each other
'you can't help but nuzzle into his palm' i will cry i stg đ
cocky confident sanemi my beloved đ«¶đ»
i would also be worrying about the oven, what if the pizza burns????
he was willing to let the oven set itself on fire but not willing to let her go hungry ?????? đ„ș HE LOVES HER
the CUDDLING, the AFFECTION .... YOUR sanemi !!!!!!
'you're his woman now, after all; that means it's on him to take care of business' OH MY GOD I THINK I JUST PASSED OUT hdjowodfjejjd
oh fuck the hand over the mouth, the confidence !!!!!!!
uM making her hold her shirt between her teeth?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?
he's SO FOCUSED on making sure she's comfortable đ„ș
'you're drawing him in like a magnet, your body his North Star' something something magnetic north, something something COMPASS oh god the symbolism i'm in LOVE
'it's you. it has always been you' my HEART
'you ain't gotta do a thing but take it' đł i would say something but it is not appropriate for polite company AT ALL just know i will be thinking about this for WEEKS
the praise THE PRAISE the possessiveness i might pass out
i adore that he blurts out everything when he's balls deep does her đș produce truth serum or does his brain just short out ???
he's so GENTLE with her like yeah he's fucking her hard and fast but he's so focused on her and her pleasure and her comfort truly she is the centre of his universe they've always been orbiting each other they were destined to crash together like this
the WAY he talks her through it
the brand - he likes her touching it because he can pretend just for a moment that he can escape, that the only brand he has is the one she's leaving with her touch - that the only brand that matters is the one she's left on his heart
their banter is everything to me (and also sanemi being a freaky lil horndog)
'under the beast's mask lies the endless beauty that makes up Sanemi Shinazugawa' this line is beautiful and this metaphor is incredible and *incoherent squeaking*
their intimacy is everything - their love is so earnest and genuine, they're just two people and they've got so many hang ups and issues and traumas and problems but they love each other BECAUSE of all that
oh her not knowing if anyone would notice if she disappeared i have some experience with this and you have got it across SO WELL you have absolutely nailed it in every imaginable way
'home is wherever you are' i have arbitrarily decided that Where I Want To Be is compass sanemi's song in my head
oh boy here it is! i'm pretty sure this is longer than the last one and about as coherent (i.e not at all)
this chapter was INCREDIBLE and i am so excited to see what comes next for them! this world you're building is so rich and intriguing and i am so proud and happy and grateful that i get to call someone so talented my friend!
COMPASS / CHAPTER 3
bad boy! Sanemi x Reader ⊠gang AU
A/N: eat up, loves. Enjoy the filth and domestic bliss of this chapter now, because weâre right back to the seedy violence of the Corps in Chapter 4.
CW: explicit sexual content âą MDNI âą period sex âą grinding âą lots of tit play âą brief cervix fucking âą creampie âą Sanemi is a certified yapper in bed âą light angst âą humor âą two idiots helplessly in love âą mentions of a gun âą mentions of gang violence âą bookshop AU âą gang AU
MASTERLIST HERE
COMPASS â CHAPTER 3Â
Itâs hard to notice the way time stops when you arenât paying attention to it; when you have no reason to bother.Â
Life hasnât always been this way â lonely. In fact, your upbringing had been on the cushier side of comfortable, and youâd thought youâd been surrounded by love, from both family and friends alike. High school hadnât been any different, Youâd had a social circle, youâd been involved in extracurriculars, and you had a good relationship with your parents and siblings.Â
Or, so youâd believed. Because then you graduated and everyone moved on while you were left behind.Â
That was when time stopped.Â
Not literally, of course. Birthdays came and went, as did Christmas. Your hair changed, and so did your living arrangements. Six weeks after you graduated, you moved out of your parentsâ place into your current apartment, and enrolled in the local university. Your siblings continued growing up and apart, each making their way through school and setting out on their own. At the time, it felt natural. They each had their own lives, as you did, so you hadnât paid it much mind.Â
Thatâs the tricky thing about it; it wasnât something that happened all at once. It was slow, a trickle of sand in an hourglass you didnât know had been turned. Only when the last grain fell did you realize the clock had been running at all, and by that point, it was too late.Â
It started as an exodus of sorts from the city, right after graduation. Leaving home behind in search of greener pasteurs elsewhere wasnât uncommon, so it hadnât seemed all that surprising that communications with those youâd once called your friends, dwindled. But then, those who left never came back, even to visit, and the few who did never lingered for long.Â
Had there been signs that the cancer was spreading? Itâs hard to remember. Violence and crime has always been a party of life in the City, just as it is in any metropolitan area. The adults in your life always claimed such things were contained, an epidemic confined to the Silo and its poverty. As though the destitution of the neighborhood was somehow justified, a punishment befitting of those who had the misfortune of being born on the wrong side of a junkyard.Â
Growing up, youâd eavesdropped on more than your fair share of adult conversations. At least, enough so to know that income lines did not curb misdeeds; it only changed them, gave them modifiers like white collar and organized, as though somehow that softened the brutal reality. As though the covert whispers behind the hands of adults at school functions or neighborhood gatherings whenever a family came into a sudden abundance of wealth or someone sported an injury they couldnât explain, changed anything at all.Â
If the crime in the Silo was the pot, then the crime bubbling under the sruface of neat shrubs and cobbled streets in your area of town had been the kettle. And the Corps had its hand in both.Â
In hindsight, you often find yourself wondering whether your former friends had simply been lucky to get out before the empire began to crumble, or whether theyâd simply seen writing on a wall you hadnât known to read. Because once the turf wars between rival gangs began to escalate and spill over from their confinement in the Silo, those visits from friends fizzled out all together, and you never heard another word. Not from any of them.Â
Your family, apparently, also had sensed whatever metamorphosis lingered on the Cityâs horizon, even if they hadnât bothered to warn you, too. Once your youngest sister set off for university in a distant town â the very one whoâd brought Sanemi to your familyâs stoop that day, years ago â your parents swiftly packed up the townhouse youâd grown up in and put it on the market.Â
They only told you they were moving after the place sold.Â
They didnât offer to take you with them, and you didnât bother to ask. You didnât even have their mailing address until that Christmas, when a festive little card arrived in the mail, bearing only Seasonâs Greetings from Mom and Dad.
Sure, maybe youâd realized a hair too late that you were only a transient presence in the lives of those youâd once considered friends, but the relegation to the background of your own familyâs portrait had stung. Not important enough to be remembered, but too significant to forget.Â
You tried, for a while, but it hurt even more that they never bothered to check in. After the second birthday without so much as a card or a phonecall, you stopped altogether.Â
Alone, with nothing but a semi-failing bookstore to keep you busy, you quickly faded into the skyline of the city youâd once loved. And even it couldnât keep itself from rotting. You tried not to resent it; decay, at least, still meant change. You just remained stuck. Frozen.Â
When monotony is your only companion, it doesnât take long to lose the senses that risk breaking it up. After a while, your eyes learned to stop seeing. Sounds folded together and became muffled, fading to little more than a single, dull buzz humming in ears that forgot how to pick out the chirping of morning birds or the incessant honking accompanying morning rush hour.Â
Some days, you wondered whether you might be a ghost; others, you had to convince yourself you werenât.Â
And then he came along.Â
âââ
âCome again!âÂ
Your farewell falls well short of the customer already halfway down the street, instead smacking right into the wood of the door as it slams shut behind him.
Sighing, you slouch against the top of your counter, your fist propped underneath your cheek. Great. Of course the first customer finally to grace your store after a whole dayâs worth of nothing ended up being as dull as the hours youâve spent bored behind the cash register. From the moment heâd stepped inside, heâd barely acknowledged your existence. Your helpful inquiries into whether he was looking for anything in particular, or how his day was going as you rang him up when unanswered, save an odd chuff.
And so, out the door goes your first brush with human contact in several days. Pathetic, but even more so when you consider how long it might be until you saw another person again. The hours spent laboring at the store didnât offer much in the way of free time, and you donât really have a social life capable of filling in the gaps, anyways.
Well, maybe you did. You had, up until a few days ago, at least. Whether that is still true now, however, isnât something youâre particularly interested in unpacking.Â
Thus, youâre left alone. Again.
Disheartened, your head slumps against your arm. You could always go back to your novel. Itâs a crime fantasy; a latest release from an author youâd gotten into a few weeks earlier, the first book snagged off the shelf right before you closed up for the night. Rolling your head to the side, you eye the book, face down on the other end of the counter.
You scrunch your nose before rolling your head back the other direction, ignoring the book. Reading is the last thing you feel like doing right now, considering itâs all youâve been doing. Once, you wouldâve been thrilled at the prospect of having an entire day to spend behind the counter, flipping through a novel or two, completely undisturbed by the ringing of the storeâs bell. But that was before youâd grown accustomed to a certain impish, foul-mouthed gang member who enjoyed hanging around the bookstore almost as much as he relished being a pain in your ass.
What you wouldnât give to hear a snarky comment or scoff from him, now.Â
Without Sanemi loitering around, a disquieting stillness has settled around the store. The distant howl of police sirens almost feels welcome, if nothing more than for how it breaks up the nearly suffocating silence of the store.Â
Maybe itâs time to harass your boss about store advertising again. If you have to endure another week of silence this loud, you might just shove your head through the wall.
Realistically, you only have to tough out the summer slump for another month or so. Foot-traffic tended to pick up in the last weeks of August, when grouchy parents dragged in their children to buy the listed assigned reading books conveniently forgotten until the dwindling days leading into a new school year. And even once the back to school rush finally subsisted, you only had a few weeks to catch up on all the cataloging and ordering youâd missed fielding pissy parents before the holiday season began. As though the sudden shortage of certain titles was your fault, and not the consequence of their snot-nosed kidsâ procrastination.Â
But August is still weeks away. June has barely settled, the summer heat only just beginning to ramp up. The days have already become unbearably warm, the only relief coming at night, but even that would soon come to an end. Before long, everything would be intolerable â the weather, the silence, the lack of anything and everything that had made life for the last year enjoyable.
You crane your neck around to squint at the old-fashioned clock hanging beside the front door. Itâs only half-past four, and the store doesnât close until eight.Â
Groaning, you thud your head against the counter. Three and a half more hours to go.Â
You could scroll endlessly on your phone, but that would require looking at it, and that would be pointless. You know there are no missed calls; no texts, no pictures of a recent read with a scarred hand giving a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. If you look at it, you know youâll see nothing and you will still be disappointed. Might as well save yourself the trouble, even if you can no longer avoid acknowledging the root cause of your terrible mood.
What a stupid asshole he is. What a stupid, idiotic, moronic asshole.Â
When Sanemi Shinazugawa first exploded into your store last summer, youâd known youâd have to contend with a number of possible consequences as a result of getting involved. Thereâd been the obvious: the potential for arrest as his co-conspirator, for example, despite having not seen him in the three years following high school graduation. Youâd devoted plenty of hours at the store reading crime novels, enough to know the police werenât particularly careful about who got caught in their crosshairs. It would be almost too easy to deem you guilty by mere proximity to the scowling criminal youâd stuffed under your counter, even if the only association youâd ever had with him had been a decade earlier, when heâd been playing hero.Â
Of course, that outcome hadnât been the only slot on your bingo card, and once youâd pulled off your little stunt of hiding him away, youâd been forced to consider other options. Perhaps he would demand free pick of your storeâs inventory with the same casual arrogance heâd had striding out that day, book in his hand and not a damn dollar paid for it. Maybe heâd want your shabby bookstore to become a front for whatever nefarious dealings he did on behalf of the Corps.Â
As time went on, the fallout options from your budding friendship with Sanemi began to evolve. The closer you grew to him, the more dismal the potential ending: maybe youâd end up seeing something you shouldnât, and heâd have to cut you out to prevent any further harm. Hell, youâd even grappled with the very real possibility of getting tangled up in something you shouldnât, only to disappear without a trace, right alongside him.Â
Years spent in relative isolation meant you had an imagination that could outpace most others, so really, there was no shortage of possibilities that getting involved with Sanemi Shinazugawa might entail. It was pragmatic, on your end. Know what to expect and that way, you wouldnât be caught off guard in the event whatever you had with him ended in a blaze of glory. Or gunfire.Â
As wild as your imagination could get, not one damn time had it accounted for you falling in love with the stupid asshole. And yet, here you are, just as much an idiot as he is, but with nothing to show for it.Â
Not entirely true, you think with a small snort as you start up the storeâs computer, clicking through a catalogue of upcoming releases eligible for the next shipment. Heâd left you that morning with a dozen knots in your hair and a soreness between your legs that lingered for a few days afterward, even when he didnât. Now, here you are, six days out from Sanemi taking your virginity, and you havenât heard a god damn word from him.Â
Not that youâre bitter about it.Â
As you scroll through the website of the storeâs main distributor, one title manages to catch your eye. Itâs newer, but itâs only youâd already stocked a few days earlier, having reserved a handful of copies the moment the publisher opened up preorders to smaller retailers.Â
Youâd created an alert on your phone for that very reason, one set to go off the second the order window opened, so you could be sure the early releases arrived as quickly as possible. All because of a certain, low-life felon and his fat mouth.Â
Whaddya mean I gotta wait another four months âtil the next one? Sanemi had whined, tossing his book onto your counter. It was the third installment in a fantasy series youâd turned him onto, and heâd rapidly devoured it with the same veracity as heâd had the other two. Thatâs bullshit.
Thatâs publishing, youâd snipped back, shoving his arms off the freshly wiped-down surface of the store counter.Â
Undeterred by your roughness, Sanemi only winked and re-settled himself, a preening smirk tugging at his lips as he plopped his elbow right back where you didnât want it. Guess youâll have to think of somethinâ else to occupy me with, Princess.Â
Oh? You leveled that insufferable smugness with a sly grin of your own. What do you suggest?Â
You got brains that match all that beauty. âM sure youâll come up with something. Heâd replied, tapping your nose with your finger, and snorting when you jerked away.Â
In retrospect, the blatant flirting made you want to crawl under your counter and never emerge again. Heâd been so damn obvious, and youâd eaten every bit of it up. Perhaps thatâd been his plan all along, and youâd fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.Â
Itâs hard not to let insecurity gnaw at you but youâre only human, and your edges are becoming more jagged.Â
You exit out of the web browser, unenthused. Nothing had particularly caught your eye, but then again, not much was capable of holding your attention, lately. Nothing, save the constant replay of that night and the next morning, and youâd picked that particular bone clean. There was nothing left to dissect, not even the marrow, but that didnât stop you from returning to it, again and again.Â
You roll your shoulders. The best thing you can do for yourself is to find a distraction.Â
The back stock room sits full of new releases, and itâs been a few weeks since you updated the storeâs colorful display of fresh titles. A bonus of having nearly total control over the bookstore is that you get to decide how displays are arranged, and itâs something youâve grown to take pride in. With a sigh, you grab the circlet of keys from its peg beneath the store counter and head for store room. Might as well speed along the last two hours of the storeâs operation, and give yourself something else to do that isnât this â feeling hopelessly, pathetically sorry for yourself.Â
Two trips between the back room and the storeâs merry front later, and you set to work. At first, the chaos in your head is smoothed blissfully over as you focus on clearing the shelf of its its previous New Releases, stacking the books up in neat piles to be shelved in their proper sections later. But your concentration is weak, at best, and a task as tedious as this makes your mind go blank, leaves behind a clean slate upon which it can map out all your insecurities.Â
Logically, it isnât hard to imagine why Sanemiâs giving you the cold shoulder. He made it obvious that night, when he tried putting on the airs of a big, scary monster he imagined himself to be, though youâd long since learned how to see right through the facade. Even if heâd made good on his empty threat to handle you roughly, he wouldâve regretted it â so much so, you doubt he wouldâve been able to keep the charade up through the end. Sanemi didnât seem like the type who got off roughing up his partners.
Given how gentle heâd been in the hours that followed, it seemed youâd been proven right. If only he could realize it, too. Maybe then, heâd figure out how to get his head out of his ass.Â
Sighing, you toss the last of the previous displayâs books aside, and set to work on dusting down the shelves. The venom in your thoughts has less to do with your scar-speckled best friend and more to do with the bruise to your ego youâve spent the last five days nursing. For all the ways Sanemiâs experience between the sheets greatly outpaces yours, itâs also limited. Affection wasnât something heâd been known to give. In fact, youâd spent a fair deal of time wracking your brain, trying to remember whether youâd ever heard of him being in a relationship â as teens or otherwise â only to come up empty-handed.Â
In this respect, at least, heâs no smarter than you are. Actually, heâs probably more of an idiot for it, given how he seems to lack the tact to send a basic courtesy text. A casual, hey, talk soon.Â
Casual, you snort, as you begin restocking the New Arrivals section. Sanemi Shinazugawa might be better known for his casual dalliances, but nothing about what transpired between you had been casual. Not even fucking close.Â
An hour passes, and you almost feel at ease, finally left alone by the constant whizz and whir of intrusive thoughts you know better than to indulge. Youâre nearly finished with a row of new romance titles, when the title of one in particular snags your attention.Â
Only Casual. A resounding fuck you from the universe if youâve ever known one. You wouldnât have been more surprised if the letters leapt off the bookâs glossy front cover to smack you square in the nose.Â
The longer you stare down at the title, the more doubt threatens to creep back in, lapping at the shore of your mind with its seductive hiss. Maybe you havenât heard from him because you never will again. Maybe it was only casual. Because thatâs Sanemiâs nature, and youâd given it up for someone who would never be capable of anything more than that.Â
âStop it,â you chide yourself, taken aback by your own venomous thoughts. Thatâs not him; at least, youâre almost certain it isnât. Sanemiâs no-strings attached reputation had been well-known, and that has to mean he was transparent with his past partners about his intentions. If you truly were another notch in his belt, he wouldâve said something, and heâd never struck you as the dishonest type. But Sanemâs persistent silence has bred a foreign sort of doubt in you that you havenât quite figured out how to shake. âWhereâs spiraling going to get you, stupid?âÂ
Casual wouldnât have been Sanemi trying desperately to scare you away when youâd asked the most of him. It wouldnât have made him insist â quietly, resignedly â that you deserved someone better than him. And somehow, you donât think it was very casual for him to fuck you without protection or sleep naked with you in your bed.Â
I love you, Sanemi.Â
That certainly hadnât been very casual, either, nor was the torturous look in his eyes that followed. The pain could very well have been born from a place of rejection, sure. Another punch to an already throbbing bruise because you were again crossing a line youâd already asked him to blur. That, despite the sheer possession embedded in every movement of his body and lips, he could not and would not love you back.
Books fully stocked, you turn your attention to the pile of titles that need to be assigned to their proper sections. Your eyes flick to the clock on the backwall, and with joy, you see that itâs already five-past closing. Satisfied, you flip the Open sign in the front window to Closed and turn the top lock on the door. The pile will have to wait until tomorrow morning. Itâs time for you to get the hell out of this asylum.Â
Closing time at the bookstore is a monotony you never mind, because it always means youâre leaving. You complete your tasks with ease, cashing out the register and taking the funds to the safe in the storeroom, to be picked up by the owner at the end of the week.Â
As you gather your water bottle and bag, you chew absently on your thumbnail, mind still working through the mess your isolation has created.Â
Itâs only been five days. In the grand scheme of your friendship, that was nothing. Sanemi said youâd hear from him, and heâd never given you a reason to doubt him.Â
So, youâll continue doing the only thing you know how to do, where heâs concerned.
You will wait.Â
âââ
Waiting, as it turns out, is far easier said than done. Or, maybe, Sanemi is just more of an idiot than you gave him credit for.Â
Either way, your phone is still silent and you are still alone.Â
Perhaps your self-assurance that you need only wait for Sanemi to come slinking back had been too optimistic. Because as five days become six, seven, eight, that certainty becomes tainted by doubt. Admittedly, itâs only a little, but itâs still substantial enough to form a pit in your stomach. One that gnaws at your edges just enough to irritate you, an itch you canât quite scratch.
At first, itâs easy to ignore; after all, gaps in Sanemiâs communication arenât uncommon. In fact, youâre fairly used to going days or sometimes even more than a week without hearing from him. Usually, he broke his silence with some dumb meme or an abrupt you eat yet? that let you know he wasnât dead in some ditch.Â
But the more days that pass leaving you with nothing but your thoughts for company, that sourness festers. Because, beneath your irritation lingers the faintest trace of insecurity.Â
Is it irrational? Maybe. And youâre not so stupid that you canât draw the very obvious connection between his silence and your anxiety. No, youâre painfully aware that your insecurity has everything to do with how the two of you left things after that night.Â
You donât bother wondering whether you might feel differently had you not blurted out those three words that meant nothing between you would ever be the same. That particular ship sailed the moment you fell back against your sheets, naked, and begged him to make you his. The moment he agreed.
The constant reminders of him arenât helpful, either. Every ding! of the store bell sends your heart pounding only for the bitter taste of disappointment to fill your mouth when you realize the newest patron is without the mop of silvery white hair or priggish smirk you so desperately long to see.
Does your ridiculous pining inspire you to reach for your phone? Of course not. Sanemiâs the one who owes you that; itâs his rules that have dictated whatever it is thatâs blossomed between you in the last year. You canât make his choice for him, not when he wonât so much as clue you in on the options. The why.
But god, do you wish you knew.Â
â
The ninth morning arrives just like the previous eight: hot, humid, and without a goddamn word from Sanemi.Â
The day passes like all the others. You rise at six, dress, and try to pretend there isnât a headache blooming behind your right eye. You make it to the store by seven, and do your opening duties, make shitty coffee in the storeâs shittier coffee pot, and settle in behind the counter. Customers trickle in throughout the day and you greet them with the same, plastered smile, carefully perfected over the two years youâve spent shackled here.
The hours whiz by, and every tick of the clock hand becomes duller. Even the sirens that set off every so often in various directions around the store seem muted, despite their persistent wailing. The faces of shoppers blur together, and by midday, youâve forgotten how to see them at all. Â
You wonder whether youâre falling right back into that frozen stasis in which youâd lived before Sanemi exploded into your store, dragging in with him a string of felonies, his foul mouth, and the sun. Itâs a frightening thought, but not frightening enough, it seems, to keep the color from leeching out of the world around you.
You shake your head. No, you wonât do that again. Whatever youâd been doing before Sanemi hadnât been living; it was barely more than existing. As bright as your world had been since heâd become a part of it, you canât chalk your happiness up to him. It isnât a burden he asked for, and it would be unfair for you to dump it on him. After all, he mustâve been just as lonely, if heâd sought a friend in you.
Youâll survive without him; you know you will. After all, youâve managed just fine, these last few years.Â
But youâd be lying if you said you havenât enjoyed seeing the world in technicolor again. And that is enough to make you hope (desperately) that Sanemi might think of his world as a little brighter with you in it, too.Â
â
By the time you close up for the night, your dull headache has blossomed into a raging migraine that threatens to split your skull in two. A perfect shit cherry to top off this wonderfully shit day.ïżœïżœ
Of course, your headache could have everything to do with the fact youâve gone the entire day without a meal, but itâs easier to blame Sanemi and his silence, so you do. Still, the thought of cereal yet again churns your stomach.Â
Twilight has settled over the city skyline when you leave the store, dark and locked up tightly. The neon lights of the city have already switched on, bathing the sidewalks in their artificial glow. The air has thankfully cooled, but itâs still sticky, and sweat beads around your temple before youâve made it down the block.Â
There are few things in this city that make life enjoyable. The closet you loosely call home is egregiously overpriced and in the summer, damn near uninhabitable. The bookstore pays far too little to justify the amount of work you do. And, itâs not like you have ties to anything or anyone here, save a criminal who canât be bothered to shoot you a goddamn text.Â
But the diner on Twelfth Street? That dingy hole in the wall with the best breakfast menu in town is almost enough to make up for all of the Cityâs shortcomings.Â
The promise of buttery pancakes and salty bacon makes your mouth water, and that alone is enough for you to change course. Home can wait; you deserve to treat yourself, for once. Â
You make the turn down Market, treading the familiar path toward the diner. Sanemi once told you that the safest times to walk these streets was dawn and dusk â the transitional periods of the day, when regular nine-to-fivers went about their daily commutes. For one, blissful hour at sunrise and sunset, the City returned to the bustling metropolis of your memory. Office workers crowded the streets, stopped in at shops lining the sidewalks for last minute errands or quick dinners, as they pretended to not hear the distant sirens over the honking of impatient cars and beeps from the crosswalks.Â
Though, you think as you eye a group of young adults crowded around a table outside one of restaurants, perhaps none of them are pretending. Maybe theyâre painfully aware that theyâre stranded on a sinking ship. Maybe theyâve decided to just enjoy what few precious moments they have, before it all goes down for good.Â
Or, maybe they havenât noticed thereâs any water rising, at all.Â
In fairness, itâs not like youâre any better than they are. Here you are, playing at a cozy (albeit, boring) life, working at a bookstore that has no connection to either the Corps or its rivals. No protection.Â
Arguably, that means youâre worse; you know all too well of the danger life here poses, but here you are, clinging to the fraying vestiges of normalcy like it might be worth salvaging.Â
Oh well. If the merry twenty-somethings gathered outside and toasting to overpriced wine havenât caught on by now, they never will. Not until their favorite restaurant goes up in flames, or the sharp crack of gunfire shatters their pretty stemmed glasses.Â
Just as it happened in the other boroughs of the City, like the Western Wing. The Kizuki, you recalled Sanemi saying, spitting the name like a curse. Donât fuckinâ go near the Western Wing, you hear me? Off limits. Silo, too.
If he eventually came back, how long before heâd be warning you about your own small corner of the world? Where else could you go, once the bones of the City finally went up in flames?
The place Sanemi would: its ashes.
â-
The diner is teeming with rush hour patrons, and you have to force your way through a gaggle of teens to reach the pickup counter. Despite how cramped the inside is, one of the waitresses manages to spot you, calling out your name in greeting. A few seconds later; and she appears just behind the counter in a whirl of pink and green, and hands off your to-go order with a beaming smile. You pass her your money, and waive her off when she tries to give you change.
She could use it; youâre all too familiar with the strain of meager wages.
You make to depart the diner with a cheerful âthank you!â called back to your waitress, though you canât tell whether she heard you. Your voice is hoarse, your throat, scratchy from days of non-use, and your farewell barely rises above the hum of the other patrons. The lump of self-pity sitting thatâs been sitting in your gut hardens. Youâd anticipated the mental toll from your utter lack of human connection, but you hadnât expected any physical effects from it. If nothing else, let Sanemiâs absence be your very obvious sign from the universe that you need to find yourself a friend. Preferably, one who isnât habitually involved in illegal activity that may or may not land you in jail as his unwitting accomplice.Â
Takeout secured, you work to squeeze through the thick clusters of dine-in patrons, eyes fixed on the exit as you dodge an odd elbow here and there. Right as you reach for the metal bar on the door, your foot stubs into something hard. Itâs enough to nearly send you flailing, your hands crinkling the brown paper bag containing your dinner before it can spill all over the sticky tile.  Â
You barely have time to finish sputtering your curse when a hand grabs your forearm, steadying you. The thing responsible for your collison is a man, one apparently trying to decide whether he wanted to order or chance somewhere else, given how he lingers in the doorway.
Inwardly, you know heâs in the wrong because heâs blocking the exit, but that doesnât stop you from rushing to apologize, anyway. To his credit, he waves you off. Eager to make your escape, you ready some nicety that will allow you to slip out the front door.
The moment he meets your eyes, any platitudes you might have offered dry right up on your tongue.Â
Here, in a city surrounded by skyscrapers and streets lined with buildings jam-packed together like sardines, thereâs little room for space, and itâs not something youâve ever particularly missed. But as you stare into his eyes â black and cold â you finally realize what it means for something to be empty; how it feels, to look into an abyss.
Perhaps itâs because this man has within him, a void, that his eyes reflect the neon signage cluttering the dinerâs walls. Thatâs the only explanation you can ration, given the way they seem to blend and swirl together in those depthless pools, creating an odd blend of colors. Unnatural and unnerving. He grins and itâs sharp, wicked thing. His mouth is too wide for his face, hungry and full of teeth that gleam far too bright. A wolf ready to rip into its prey.
Some deep, primal part of you waits for him to do just that, to sink those too-sharp teeth into your skin and shred you apart. Instead, he only inclines his head toward you, a mocking sketch of civility.Â
âLadies first.âÂ
You fumble around your words, searching for something â anything â to say, but there is only cotton in your mouth. Worse, the longer your paralysis persists, the more youâre forced to study him, even though everything about him â from his pale hair to his unusual eyes â sets your teeth on edge.Â
A too-red tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and the sweat gathering at your temple freezes. Maybe itâs a trick of the light, or maybe your nerves have you searching for shadows that may or may not exist, but you swear thereâs something on his tongue. A tattoo of sorts, perhaps.Â
Whatever it is â light tricks or you own over-imaginative mind â itâs nothing you need to look harder into. If anything, your friendship with Sanemi has taught you thereâs no safety measure more important than minding your business. And, itâs getting late. You need to get home, before it gets dark.
Sanemi hates when you walk alone in the dark.Â
âSorry again,â you manage with a squeak. You try and push by him once more, doing everything in your power not to brush up against him, when a hand grabs at your forearm.
If your heart could somehow unstick itself from your throat, you might have been brave enough to demand to know what his problem is; but it wonât, so you arenât. Â
All you can do is stare into those soulless eyes.
âPretty girls shouldnât rush,â he chastises with a saccharine smile, and his fingers squeeze your arms. His skin is cold and clammy. Â
At last, you find your voice and you imbue it with all the steel you can muster. âMy boyfriend is waiting.â Â
The lie rolls easily off your tongue and gives you enough courage to wrench your arm free. The man lets you go, easily, that too-sweet smile never once faltering as you hastily push through the dinerâs exit.
The air outside opens up, yet still, you find it difficult to breathe. Every one of your senses is on high-alert, trained toward the door at your back and the unshakeable feeling of eyes watching you as you hurriedly cross the street.Â
You donât dare look back.
Iron pumps hot in your legs as you half-walk, half-jog toward home. You still feel him watching you even as you reach your street, and you wonât dare to let him see where you live in the event your paranoia proves correct.Â
You walk around the block â twice â and feint down a side alley, not caring for the food steadily growing colder in your bag. Only when you confirm the man is no where in sight, only when youâre certain you canât feel eyes bearing into your back any longer do you finally loop back around to your building.
The deadbolt on your door is a comfort youâd never thought to appreciate until now, and you hurry to slide it into place the moment you step inside your apartment. Door locked, you slump back against the lacquered wood and sink to the ground, your heart thumping uncomfortably in your chest as you work to steady your ragged breath.Â
For once, Sanemiâs paranoia doesnât feel like a burden.
â
All your life, youâve known that anxiety is an ailment best cured by food. Twenty minutes later, you sit at your kitchen table and eat your takeout in silence, save the odd squeak of your fork scraping against the plastic bottom of the container, the encounter at the diner, forgotten.
Instead, youâre left to chew on bits of scrambled egg and your own loneliness. Youâve never had a roommate â never wanted one, for that matter. Your apartment has always been your space, a place where you could go and just be, without a thought or care in the world. Your perfect sanctuary where you could fill the emptiness of your life with books, the lovely stories so delicately crafted by those perhaps as lonely as you.Â
Overpriced and temperamental as your apartment could be, itâs still home.Â
And yet, somehow, home feels emptier than you remember, despite the fact youâve always lived here alone.Â
Normally, youâd turn on the TV or listen to something in order to distract from the utter stillness in your apartment, but tonight, you canât even bring yourself to do that. Not when the repetitive cycle of commercials and the same four reruns airing seemed only to amplify the monotony of your solitude.
So, you continue to eat in silence.
Later, after youâve shoved your empty takeout containers to the side, you sit at your kitchen table and fiddle with your phone.Â
Itâs been a few days since youâve bothered to look at it. It has remained on Do Not Disturb, shoved to the bottom of your bag, with you too unwilling to look at the hateful little reminder that without Sanemi to talk to, you are utterly and completely alone.Â
You have few contacts saved, so finding Sanemiâs name takes little time â but not before you scroll past the entry marked simply, âMom.â
You donât even want to know how long itâs been since you last talked to her â or your dad, for that matter. Somehow, you doubt your phone has kept any record of those few and far between calls. They barely ever lasted long enough to make a dent on your phone bill, anyway.Â
Oh, Mama, you think bitterly. What would you make of me, now?Â
Knowing her daughter had fallen helplessly in love with a season criminal might very well do her in. Sheâd have a conniption, at the very least, especially if she learned of Sanemiâs reputation among women. Thereâd be no chance to deny what youâd let him do â what youâd asked him for, and it wouldnât matter that you loved him any more than it would that heâd rescued her other child, once upon a time.Â
Though, you suppose youâre getting ahead of yourself. All of your spite rests on the presumption that she remembered to care.
She doesnât, so it doesnât really matter.Â
You snort. Maybe you should mention it to your parents somehow, even if through a lie. Perhaps in your next Christmas card; a cheerful, Merry Christmas! Iâm dating a known gang-banger â talk next year!
God, their faces when they realized you were nothing more than some felonâs whore. Youâd be written off faster than the ink on the card could dry. That alone might be worth it, if only to not have to continue playing this tedious game of pretend.
But, if Sanemi never speaks to you again, youâd rather not have all your bridges burned. At least the annual check-in with them confirmed you were alive â if those ended, youâd truly have no one.Â
So, you scroll on, finding the object of all your ire â and heartache â and tap on its entry.
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as the cursor in the blank text box blinks at you, Sanemiâs name just above it.Â
Hey. You type before deleting it with a wince.Â
That book youâve been waiting on just arrived. Iâll leave it on the restock shelf for you.Â
No, no, that wonât work either. You donât want him to think you plan on ignoring what happened, and neither do you want to give him the out. You two will have to talk about it eventually, even if itâs to establish it can never happen again.Â
The thought of losing him makes your heart crack, the fissure spreading across your chest until youâre not sure whether you can keep yourself together.Â
If youâre cutting this off, I at least deserve to know.Â
Your thumb hovers over the arrow to send, your cursor blinking expectantly at you.Â
You donât want to be hateful any more than you want to appear insecure. After all, Sanemi said youâd hear from him, and itâs only been a week. Heâd promised you would hear from him.Â
 Heâd promised.Â
With a frustrated grunt, you hurl your phone at your couch, anger melting into numbness as you watch it slide between the cushions and out of sight. You do not retrieve it; instead you throw your takeout into the garbage with more force than necessary and strip yourself down to your underwear.Â
Summer has arrived fast and hot, and you know that the ancient air conditioning unit groaning and guttering in your window is due to short out on you any day now, as it does every year. Already the air in your apartment had become sticky and warm; itâs only a matter of time before sleeping became downright unbearable.Â
Though no one is around to hear, you snort. Figures that Sanemiâs sudden disappearance from your life coincides with your yearly descent into renterâs hell. If the universe has decided to you need to be dragged through shit, itâs doing a thorough job of it.
As if on cue, a familiar pang of pain shoots through your lower stomach. You glance at the date on your phone, and groan. Great. The last row of this monthâs birth control card shouldâve been your warning. Your already shitty mood is about to get even worse.Â
Your new prescription is already in your drawer, and you half-contemplate skipping the half-row of sugar pills, but you hold off. Youâd already suffered a stern lecture from your doctor for doing that in the past, and you know itâs not good for you. No matter how great the temptation to spare yourself from debilitating cramps, youâll just have to suffer through it.Â
Besides, this period probably isnât the one to try and skip, anyways. Not after the events of that night. Youâre better off making sure youâre getting your moneyâs worth out of birth control that, admittedly, costs more than you reasonably can afford. If nothing else, itâs worth it to avoid having to eat crow and admit you shouldâve taken Sanemi up on his offer to get you the morning-after pill.
You tie your hair back as best you can, grateful to get it off your sweat-dampened neck and glance toward your couch. Perhaps youâll muster up the courage to text him tomorrow, but for tonight, youâll remain a coward. So, you leave your phone there, straddled somewhere between the cushions, and switch off your kitchen light before burying yourself in bed, the ache blooming in your lower belly matching the one in your heart.
â--
The first ray of morning light streaking through the cracks in the cardboard stuffed in his window is nearly blinding, but Sanemi is already awake. He has been for a few hours now, unable to find much peace in a night filled with distant sirens and plagued by thoughts of you.Â
God, he feels like shit. Itâd been after midnight by the time heâd cruised back through city limits, and it was nearly two before he returned to his apartment, Sanemi having gone out of the way to drop off Rengokuâs car so he wouldnât have to deal with it come sunrise.Â
Despite the emotional taxation of his visit with Genya, however, Sanemi had been hard-pressed to find sleep. Now that the sunâs up, though, he canât avoid facing it any longer. His phone has been blissfully quiet all morning, and he has to take advantage of that silence while he can.
Today is the day, he decides between splashes of tepid tap water against his face once he forces himself out of bed and into his bathroom to wash up.Â
Today is the day he muscles up the courage to talk to you.Â
Not like heâs really got much of an excuse to put this off longer than he already has. Genya had told him as much.Â
The bristles of his toothbrush flatten against his teeth under the force of Sanemiâs brushing, toothpaste foaming in the corners of his mouth. Embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing. His teenage shithead of a brother â who couldnât even talk to girls, let alone date one â had been able to see the obvious answer to the very predicament Sanemi had spent the better part of a week running around like a headless chicken.
Then again, nothing in Sanemiâs life has even been simple, so it figures heâd try and complicate something as straightforward as this. You.
A hearty spit into the sink later and Sanemi wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand.Â
He supposes it was inevitable; he canât avoid you forever, and he owes you some sort of explanation, an in-person one, at that. No matter how new this is to him, he at least knows you deserve more than a measly text or phone call.Â
The bones of the Silo give way to the rusted shipyard marking its outer limits, the landscape whizzing by in a blur of rust and decay as Sanemi speeds past. Though the wind tears and whips at his cheeks, it hardly offers much in the way of relief from the heat of the sun bearing down on him from high above.Â
Sweat rolls down his back as Sanemi guns through the cityâs East Wing, opting to zip down back roads instead of dealing with the traffic on the main streets. It feels strange, to be speeding towards a decision that will fundamentally alter everything in his life, when everything right now feels the same as it did a year ago. Here he is, gunning down the same path to the bookstore heâd taken then â down an alley, out of sight from laying eyes. Summer in the City carries the same, weighted heat from year to year, and this one is no exception: oppressively hot, the air soupy and thick with humidity.Â
And Sanemi is still as hopelessly shackled to the Corps as he was then â as heâs always been.
The brand between his shoulders itches.
Still, he supposes he can count his lucky stars that heâs not on the run from the cops as heâd been last summer â at least, not currently. And he takes comfort in knowing that he wonât find himself being pushed and shoved under your store counter, your lip curling in disdain even as you made good on a decade-old favor.
At least, he hopes thatâs the case.
In all honesty, Sanemi knows he may very well find himself on the receiving end of that cold, unforgiving stare just as he had last summer. Only this time, the daggers you shoot his way might actually shred his heart to bits.
You have to be pissed at him. Youâd be stupid not to be, and while your unfathomable affection for him suggests otherwise, you are smarter than he is â infinitely so. Heâs ghosted you for more than a week, and you canât possibly think you have to accept that kind of idiocy on his part, no matter his excuses. That means this talk has to be about damage control â however much of it youâll allow.Â
He should start with an apology, that much is obvious. And heâll follow it up with something he never deigned to give anyone who didnât have the name of the Corpsâ boss family attached to them: an explanation.
Though, he notes with a grimace, an explanation supposed youâd give him long enough to make it through his apology without lobbing a well-aimed book at his head. Given your responses to his bullshit in the past, assault and battery are very real possibilities.
The closer he draws to your bookstore, and the gnawing pit in his stomach grows wider. If youâre angry, then heâll let you be. You can curse him all you want, throw as many book-bound projectiles at his head as youâd like, as long as youâll hear him out.
There is another possibility, however. One that he can only label as a worst-case scenario, one that he hasnât dared let himself consider even though he knows itâs a very real â and very understandable â outcome. The one where you have no reaction at all, only utter indifference to him and his absence. After all, youâd only asked one thing from him, and he gave it to you. Even if youâd told him you loved him, you hadnât asked him to love you back.Â
Maybe youâd said it knowing he was a lost cause, and now that youâve gotten what you wanted â the loss of your virginity and the weight of your confession off your shoulders â you could move on from him, even if that meant taking the misshapen lump of his heart with you as you left him behind.
Deep down, as devastating as that outcome would be for him, indifference is the best option for you. Youâre better off without him; he knows this. So, heâll pick up the pieces of himself and heâll figure out how to glue them back together on his own.
Mind spiraling, Sanemi turns onto the street leading to you, a nauseous mixture of dread and anxiety churning in his gut.Â
About two doors down from the bookstore sits a coin laundromat and a repair shop. Itâs here that Sanemiâs bike gutters to a stop, his eyes sweeping the streets for any out-of-place faces, anyone who might seem too interested in his movements.
All is quiet.
He stashes his bike in the gap between the two buildings. Normally, heâd pull into the alley behind the bookstore and come in through the back exit, but he doubts youâve left the door unlocked for him. Not when heâs dropping by unannounced. He canât imagine youâd take kindly to him pounding on the emergency exit, and the fewer opportunities he has to piss you off, the better. Heâll have to use the front door.
Kickstand in place and key tucked safely in his pocket, Sanemi shuffles along the sidewalk. Anxiety twists his stomach into knots, and it takes effort to force himself to breathe normally. But when he reaches the shopâs entryway, Sanemi stops cold.Â
The store is dark; there are no lights on inside, and even the way the door sits shut seems uncharacteristically cold.
He frowns. Perhaps youâre in the back, dealing with some delivery issue. Sanemi reaches for the doorâs knob, ready to call out your name â
Itâs locked.
Sanemiâs heart begins thudding uncomfortably in chest. The store is never closed. In the year he has known you, you are at the bookstore seven days a week, except for Christmas. But itâs midsummer; the store should not be closed. The lights shouldnât be off, it shouldnât be empty.
You should not be missing from behind the clerkâs counter.
Some semblance of sanity remains and encourages him to hurry around to the back alley, where he knows you accept deliveries. But the alley is as dark and as barren as the inside of your store, and the emergency exit is locked tight.
No store. No you. No sign indicating that you might have stepped away for a moment, or detailing some issue with the store and apologizing for any inconveniences to your customers. No explanation.Â
Sanemiâs hands are dialing your number before his mind can fully process the action.
âAnswer your fucking phone.â His voice trembles as the phone rings and rings. âNow.â
It goes to voicemail.
He tries again. Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
His body breaks into a run even before his mind can fully piece together the action, his bike forgotten. Riding it would require a coordination Sanemi doesnât have anyway, not while his thumb is busy jamming repeatedly at the call function on his phone, as Sanemi sprints for your studio.Â
The line rings and rings but his desperation goes unanswered. And each time he hears the automated machine instruct him to leave a message, Sanemi grows more frantic. The burn in his legs barely registers; he is consumed only by the need to move faster, to close the distance between him and your apartment as quickly as possible.
Answer your phone. He wills you, pressing the green phone icon yet another time, and then another. Answer your phone. Answer your goddamn phone.
You never do.
He makes it to your place in record time, his fist hammering on your door. His panicked call of your name echoes around the empty halls outside your apartment.
You donât answer.
Sanemi does not relent; one hand finds your name on his phone while the other continues pounding away at your door. He brings his phone to his ear and listens for the sound of your voice.
It does not come â but your ringtone does. Faint; muffled from its place inside your apartment, but unmistakable.
The sweat on the back of his neck turns to ice.
Sanemiâs breath comes hard out of his mouth in short, panicked gasps. Of all your eccentricities, Sanemi knows there are exactly two things youâre never without: lip balm and your phone.
His chest constricts. Your phone ringing inside means only one of two possibilities. Either you are in your apartment, hurt or captive, or youâve been taken.
Swearing viciously, he jerks against the locked knob of your apartment door, a frustrated growl tearing deep from his throat. He spins away, a frantic hand raking through his hair, before he turns back.
Eyes wild, he considers your door.
It really is a flimsy piece of wood. Even if your deadbolt was somehow latched, Sanemi wagers he could kick it in fairly easily.
Whatever has happened to you, itâs his fault. Whether someone had figured out who and what you were to him, or whether it was because you simply lived in a shitty part of town and he hadnât taken enough steps to ensure your safety, your blood is on his hands. That means itâs his responsibility to fix it â even if he has to tear this rotting city apart, brick by crumbling brick.
He backs away with a crazed expression. Fuck what your neighbors might think. Fuck what you might think, he thinks, getting into the stance he needs to rip your doors from its hinges. Heâll fix your door after he finds you and makes sure youâre safe. After he takes care of whoever dared to lay a hand on you, his you â
Just as Sanemi is readying his leg, he hears the distinct rattle of a chain unlatching, and then the door swings open.
Shocked eyes, blissfully familiar, blink at him, standing posed to kick in your door just as he stares back.
Sanemi doesnât think; his hand seizes tightly around your wrist and he yanks you into the hallway, slamming your door shut with the other hand.
âWhat the fu â?â You start but youâre cut off with a muted oomph! as Sanemi whirls you behind him. An indignant half screech squeaks out of you as Sanemi kicks your door open, one arm keeping you at his back.
His other hand has his gun drawn and cocked.
Your eyes bulge. âSanemi, what â?â
âWho else is here?â His voice has a deadly sort of authority youâve never heard, and it makes a lump of cold fear lodge in your throat. âHow many?â
He flashes a quick look at you over his shoulder. âAre you hurt?â
âWhat are you talking about?â you snap, following closely behind and pounding at his back as Sanemi systematically makes his way through your apartment, gun pointed and ready. But your flailing fists do little to stop him. âWhat are you doing, you psychopath?â
He doesnât answer; not until he clears your kitchen, that deadly hunk of metal still braced before him.
âThe store was closed.â He says shortly, eyes scanning the shadows. âYou werenât answering your phone. I called and called and you didnât answer ââ
âIâm on my period!â You burst, hands dragging down your heated cheeks. âIâve been here dying from cramps, you idiot!â
The hand holding the gun drops limply to his side, as Sanemi turns to blink dumbly at you.
âI told you, you imbecile, that my periods suck!â Your face feels hot and your voice has taken on a distinct squeakiness in the wake of your mortification. âI have pain meds to manage my symptoms, so Iâve been in and out of sleep all fucking day! I wasnât answering my phone because I didnât feel well enough to answer it, you â you ââ Your eyes screw up as you wrack your brain for something that can express the depths of his idiocy. âYou â stupid!â
Your lackluster insult is enough to break Sanemiâs blank stupefaction. âI didnât know.â He finally offers after a long moment, a hint of pink rising in his cheeks.
âSo, your first instinct was to do what â act like a goddamned maniac?â You demand as Sanemi hastily puts the safety back on his gun and tucks it into the waistband of his pants. âYou donât speak to me for more than a week, but you think itâs a good idea to come beat my door down? Because I donât answer a few texts?â
âNot a few texts,â Sanemi spits back. âI called and messaged over and over -- I was worried ââ
âYou were about to kick my door in!â
He squares his shoulders at that. âYes,â he says hotly. âYes, I was. Because I was fuckinâ terrified for a moment that something had happened to you. Because of me. Do you know what went through my mind when I heard your phone ringing, after Iâve spent the last half hour trying to get a hold of you? What the fuck else was I supposed to think?â
âThat you would decide I was sick or busy or maybe dealing with something and couldnât respond, like a normal fucking person ââ
âYou say weâre friends and you still havenât figured out that there ainât nothinâ normal about this? About me?â
Something flashes across your face, your eyes tightening at the word friends, but itâs gone before he can blink. Sanemi doesnât let himself linger on what it means. Nor does he listen to that small voice in his head that coolly whispers that he knows damn well you two are more than friends, no matter how deeply he tries to bury his head in the sand.
You open your mouth, ready to unleash of slew of insults or perhaps give him the good verbal lashing he knows he deserves, when you double over with a wince.
âOh, fuck me.â You groan, pressing a hand to your abdomen. You wave him off, dismissive. âIâm going back to bed. You know Iâm not dead, so do whatever you want. You know where the door is.â
With that, you shuffle miserably back to your bed, hunched over in on yourself, your arms wrapped firmly around you middle. Sanemi watches, bemused, as you crumple into your mattress in a resigned heap, your knees drawn nearly to your chest.
He stares hard at your bed, nostrils flaring as he works to calm his breathing. Safe. Youâre safe, nothing is wrong, youâre okay. He repeats this, again and again, a mantra that slowly eases the tension in his shoulders, soothes the violent fury in his veins.Â
A groan of frustration sounds from beneath your blankets and pillows, slightly muffled. âWell? What do you want?âÂ
He considers you for another moment before he rocks back on his heels, clicking his tongue.
Fuck it. Fuck the Corps, fuck the rules, fuck it all.
âWhereâre your keys?â
âHuh?â You lift your head just in time to see him start rooting through your bag where youâd left it looped it over the back of your kitchen chair.
Sanemi pulls out the woven keychain you used to attach a cluster of mismatched keys â ones to the store, the register, and most importantly, your front door. He tosses them in the air, triumphant, before snatching them up tight, pocketing them without so much as a look back at you.
âLater.â
Silence, and then, âyouâve gotta be fucking kidding me ââ
Heâs out the door before you finish your indignant sputtering.
â-
If any doubts lingered as to what exactly Sanemiâs decision was when it came to you, heâs fairly sure theyâre resolved here, in the pharmacyâs period care aisle. Because, really, what else can he call this â him, standing before shelves lined with an array of boxes and tampons and pads, trying to figure out what the fuck heâs supposed to get â if not a commitment to you?Â
A clear choice as any, he supposes. Itâs you, or itâs nothing â no one â else. Whatever it is the two of you are though, is another matter.Â
Rule Three: donât get attached.Â
Admittedly, that rule went right out the fucking window the moment he decided to pursue some sort of friendship with you, all those months ago. Even if it somehow survived the fall, heâd funcationally ran it over, again and again until nothing remained, the second he put his dick in you.Â
Whatever the label, he supposes he at least has to pretend to give some semblance of a shit about Corpsâ rules, if nothing more than because of his title within it. Plus, that caution probably serves to protect you as much as it does the Corps. And that means he canât outwardly call you his girlfriend anymore than he can openly date you.Â
He grimaces at the thought as he peruses the snack aisle, tossing a random assortment of your favorites into his basket alongside the variety box of tampons heâd settled on. Leave it to him to mull over shit like what to call you, now, when heâs got far bigger fish to fry. Never mind that for all the ways heâs decided he wants you to be his, he doesnât yet know whether you want him.Â
He did ditch you for over a week. Eleven days, to be exact.Â
Oh, well. If somehow you donât throw him out on his ass, then it doesnât really matter what he calls you. Itâs not like heâs particularly attached to labels, anyway. Not when girlfriend is far too casual a way to describe what Sanemi feels for you.Â
He tries ignoring the pang of want in his heart as the word boyfriend flits through his mind. While he canât call you his girlfriend to anyone within city limits, you donât wear the same shackles that he does. Youâre not bound by the same code. And damn, what he wouldnât do to have you call him your boyfriend; to finally belong to something â someone â other than the Corps. Itâs the sort of brand heâs gone his entire life craving even if he didnât quite know it. One heâd wear proudly on his heart, even if no one else would ever see it.Â
Finally, he reaches the front of the checkout line and tosses the contents of his basket onto the counter. Though, if you do decide you want his sorry ass, youâll have to be careful enough to not link boyfriend to his name. While Sanemi may not give a shit about his own safety, yours is his priority. He wonât let you put his target on your back.Â
Whatever labels do or do not await him, nothing changes the fact he cannot be a normal â whatever â to you. The only way you stay safe is if Sanemi lets his paranoia dictate the lines of your relationship, and even then, he canât guarantee itâll ever be enough.Â
He pays for your stuff, gathering the bags in one hand while he rummages his pockets with the other until he finds your keys. So many uncertainties remain, far more than what makes him comfortable. Yet, in spite of it all, the bubbling, hot panic heâd felt sprinting to your apartment has given way to an unfamiliar lightness. One that makes him feel like heâs floating even as he stops at a small kiosk near the pharmacyâs exit and feeds your apartment key into the machine.Â
Yeah, heâs fucking attached to you even though he knows better. But if you accept the metal the kiosk spits back out after a moment of whirring, itâll be worth it.Â
â-
Less than an hour after his dramatic exit, Sanemi slips back into your apartment. The plastic handles of his shopping bags looped unceremoniously around his wrists dig uncomfortably into his skin, and he dumps his bounty on the floor just inside your entryway.Â
A soft thump against the wall to his right snaps his head up.Â
Years of training to dodge fists, projectiles, bullets, enable Sanemi to duck right before one of your ridiculous little throw pillows smacks into his head.
Across the floor of your small apartment, Sanemi spies you sitting perched at the end of your bed, eyes wild and hair a mess, another pillow cocked in your hand, ready to be launched his way.Â
Bewildered, Sanemi demands, âThe fuck is your problem?âÂ
âYou!â The fluffy cushion sails through the air, but Sanemi knocks it easily aside. His casual avoidance of your targeted rage only serves to infuriate you more, and he watches, with some amusement, as you whip your head from side to side, searching for something else to chuck at him.Â
Finding nothing, you jab a finger toward the door. âGet out!âÂ
âNah,â he folds his arms across his chest and levels your fury with a cool stare of his own. âDonât feel like it, and I know you donât want me to go, either.â
Your right eye twitches and Sanemi smirks. If you really wanted him gone, you wouldâve fought harder when he took your keys. Probably wouldâve chased him out the door, hurling all kinds of venom his way. If nothing else, you wouldâve blown his phone up, calling him every name in the book, leveling every threat you could concoct.
Youâve forgotten, it seems, that heâs spent the past year learning you; being your friend. Heâs far too used to your stubbornness; he knows when youâre full of shit.Â
âYouâre impossible.â And with a huff, you turn your back to him and throw yourself back down on your mattress, yanking your blankets up to your chin.Â
He stomps over to your side of the bed and glowers down at your back, put stubbornly to him.Â
Fine. You wanna play this way? Sanemi can deal in pettiness, too.
An edge of your blanket peeks out near your feet, a small sliver you hadnât managed to tuck into place. A mistake, on your end, given that it only takes Sanemi hooking his fingers under it to rip the blanket clean off you.
He tries not to linger on the whiff of your scent that slaps him in his face. An intoxicating mixture of your perfume and shampoo that socks him in the gut.Â
While the loss of the blanketâs security forces you to curl in tighter on yourself, you offer no reaction. Not even a spiteful little glare over your shoulder, or some half-hearted insult, and for some reason, that pisses him off even more.
âYouâre not ignorinâ me,â he growls, balling the quilt in his hands. âI can be a bigger pain in the ass than this.â
Still nothing.Â
After a moment, Sanemiâs irritation finally boils over. âCan I just fuckinâ hold you, please?âÂ
You flip over to gape up at him, returning his pinched glare with outrage of your own. If Sanemiâs silence since that night was a bruise to your ego, the earnestness belying the arrogant annoyance in his eyes is a finger jabbing mercilessly at it.Â
Because he actually means it.
Part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of his request, and another part wants to launch every obscenity you can dream of right at his stupidly handsome face.Â
You go for the in-between. âNo!â Your voice is shrill. âNo, you canât hold me. You ghost me for almost two weeks, nearly break my door in half, steal my keys and fuck off for over an hour, and you think you get to hold me?â You throw your hands up over your head in exasperation before dragging them down your face, exasperated. âAre you stupid?â
Never mind thatâs exactly what you want to happen â itâs all youâve wanted, actually. But Sanemiâs idiocy has to cost him something, and despite the way your stomach dipped in excitement when you heard him sliding your keys into the doorâs lock, he owes you an explanation. And until you get one, he can keep on sitting at the very top of your shit list, all by his lonesome.
Some of the hardness in his eyes softens as your words hit their mark. In its place emerged a shadow of disappointment, one that has you reconsidering your previous stance, your hands itching to reach for him.
Gently, Sanemi tosses your bunched up blanket to the foot of your bed. âFine.â He gestures vaguely behind him. âBut Iâm still gonna put all this shit away, and then you and me are gonna talk.âÂ
That makes you sit up. âWhat shit?âÂ
Sanemi doesnât bother dignifying you with an answer; doesnât so much as spare you a glance as he stalks back toward your door. He totes the plastic shopping bags to your shabby kitchen table as you trail behind him, your curiosity outweighing your desire to remain rotting in bed.Â
âWait,â you frown, reaching for his arm. You try and still him as he unloads aspirin followed by a fresh box of tampons. âSanemi ââ
âJust shut up and let me take care of you.â He pulls a frozen pizza out of the shopping bag and glances at you. âDid you eat?â
You hesitate but then you slowly shake your head.
He snorts, depositing the box on your counter. Figures.
Bemused, you watch as he lugs the rest of his bounty into your kitchen and sets to work organizing his purchases. Itâs a strange sight. Sanemi bustles around as if itâs the most natural thing in the world. He navigates your cabinets with a confidence that only comes from familiarity, his movements more akin to something like muscle memory.Â
His comfortability makes sense, given how much time heâs spent here over the last year. Still, you never imagined a hardened criminal could look soâŠdomestic.
What doesnât make sense, however, is why. From the moment heâd thundered into your apartment in a murderous rage to his abrupt exit with your keys and sudden reappearance with groceries, Sanemiâs erratic actions have you in a tailspin you canât begin to find your way out of. Because none of it makes sense.
Too much; this is all too much.Â
âStop, stop, stop!â Your hand snatches around his forearm, stilling him. Annoyed, Sanemi huffs down at you only to be met with your own frosty glare.Â
You cut your eyes to the spread of snacks and period products atop your kitchen counter. âWhat is all this, Sanemi? I mean,â you gesture helplessly between him and the bags. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
Sanemi grabs the frozen pizza box and turns it over, eyes skimming the instructions. âTaking care of you.â He monotones, like itâs supposed to be obvious. Like him sifting through a bag full of snacks â all your favorites, you note â was normal, part of some unspoken ritual.
You know better; because the sidelong look he casts you is one of remorse; guilt.Â
Heâs stalling. And itâs precisely because of his own hesitancy that you canât be the first one to give in; to open the very obvious can of worms that sits between you.Â
You will not make his decisions for him; you wonât shoulder the burden of any blame should this go tits up.
âWhy are you here, Sanemi?âÂ
He busies himself with your ovenâs settings, fiddling with the knobs until it clicks on, preheating. Wordlessly, Sanemi slides the pizza into the oven and sets the timer.
âSanemi.â You press.
Instantly, the rest of his arrogance deflates. He turns back to you, shoulders heavy, slumped forward with something like shame.Â
ââM sorry, I justâŠâ he trails off with a helpless shrug. He drops his head, staring hard at the cracked linoleum of your floor.
You shift, settling in against the empty doorway to your kitchen, arms folded across your chest. After another moment, he raises his head, and takes a tentative step forward.
âFor months, I havenât been able to think about a damn thing but you.â Sanemi begins, his expression uncharacteristically grave. âCanât sleep, canât eat, can barely fuckinâ breathe without thinking about you. Without thinking of how fucking badly I want you.â
A tired hand runs through his hair. âHavenât even been with anyone else in months. Not when all I can think about is you.â He snorts, though itâs without humor. âStarted picturinâ you when I was with the others and everything. Nearly called out your name with one of âem one night, and knew I couldnât do it anymore.â
That little revelation nearly knocks the wind right out of you. Since your friendship with him began, youâve kept your ears steadily tuned toward any mention of Sanemiâs name. Part of you rationalized it was out of concern for his wellbeing, but in truth, youâd been nosy.
Not once had there been a whisper of the infamous Sanemi Shinazugawa settling down, of him slowing his antics.Â
Then again, the moment youâd begun catching the details of his wild reputation among the women of the Silo, youâd tuned out all the noise, too embarrassed to admit your own interest.
âI was selfish, kissinâ you.â Sanemiâs hoarse voice calls you back. âSwore it was only gonna happen once, and couldnât even keep that promise. And then, what we did that night â that only made it worse. Dâyou know why?âÂ
He chances another step toward you and the air between you thickens. Suddenly, thereâs little space left between your bodies, and youâre all too aware of the heat rolling off his body, drawing you in, a moth to a flame.Â
A hand reaches for you, his fingers nearly grazing your hair, but his arm drops back limply to his side. ââCuz I shouldnât have been able to have you. Not like that. But I did, and ââ he swallows, hard. âI knew I wanted more before I slept with you. Knew that if I ever crossed that line, I wasnât coming back from it. Couldnât.â
Your lips part. âSanemi ââ
âI canât be your friend, Y/N.â Sanemi says heavily. âI just canât. I knew that way back when I first started cominâ around, but I wanted to try. But I sure as hell canât be your friend, now."
A crack splinters across your chest, and by the way Sanemiâs eyes tighten, you wonder if he heard it; the sound of your heart breaking.
It was only ever going to end this way. You shouldâve known â a part of you did know. But that hadnât stopped you from trying, from loving him, anyways.Â
You open your mouth, ready to voice your resigned acceptance; to cut him loose, save yourself the devastation of any further explanation, when Sanemi shifts.Â
With a gulp, he shoves a hand into his pocket, rummaging. Whatever it is he searches for, he finds and holds out his closed fist before letting it drop.
A glint of light bounces off the object dangling from his fingers and from your periphery, you can tell itâs metal. Frowning, you tilt your head, inspecting.
Your heart gutters to a halt as its shape takes form.
A key. A single silver key, plain and unassuming, yet somehow, the entirety of your future rests somewhere between the neat little grooves you know perfectly match the hardware of the lock on your door. Â
âI had it made while I was out.â Sanemiâs confession is breathless, and he swallows hard before adding, âIf you donât want me to have it, then take it. Itâs yours.â
For a long moment, you say nothing; you only stare at the key hanging in the air. Half a heartbeat ago, youâd believed this â whatever it was â with Sanemi was over. That whatever brightness heâd brought to your dreary little life had faded, and heâd leave you behind, just like everyone else youâd dared to love.Â
âIf I tell you to keep it,â you start carefully, gaze trained so pointedly on the key dangling from his fingers that you donât notice the way his eyes round. âThen what does that mean for us?âÂ
He needs to say it. After a week of nothing from him, he at least owes you this. A label.Â
His throat bobs. A beat passes, and then, âIt means Iâm all yours. Only yours.âÂ
Not good enough. âMy what?âÂ
Sanemiâs fingers tense in faint agitation and your eyes cut to his.Â
âYours,â he insists again, more hotly. âYour boyfriend, your partner, your whatever-the-fuck-it-is that you call someone whoâs all in and wants to be with you, and only you.â
Air hardens in your throat, forms a lump you donât know how to swallow around.Â
He says it so simply, as though itâs obvious; like he hadnât avoided you without a damn word for more than a week, leaving you to fight against insecurity you hadnât known to have, before him.Â
I love you, Sanemi.
He hadnât said it back, then. Initially, you thought it was because he didnât feel the same. Sure, he cared for you, that much was obvious, but perhaps that consideration didnât rise to the level of devotion you held for him. You were okay with that; you hadnât said it out of expectation, anyways. Youâd only wanted him to know your heart, to know that as long as it was beating, it would be his.Â
Now, this key is his answer to your admission that night. And while it may not be the three words part of you longs to hear, itâs just as much as a confession on his part.Â
You could kick him out; tell him no, tell him that he, under no uncertain terms, could fuck right off after leaving you on silent for more than a week. You could.Â
You donât.Â
Because, he came back. Maybe in a whirlwind of murderous, seething violence, but Sanemi came back. No ulterior motives, no conditions; he came back for you and you alone.Â
He saw you and all your monotony, all your inexperience, and he came back anyway.
He was the only one who ever had.Â
Quietly trembling fingers latch around his wrist and for a moment, Sanemi thinks youâre going to take it from him. All at once, the earth crumbles and faces beneath him, plummeting him right into the hell he knew he was venturing into the moment you looked him in the eyes and asked him to do the impossible.Â
A buzz settles in his ears and Sanemi braces for the rejection he shouldâve known was to come. Heâd screamed it at himself that night, his head warning his stupid heart that this was precisely the only way this could go. Youâd gotten your fill of him, loved him even, but this â he â is too much. He shouldâve known better, he did know â
Your fingers close his fist around the key and squeeze it tight. Wide-eyed and breathless, Sanemi finds that for once, he does not resent the way the metal presses into his skin.Â
âKeep it.â Your hands are warm where they embrace his. âIâm yours.â
It takes him a moment to remember how to speak; to realize the static in his head has quieted. His world comes back together just as quickly as it fell apart, its pieces realigning with you at its center.
Relief, he thinks, has never felt so fucking sweet. âThank fuck.âÂ
The key clatters to the floor but no one pays it any mind; Sanemi is too busy surging forward, his hands planted firmly on your cheeks as his mouth crashes eagerly â desperately â into yours.Â
The kiss is little more than a frantic clash of lips and teeth, but everything about it is so fucking right that neither of you can be bothered to care.Â
You fling an arm around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as Sanemiâs enthusiasm threatens to send you stumbling back. Some small, distant voice hisses that you shouldâve made him work for it a little longer, shouldâve made him grovel for forgiveness. But then his hands are dragging down your front, and heâs pulling you into him by your hips with a possessive grunt and suddenly, you canât remember why any of it matters.
Neither of you are aware that youâre moving, not until your back bumps up against the entryway of your kitchen. Even then, your small gasp of surprise serves as nothing more than the chance for Sanemiâs tongue to sweep into your mouth, branding you with his claim.Â
It was always going to end this way â him, pressing you into your kitchen doorframe, his hands shoved under your t-shirt to rest on your bare waist while you pull him closer, your fingers twisting in his hair. Sanemi is a weak man; no matter how his better judgment snipped and snapped at him, all roads led right back here. It was inevitable.
Even if he hadnât chosen your bookstore to hide in that day, somehow, the universe wouldâve found another way to throw him into your life.
Sanemi breaks away with a pant. âFuck, Y/N,â he moans against your lips. âYou donât know what the fuck you do to me.âÂ
âTook you long enough,â you chastise between quick pecks. âI was beginning to think your head was perma-lodged up your ass.â
A sound of exasperation accompanies the nip of his teeth at your lip. âGod forbid the Princess has to wait on anything.â
You hum into his mouth. âNot anything,â you correct, breaking away from his lips in favor of brushing your nose against his. âYou, asshole.â
This time, itâs Sanemi who moans. âBullyinâ only turns me on, sweetheart. Thought you knew that already.â
âAnd deflecting doesnât help your cause. You still have some making up to do.â You scoff, lowering yourself back down to your normal height. Sanemiâs hands linger, cradling your face, and you canât help but nuzzle into his palm.
âYeah, well,â Sanemi murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. ââM here now, and I want you. And Iâm a fuckinâ idiot for thinking this is a good idea, and so are you for wantinâ me, but thatâs where we are. Canât go back.â
The corner of your mouth twitches up. âYou mean, you canât unfuck me.â
âNah,â he agrees, though his eyes darken. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head toward his. âWouldnât wanna take that back, anyways. Not in a million years.â
Not when youïżœïżœre his.Â
This time, when Sanemi recaptures your lips with his, it is slower; more sensual. His tongue slides seamlessly into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.
Raw desire, sharp and electric, shoots between your thighs when Sanemi moans again. Despite the neediness of his lips, his touch, Sanemi quickly recovers some of his self-confidence, the excitement of his kiss giving way into something more measured, more fervent that already has you panting for more.Â
Oh, heâs far too good at making you melt.Â
Large, warm hands skirt down the back of your thighs, gripping you under your legs. You gasp when the floor disappears from beneath you as Sanemi easily carries you deeper into the kitchen.
The pizza baking in the oven goes forgotten as Sanemi sets you on the ledge of your counter, his hands sliding up your sides, bunching the fabric of your shirt between his fingers.
The warmth of his hands makes you gasp and arch into him, and he huffs a quiet laugh against your lips.
âYeah? You want me to touch you?â He teases, pausing only to trace the tip of your nose with his, before he leans back in. âTell me where.â
Youâd love to, except the greedy assholeâs greedier lips are right back on yours, and you donât have the willpower to argue. You sigh into him, and Sanemiâs tongue sweeps easily into your mouth, flicking against yours.Â
Those damn hands of his manage to sneak beneath your t-shirt again. âMmm. Here?â He teases when you arch, his thumbs brushing along a sensitive part of your waist that makes you squirm.
He kneads against your ribs. âHow âbout here?â
Your nails scratch the nape of his neck in warning. âSanemi ââ
Those devilish fingers of his inch higher beneath your shirt until heâs cupping your bare breasts.Â
âMy bad. Here, right?â He smirks, catching your lower lip between his teeth.Â
He palms at your chest until youâre whimpering into his mouth. The tender, swollen ache of your breasts is soothed by Sanemiâs clever touch as he teases you with alternating flicks and pinches. He breaks your kiss to whisper your name, each syllable dripping with a reverence that makes you feel damn near sacred. He murmurs it again and again as his lips trail down your cheek, your jaw, his hands pushing your t-shirt higher and higher â
The oven timer buzzes.Â
Your head snaps toward the sound, hands fluttering against his chest in a reluctant effort to push him away, but he pays you no mind. Sanemiâs lips are still teasing under your jaw as he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head back toward him.Â
He silences your building protest with another kiss. âLet it burn,â his teeth nip at your bottom lip. âWeâre busy.â
You give into the persuasion of his lips for a moment, too greedy for his kiss. But the beep of the timer seems to grow louder by the second, and you find yourself too distracted by its noise to continue ignoring.Â
ââNemi,â you murmur between heated kisses. Thereâs a low vibration in the back of Sanemiâs throat in response, something akin to a growl of approval at the way you shorten his name. His hold on your waist tightens as he pulls you harder into him. âThe oven ââ
His tongue licks at the roof of your mouth before his lips break away from yours. âFuck the oven,â he moans before he claims your lips again, his kiss every bit as needy and possessive as touch.Â
He canât fathom stopping now â not when you feel so damn good in his hands, not when heâs so giddy that he gets to keep you all to himself, selfishly.
He feels like a teenager again, feels that same excited flutter in his stomach he used to get from sneaking off with girls between classes to make out, to let hands explore under shirts in the dark corners of abandoned classrooms or under the bleachers, more thrilled by the prospect of being caught than of actually succeeding in getting into one anotherâs pants. Only now, Sanemiâs got the girl of his dreams moaning with a few clever movements of his fingers as he explores your mouth with his tongue, your hands just as greedy as they roam the planes of his chest and tug at his hair.
Heâs about to suggest moving to your bed, eager to continue because he can, youâre actually his --
A loud rumble from deep within your stomach slices between you like a knife. Sanemiâs hands freeze, right atop your bare breasts.Â
A beat passes, and then he murmurs against your lips, âwhen did you last eat?â
Before you can feed him your bullshit, he adds, âa real meal.â
You fiddle with the ends of his hair, wincing. ââŠLast night?âÂ
Even if you could protest, could claim that you werenât all that hungry, your traitorous stomach roars again. You snatch your hands away from him, pressing them to your middle as though you can silence the way your belly gurgles with hunger.
Busted.
âSorry,â you mutter, too mortified to meet his eyes. âIgnore that, we can keep going ââ
âIâm not competing with your stomach. If Iâm gonna have you moaning, I want to hear you.â Sanemi kisses the tip of your nose and untangles himself from you, dragging his fingers teasingly along the bare skin of your thighs before he steps back entirely. ââSides, you need to eat.âÂ
You rub a hand over your grumbling belly. âItâs not that bad ââÂ
âYouâre an ass when youâre hungry.â
You canât fight him on that, no matter how your cheeks warm. Sanemi has experienced your hungered wrath far too many times. Still part of you itches to wipe that triumphant smugness right off his face as he dons one of your frilly, thrifted oven mitts and fishes the pizza out of the oven.
â
Once heâs ensured youâve eaten enough and washed your dishes, Sanemi sets to work on your bed, righting the mess heâd made of your covers. The moment everything is back in its place, even the obnoxious throw pillows youâd hurled at his head, he turns to you, expectant.Â
âWell?â He pats your newly remade bed. âCome on. You said you donât feel well, so get over here and rest.âÂ
For once, you donât fight him, nor do you so much as attempt to snark back at him for trying to boss you around. You simply slink back to your bed and flop down without a shred of grace or care.Â
Sighing, Sanemi kicks off his shoes and slides in behind you. Admittedly, when heâd played out the number of ways tonight could go in his head, he hadnât envisioned nursing you against the debilitating side effects of your period as one of those possibilities.Â
Still, Sanemi canât imagine any place heâd rather be.Â
His body fits against yours with ease, and the way his arm winds around your waist feels natural; automatic. For so long, heâd been navigating the world, unaware that something was missing; that he was incomplete. Sure, maybe heâd felt off to some extent â like there was a gap somewhere among his parts, one that he never knew quite how to fill.Â
But here, in your bed, his body half-draped over yours, his face, tucked into the crook of your neck, Sanemi finally knows what it means to feel whole. It fills him with such giddiness, such joy, he almost canât quite figure out what to do with it. Thereâs a lightness in his chest heâs never felt before, a weightlessness to his limbs. He is floating, and there is nothing to bring him back down to earth; no chain, no binds, no obligations. There is only his desire to be here, with you, however you want him.Â
Your hands reach back and latch around his wrist, tugging his arm over you. You then slide his hand beneath your shirt, pressing it flat to your lower belly.
Sanemi smiles against the nape of your neck as you sigh in relief. âWhatâs that about?â
âYouâre warm,â you groan, snuggling back against him. âHeat helps cramps.â
He squeezes you close and presses a kiss against your ear. âUse me as much as you need, then.â
Your soft laugh is intoxicating. Finally, some of the tension in your limbs eases and you relax into him, seemingly having found the right position to quell the throbbing ache in your stomach. Happiness. This must be happiness. Because here, he finally gets to just be Sanemi. Your Sanemi.
ââ
For a long while, you lay together in comfortable silence. The fading light streaming through the great, arched windows over your heads is his only measure of time, and soon, the lighting of your apartment dims. Now, there is only the soft, yellow glow of your various lamps and strings of fairy lights that coat your studio, creating a cozy cave he never wants to leave.Â
Curled behind you as he is, Sanemi canât quite tell whether youâve finally succumbed to sleep. Your breathing is slow, and while you havenât spoken in a while, you could just as easily be basking in the relaxed comfort of his arms, lingering somewhere in between sleep and consciousness.
Itâs how he wishes he could be; at ease, half-heartedly fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. But no; Sanemi is wide the fuck awake, his body stiffer than a board.
Despite your tentative relaxedness, you still squirm every so often,Â
struggling to find a position that will allow you the most relief from the throbbing ache in your lower stomach.
He doesnât think youâre doing it intentionally â in fact, heâs almost certain you arenât. But if you donât stop grinding your ass against him, Sanemi might just snap.
Heâd already had to quietly fight off the pain in his groin after getting hot and heavy with you in the kitchen, before heâd realized he needed to take care of your grumbling stomach at the expense of his blue balls. But here you are now, rotating your perfect ass right into his crotch as he grows harder than a fucking diamond, with no relief from the onslaught of your wiggling in sight.
It just feels cruel.
âKnock it off,â Sanemi finally grumbles into your ear, arms squeezing once around your waist in warning. âYou tryinâ to make me cream my pants?â
âItâs not my fault,â you groan miserably. âI canât get comfortable.â
âDonât you take meds?â
Another groan. âAlready did.â
Sanemi fights the swear building on his tongue. Heâs acutely aware that youâre not at fault for the way his traitorous body reacts to your movements, but he finds himself wavering dangerously close to losing mind. Each twisting movement of your ass is barely more than a whisper of the contact he craves and yet somehow, itâs just enough to make his cock throb for more.
It takes a great deal of self-restraint for Sanemi not to grab your hips and grind you back against him properly. But he manages to cling to that fraying thread, almost proud of his astounding commitment to his self-control, when you swivel your ass right against the crotch of his pants, groaning in frustration.
Thatâs when Sanemi snaps.Â
With a disapproving click of his tongue, he flips you to your back and under him. Youâre his woman now, after all; that means itâs on him to take care of business.Â
âYou still got cramps?â He hovers close over you, nose nearly bumping yours.
Wide-eyed and blushing at his proximity, you nod.
âYou took your meds already?â
Another nod.
âAnd they ainât helping?â
This time, you slowly shake your head.
A smile, a wickedly devious smile, spreads across his lips. âI know what will.â
Sanemi sits back on his knees and grabs a fistful of his shirt. In a single, smooth movement, he yanks it clean over his head.Â
âWhat are you --?â You sit up on your elbows, cheeks heating as your eyes roam the rocky planes of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth waters. âWhat are you doing?â
Sanemi crawls back over you, shutting you up with another kiss. Before you can break away to repeat yourself, he presses his hips to yours and grinds.Â
Heâs harder than stone.
Silky lips dance down your chin before sliding to explore your jaw. âIsnât it obvious?â
âI told you, Iâm â oh â on my period!â
âSo?â
âSo, itâs â itâs â messy!â You stammer, your cheeks turning crimson as Sanemiâs lips continue their heated path down your neck.
He snorts against your collar bone. âYou got towels, donât you?â
The cockiness of his tone stuns you silent. Sanemi huffs in triumph and busies himself with sucking a bruise into your skin, right over your throat.
âSanemi,â you squirm under his mouth, hands tugging at his hair, though even you donât know whether youâre trying to command his attention or push him back.
With an annoyed grunt, Sanemi tears his mouth away from your skin to glare at you. âIf you want to say no because youâre uncomfortable with it, then we can stop.â And, despite the faint, irritated twist of his mouth, his eyes are sincere. âBut if youâre only complaining because you think Iâll mind ââ
âIâm not uncomfortable,â you murmur, shyly looking away. âBut, Sanemi ââ
Your protest is smothered by a warm, firm hand closing over your mouth. Sanemi leans down until his forehead nearly touches yours. âDo you want me to stop?â
You blink up at him. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly shake your head, eyes wide.
âThen shut up.â
His hand slides away from your mouth and skirts down the length of your arm. His fingers close around your wrist and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.Â
He leans in to resume attacking your neck with his mouth, descending down your body with heavy, open mouthed kisses. When he reaches your navel, he shifts his hold to your waist and in a single, swift movement, he flips you atop him.Â
You gasp into his mouth as you settle against him, his hardening bulge pressing into the apex of your thighs. A deep, gravelly moan vibrates in Sanemiâs throat when you begin pushing your hips down to meet the hardness protruding into you, your movements out of your control.Â
For a moment, you remain like that, your body pressed flush to his as you gasp and grind against each other, your kisses little more than a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongue. Sanemi is the first to break away, his mouth trailing hotly down the column of your throat.Â
One arm stretches up the length of your back, his broad hand curling around your shoulder as the arm locked around your waist tightens. His hold on you sufficiently sturdy, Sanemi forces you to grind harder against him, his teeth nipping across your collarbone as you whimper above him.Â
The ache between your legs is sharper, more intense than usual; closer to a burning throb than a mere flicker of desire.Â
The hand heâd kept on your shoulder slides down your back, his fingers dragging teasingly along your spine until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He snaps it once, twice, savoring your little jolts each time the elastic bites at your skin, before he pushes below it to grip your bare ass.
Your fingers fly to his hair as he fondles the plush curve of you in his hand, alternating between gentle massages and rough squeezes. Each pleading little mewl that slips past your lips only drives him wilder with need, his cock throbbing where it strains against the seat of his pants.Â
He sucks a bruise into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. He will not give in; not yet, not before you beg him for what heâs been itching to give you for the last week.Â
With a fierce whine, you circle your own hips, unsuccessfully trying to maneuver his hand away. Your own hand drops from his hair to cup his jaw as you pant against his ear.
He hides his smirk against your collar bone. âYou got somewhere you want me to be, Y/N?â He croons, bucking harshly into your clothed center. His fingers dip to the crease between your ass and the top of your thigh, playing dangerously close to where he knows you need him most.
He can feel the heat radiating from you, beckoning him to closer, a beacon meant only for him. âYou just gotta ask, Princess. Iâm right here, waitinâ.âÂ
âS-Sanemi ââ
Without warning, Sanemi sits up, forcing you to scramble to lock your legs around him for support. He scoots to the edge of your bed, his grip on you firm, until his legs drape over its side. With you in his lap, he throws a steadying arm behind him as you sit perched atop his thigh.
âThere. Wanted to see you properly.â
He traces the tip of his finger around the tightened bud of your right breast, just over your shirt, eyes bright and crinkled in amusement as you squirm.
Itâs not enough; not nearly so.
With a wicked grin, he leans in, resuming his torturously slow exploration of your neck. Your reaction to him is instant, as you grind and squirm atop him, your fingers fisting at his hair.Â
But, even he grows tired of this constant teasing. Impatient, he plants one hand at the base of your spine, pressing your body flush against his, while the other slides down your front, his fingers playing with the hem of your top.Â
Right now, thereâs only one thing â well, two things â he wants, and your damn shirt is getting in his way.Â
The moment you shudder against him as his fingers brush the skin below your nazel is the moment he yanks your t-shirt up, revealing your peaked, aching breasts right to his hungry gaze.
He presses its hem to your lips. âHold this.âÂ
Your pupils blow wide at the cockiness of his demand. Slowly, you part your lips and allow Sanemi to latch the bottom of your shirt between your teeth.
He gives you only a warning look, a stern narrowing of his eyes that says, donât even think about dropping it, before he turns his attention back to your chest, pausing to whistle appreciatively at the sight of you, bare before him.Â
In addition to being stuck with murderous cramps, one of the other terrible side effects of your period is how damn sore your breasts get. Often, you can hardly stand to wear a bra, the burning ache in your chest damn near unbearable.Â
And there his mouth is, so close yet so far. The memory of just how expertly heâd navigated you the last time with his mouth makes your nipples stiffen, adds gasoline to the fire burning hotly in your lower belly.Â
With a whimper, you thrust your chest toward him.Â
âOh?â Sanemi raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. Idly, his index finger traces a circle around your right nipple, followed by another. âSensitive are we?â He smirks. âLooks like youâre achinâ for some attention, sweetheart.âÂ
His breath fans hotly across one of your stiff nipples, and you swear it throbs as Sanemi exhales against your skin again, teasing.
You could cry. Aching, indeed.
He smirks against your breast. âI can help with that.â
His lips part and Sanemi sucks your breast right into his mouth, groaning between sloppy, wet smacks of his mouth. The ache between your legs intensifies with every suck, every graze of his teeth and flick of his tongue.
âPretty,â he hums against your nipple, and the vibrations from his mouth make your thighs clench together. He takes the breast not occupied by his mouth into his hand, lavishing it with the same worship as he gives the other, squeezing and rolling it until youâre whimpering over the mouthful of your shirt.
He pulls back, a thin strand of saliva connecting his lips with your nipple that breaks when he speaks. âPrettiest Iâve ever fuckinâ seen, just like the rest of you.â
Sanemiâs mouth is wet and hot as it trails across your sternum, taking your other soft mound into mouth while his hand migrates to the other, his fingers swirling the saliva heâd left behind into your flesh. He pinches your nipple in time with the graze of his teeth over the one sucked between his lips.
Itâs too much; the pulsing ache between your legs has grown too riotous, too incessant, and youâre desperate for relief. The muscles of his thigh notched between your legs flex like he knows; baiting you.
You fall for it, hook, line and sinker, just as he wanted, your hips beginning a tentative grind against his leg.
Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth as you find a steady pace, rocking and grinding against him. It soaks the fabric of your shirt as you fight to keep from loosening your jaw. Everything Sanemi is doing feels so fucking good, and youâll be damned to mess that up for yourself.
There it is again â that familiar knot in your stomach, one that rapidly pulls tighter and tighter the more you circle and grind against his thigh. Through your lashes, you can see Sanemiâs gaze locked heatedly on your face, a ravenous hunger in his eyes.
âYou gonna cum just from this, sweetheart?â Despite his attempt at derision, his voice is rougher than gravel. His hands latch around your hips, shifting you until youâre perched right over the rock-hard bulge that has formed beneath the seat of his pants.Â
In answer, you grind even harder against him, riding him with abandon as your nails dig into his shoulders. Moaning, Sanemi wraps his lips back around your tender nipple, and soon, heâs bucking up into you with equal fervor, the two of you gasping into one another.Â
The hand pressed to your ass squeezes, Sanemi pushing you harder into him. You might just come like this, grinding against his bulge, Sanemi, mouthing hotly at your swollen breasts, tugging and nipping at your skin with his teeth. Everything feels heightened, your senses overwhelmed by him and his mouth until you buzz with the need for more. The knot in your stomach tightens, tightens âÂ
The stiffened seam of his pants catches your clit at precisely the right angle, and you fall apart. The whine that vibrates in your throat is nothing short of pathetic; a keening little plea as you fist at his hair, pressing his face into your chest while you grind desperately into him. Your orgasm sweeps over you, both a relief and a taunt; a hollow echo of the release you crave, the high heâd given you that night that youâd pathetically chased since without success.
Sanemi only sucks at you harder. He finally releases you when the last feeble wave washes through, when he feels the tension in your limbs, settle.
âGod damn,â he says roughly, imparting a final few flicks of his tongue across your nipple. âThat was fuckinâ beautiful.â
With a last, harsh suck, Sanemiâs mouth leaves your sore chest with a soft pop. You barely have time to push the dampened hemp of your shirt from your mouth before the muscles of his arms ripple and flex around you. In an instant, youâre back under him, caged against your mattress by his hulking mass.
Itâs thrilling, how easily he manhandles you, his touch firm and assured. Yet, no matter how capable he is of throwing you around â no matter how easily he can overpower those ever bigger and meaner than you â his gentleness with you never wavers.
Sanemi wastes no time guiding your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. His mouth trails after his hands, and faster than you can blink, he rips your shorts down your legs, tossing them carelessly off the side of the bed.Â
His fingers slide over the front of your underwear, circling. âThere,â he marvels with a satisfied click of his tongue. âYouâre fuckinâ soaked.âÂ
You donât bother to tell him the wetness he feels might very well be from your period â after all, youâre wearing your speciality underwear, the kind that doesntâ require you to wear tampons or pads. But you also donât think Sanemi would care much either way, given how he continues circling your clit, savoring the way your legs spasm and jerk beneath him.Â
Moaning, your thighs widen for him and Sanemi continues the languid turn of his fingers. You think he means to make you come again, and itâs embarrassing how quickly your body commits to that effort, but he pulls his hand away.Â
Your whine needles some remorse out of him. He ducks to press a sweet kiss against your knee. âBe right back.âÂ
His weight on your bed lifts, and Sanemi quickly vanishes around the corner of the wall that blocks your bed from the view of the small hallway containing your bathroom, one cabined by your laughably tiny linen closet.
He reappears a few seconds later, one of your towels in hand.
âHips up,â he orders, motioning for you to lift yourself from the mattress. Wide-eyed, you obey, your heart fluttering in your throat.
âFor the record, I donât care if we use a towel,â Sanemi tells you as he spreads it beneath you, creating a barrier between your body and your blankets. âIâd wash the sheets for ya once we finished. But if you prefer to use it, thatâs fine by me.â
His hands guides you back down against the bed and linger once you settle, his fingers teasing along the jut of your hip. âBut a period ainât gonna stop me from helping my girl feel good.â He bends down to seal his promise with his lips against your thigh.
Off the side of your bed, Sanemi straightens, his movements easy and self-assured in every way you arenât. Keeping his eyes locked with yours, he unbuckles his belt, the click of metal sending an electric current right between your legs. Wordlessly, he shucks his pants and briefs down his legs.
Your mouth runs dry; his cock looks somehow bigger, more imposing than it had that first night. Ramrod straight and leaking, the thick head of him smacking up against his abdomen.Â
He pauses in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off his body, and yet he maintains the smallest distance between you, holding back just enough to drive you mad.
You want to snap at him; to demand he ease the fire heâd ignited in your blood, to touch you in that way only he knew. But your desire for him makes your mind blank, and though you know your vocabulary is better than most, you canât remember the words necessary to form your demand.
For Sanemiâs part, his eyes are locked heatedly on your face, alight with the hint of a challenge; baiting you to see how long it will take before you crack.Â
His voice is as coarse as gravel. âCome here.â
Normally, youâd balk at his attempts to order you around, and instead offer him some snappy retort or a petulant roll of your eyes. Here, however, Sanemi has the upper hand, and your need is too great to try and wrestle it back from him.Â
Careful not to disturb the towel spread so carefully atop your mattress, you rise. Sanemi watches your every movement with a hunger he doubts can ever be fully sated. His fingers find yours, and slowly, he pulls you into him, your chest squishing lightly against his abdomen.Â
You gaze up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as his hands slide over your hips, marveling at the silkiness of your skin. With a teasing languidness, he loops his fingers under the band of your underwear, one at a time. Slowly, he drags them down the length of your legs, lowering himself to his knees as he slides it over your feet. All the while, his gaze remains locked with yours, pressing his lips reverently to the fleshy part above your knee while his hands run up and down your calves.Â
Your scent makes his mouth water: a sweet musk, tinged with the faintest trace of iron, and utterly intoxicating. The temptation to lean in and taste the paradise between your thighs is strong, but Sanemi resists. Instead, he rises back to his full height with the same slowness as before, his nose nearly touching yours. Â
His eyes drop to your mouth right as your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, and Sanemi descends upon you like a tidal wave.
âFuck.â He growls, hand closing around the back of your neck as he jerks you forward and crashes his mouth down against yours.
Whatever remained of your self-doubt and uncertainty fizzles under the weight of his intensity. All at once, you feel like the most alluring creature ever to grace the planet, a temptress worthy of the great epics gathering dust at the store. Sanemiâs kiss is feverish and urgent and all-consuming; he kisses you like a man parched, your lips his only salvation.
Eager hands wrap under your thighs and haul you up, up, up. Your gasp of surprise at your sudden weightlessness is swallowed up by Sanemiâs tongue sweeping into your mouth. Â
Down the two of you fall, a breathless heap of tangled limbs and shared moans landing on your bed. This time, your legs part for him without his guidance, and Sanemi settles easily into the cradle of your thighs.Â
Only your second time and already, your bodies are moving together like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Youâre drawing him in like a magnet, your body his North Star.Â
What a fucking idiot he was, to not have realized it sooner.
Your kisses turn sloppy and he feels you draw your legs up, your knees braced against his sides. He hisses as his bare length grazes your wet center, the head radiating from you making him throb. Â
He rubs his cock against your damp heat again and again, his nails biting into your sheets as he resists the urge to thrust forward before heâs properly lubricated for you.Â
Beneath him, you tense. âN-now?â You squeak, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rubs himself against the slick heat of you.
He almost groans. âYeah, now.â If he has to wait any longer, he might go insane.
âBut â but â donât you want a condom â?â
Sanemi scowls as he drags his tip up and down your slit before pressing against your entrance. Fuck no, he doesnât.
âShhh. Whatâd I say?â He quells your worrying with a mighty thrust of his hips. The coppery slickness of you mixed with your arousal means thereâs no resistance, and so, Sanemi sheathes himself to the hilt inside you in a single, fluid movement. âShut up and let me take care of you, yeah?â
You answer him with a high-pitched cry, one that almost borders a small scream, and heâs hard-pressed to restrain himself from joining you.
âFuck, fuck, fuck,â Sanemi grinds out. âHoly shit, sweetheart.â
He thought heâd been close to losing his mind that first time, but the feeling of you now, tighter and hotter than before, and so fucking wet, threatens to untether him from reality all together.
In fact, he realizes as his hips begin moving on their own, heâs likely already lost control. He begins with slow, shallow thrusts, but his movements quickly melt into hard, deep rolls of his hips that are little more than base instinct. He is driven only by the need for more, to push himself as deep as he can possibly go until the two of you fuse together as one.
Youâre writhing beneath him, toes curling against your mattress, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him being buried inside you. Not that Sanemi is faring much better. Itâs taking him a surprising amount of self-restraint to keep himself from coming right then, too lost in the heaven of your body.Â
Amazed that heâs still able to form a coherent thought, he manages to ask, âYou still on that pill?â
He has no intentions of using condoms ever again, not after experiencing the euphoria that is your bare pussy. But your answer will determine where he comes.
He feels you nod as your teeth catch his bottom lip, beseeching him for a kiss heâs only happy to oblige. He grunts into you, a needy, guttural sound as he works to set his pace. âYou want me to pull out?â
You pause for a moment and then with wide eyes, you slowly shake your head.
Sanemi smiles against your mouth. âGood. Me neither.â
Sure, his rule against having children while still entrenched within the Corpsâ operations threatens to go up in smoke, but youâre on birth control. And, as heâs learned, he canât follow rules for shit when it comes to you.
He nudges your head to the side, burying his face against the exposed length of your neck.
âJesus Christ,â he inhales deeply, mouth pressed to your skin. âI fuckinâ missed you.â
For the past week, his body has been rebelling against him, too restless to sleep, to think, to do anything but roar its discontent with him. But here, buried to the hilt inside you as he is, a calmness trickles through his veins, steadying him, bringing him back into himself.
He shouldâve known, he thinks as he rolls his hips with yours, working to set his pace. Itâs you. It has always been you.
Beneath him, you fare no better, just as overwhelmed by your reunion with his body as he is with yours. That burning stretch is still there, just as it had been that first night, but itâs nowhere near as sharp as it had been then. Still, it takes a moment to adjust to his intrusion, despite how ready youâd been to receive him. After all, Sanemi is on the larger end of the scale; not that you have anything in particular to compare him to. But his cock is a little longer than the length of your hand, and thick.Â
And god, does he know how to use it. No wonder heâs so insufferably smug all the time. Heâd earned his bragging rights a hundred times over.
Youâre both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as your noses bump together. Your fingers twist in his hair, desperate to find an anchor the more Sanemi threatens to to send you over the edge of your sanity.
You try, bless you, to meet his movements, your hips tentatively jerking to meet his thrusts, to help him plunge deeper.
Your effort makes him melt. âJust let me do all the work, sweetheart.â He coos, pressing you firmly into your bed, limiting your movements with his weight. âYou ainât gotta do a thing but take it.â
Truth be told, Sanemi is dreaming of the day youâll ride him. In addition to reminiscing how fucking good your pussy tastes, Sanemi also hasnât been able to stop thinking about how you will look perched atop him, your hips rolling and dropping frantically against his, tits bouncing. But right now, youâre the one who needs to be taken care of, and heâs more than happy (if not downright insistent) that heâs the man for the job.
You give into him easily, sinking into the mattress and letting your legs spread wider, relaxed. Sanemi smothers his throaty hum of approval into your neck, sucking and biting his claim into your skin.
The air between you grows thick with the scent of iron and sex, clouding his head and further loosening whatever hold he pretends to have over the monstrous, feral thing inside him. The one that only wants to pin you down and take you harder, rougher, until you canât fathom being anything else but his.
Heâs only able to cling onto that last bit of self-control because heâs so focused on you, all too aware of your limits. Those big, watery eyes of yours are pools he can drown in, and the wobble in your lower lip as he hits deeper nearly drives him insane. God, he canât believe he denied himself of this for so long â of you, of the privilege of taking care of you, of making you cry out his name and beg for more. Â
âGod, youâre perfect.â He moans out in praise. âYouâre fuckinâ perfect.âÂ
Though itâs only your second time, your bodies slide together like itâs the most natural thing in the world; easier than breathing. You are an extension of him as much as he is of you, and he canât even chalk it up to his eye for detail. The observations heâd made of you last time had nothing to do with survival. It was instinctual. Sanemi hadnât needed to work to memorize you; heâd known you the second your skin met his.Â
Itâs this familiarity that guides him now, Sanemiâs lips and teeth and hands finding every spot that makes you moan, gasp, bite your lip until it nearly bleeds while you scratch at him and urge him closer.Â
Though heâs admittedly half-fucked out of his mind with euphoria as you clench and pulse around him, Sanemi does note that some of your uncertainty toward your own body has returned. Your hands drift from his hair to his face before dropping to clutch at his shoulders. As Sanemiâs movements gain momentum, making you bounce against the mattress, your nails lightly â hesitantly â crest into his skin.
He chuckles against the shell of your ear. âYou can cling to me as much as you want, darlinâ. I donât mind.â He rolls his hips more purposefully this time, the arm around your waist tightening, forcing you to arch harder into him. âIâll take good care of my girl.â
His knees shift forward and Sanemi pulls back to study you. Itâs hard to know where to rest his eyes; you look fucking incredible under him like this, hair fanned out, framing your head like a halo; your breasts, peaked and mouthwateringly full, bouncing perfectly in time with his movements.
But itâs your face that catches his attention; the way you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, coupled with how your inner walls flex around him, as though in answer, your pupils blown wide with desire.
His free arm pushes under your knee and your pretty mouth falls open at deepening the reach of his cock. âYou like it when I call you that, huh? My girl.â
Tears cling to your eyelashes. You manage only a hurried, jerky nod of your head, incapable of making any sound more intelligent than a few whimpers.
âYeah?â And he pins you down harder into the mattress with a snarl, his arm pressing your leg nearly to your shoulders. âGood, âcause you are.âÂ
The lewd squelching of Sanemiâs cock bullying relentlessly against your swollen, aching walls grows louder. He untangles his arm from under your leg to move above your head, bracing his weight on his fist where itâs balled into the mattress. He uses his new position to increase the force of his thrusts, his legs straightening out behind him, his feet digging into the bed as he draws his cock nearly all the way out of your heat, before plunging right back in.
âAnd this is all mine, too, isnât it?â A free hand wedges between your bodies, Sanemi slapping lightly at your clit. You cry out as he repeats the action again, but when he presses down at the next contact of his fingers and circles them, a howl of his name rips free.
He tucks his dark chuckle into your throat, his teeth nipping just above where your pulse flutters. âYeah, it is. âCuz youâre my girl. My good fuckinâ girl.â
Your cunt clenches around him in steady pulses, every fleck of your slick warmth fogging his brain. Itâs unreal, the way you respond to the filth pouring from his mouth. It nearly drives him insane; here he is, someone who has only ever known hell, yet heâs managed to steal away his own piece of heaven.Â
Rough fingers tighten around your hip, pulling you harder to meet him. Sheer desire may have clouded his head in those first moments, his delight in getting to have you making him over-eager to get you naked, but the fog is rapidly dissipating. Instead, as he moves, Sanemiâs dizzying pleasure becomes edged by solemnity.Â
Sure, sex has always been an easier way to work through emotions he wasnât allowed to feel, but that sort of self-distraction canât fly anymore. Not with you; not when you mean everything.
He was your first and he wants to be your last. Your only.
None of this is temporary; he hadnât told you he was all in until he got bored, or until one of the thousand reasons couples break up came along to give him the first pass to skip town. He didnât attach any strings to that key. You need to know. You need to know how fucking serious he is about this. You.Â
But in case any ambiguities remain, let him clear them up now.
âCanât believe I wasted all that fuckin time on the others when I couldâve had you. You used to smile at me, you remember that?â Sanemi draws his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside before slamming back into you. âWhen we were in school. Used to make me go dumb in the head when ya did.â
The wet, sticky squelching where your bodies connect only grows louder as Sanemi increases his pace. âAnd then Iâd see you smile at others and it drove me nuts. But then I realized you were smilinâ special for me â and not just because you were beinâ polite. You meant it.â
He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his mouth sucking a harsh bruise into your skin that he soothes with his tongue. âShouldâve made you mine back then.â He growls, and below him, you tense. âShouldâve made you my girl and taken you far away from here. Mightâve even become a better man, if I had. I wouldâve, if Iâd known. That you were fuckinâ made for me â fuck!â Sanemi throws his head back as you squeeze tighter around him.
He drops his gaze back down to your face. Though your eyes are glassy with pleasure, thereâs recognition there, an understanding that parts your lips as the weight of his words settles.
I wouldâve wanted you, then.Â
Judging by the dent that appears between your eyebrows, he knows his silent confession isnât lost on you, even as a sharp cry tears from your throat.Â
Sanemi leans down and kisses you, roughly, in confirmation. âAnd I donât just mean your body,â he breaks away from your lips with a pant. âYou were fuckinâ made for me. Wish Iâd known it back then.â
He gives a sharp twist of his hips on his next plunge in, making you bow away from the bed and into him with a cracked moan. But Sanemi lets his weight press you right back down, your bodies rolling together as one.
Thereâs a limberness to your body that hadnât been there that first time; a relaxedness in your limbs now that you know what to expect, one that has you opening your thighs a little wider, an invitation for him to hit deeper that heâs only too happy to accept.Â
âOh fuck â thatâs it, baby. Yes.â He canât be bothered to feel embarrassed by the way his voice strains as he shouts, âFuck!â
As tight as youâd been when heâd first entered you, nothing compares to the way youâre squeezing his cock, now. Youâve sharpened the arch in your spine, smushing your breasts into his chest as you offer him to take more and more. So firm is the hold of your body over his, that Sanemi finds it increasingly difficult to thrust, and he resigns himself instead to holding hard by the hips and grinding.Â
A too familiar tingle at the base of his spine prickles. He going to come and soon, and thatâs unacceptable. His entire sexual history has been predicated on two rules: no unprotected encounters and no cumming before his partner.
Heâd thrown the first rule to the wind with enthusiastic ease; but heâll be damned if he starts reneging on the second. Not when heâs promised to take care of you.
Sanemiâs hand unlatches from its place above your hip to push between your bodies. Your eyes roll back into your head and your jaw goes slack when his thumb finds your aching clit and swirls, coaxing you to relax into the bed and ease some of your iron-tight grip.
âS â San ââ you try, but whatever thought youâre trying to string together dies in your throat under a keening wine as Sanemi shallowly thrusts into you.
He grits his teeth. Not enough; heâs still too damn close. His balls have become painfully tight, and the electric prickle he feels has bled into his stomach, forming a know thatâs becoming tauter by the second.
He wonât be able to hold off for much longer.
âCâmere, baby.â He manages with a croak. âNeed ya to cum for me.â And with some remorse, he withdraws his hand. It joins the other in smoothing down the sides of your thighs, bending each leg at your knee. âKeep âem up. Iâm gonna get real deep, okay?âÂ
He anchors himself against your sheets and settles. The adjustment pushes him deeper inside your warmth and a small moan escapes your mouth. Sanemi begins rocking into you, gentle at first, but gradually faster. âMight feel a bit strange, but I need ya to trust me. Iâll take care of you.âÂ
Knees nearly to your chest, you nod. Tentative whimpers soon melt into steady cries that pace with his movements. Before long, your hips are rolling up and away from the bed with his, your toes curling in the air.
The hand he has braced next to your head fists at your sheets. This new position means youâre even tighter than before, and the extra slickness from your period has him bumping up against all the right places in record time.Â
Below, you squirm and claw at him, but your moans only grow louder as Sanemi continues to reach deeper within your swollen, tender walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you unraveling.
âS-Sanemi,â you whine, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his back
âI know youâre feelinâ sensitive, baby, but youâll feel better if you cum. Can you do that for me?â
Eager to ease you into agreement, he rewards you with a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The knot in his stomach tightens, but Sanemi resists; his self-control used to be a source of pride, and heâs determined to cling onto whatever thread of it remains.
Thankfully, you flutter and clench around him, a broken moan lilting out of you in answer.
Relief courses through him. âYes, baby â thatâs it. Shit.â His eyes squeeze shut and he focuses on the sharp sting of your nails raking down his back, willing the pain to ground him as he fights off his own orgasm. âYouâre close, arenât you? I can feel it.â
He hasnât dared forget how it feels when youâre at your breaking point; sweet, slick walls pulsing and clenching wildly around him, every muscle in your body strung tight as you wait for that coil in your gut to spring.
Itâs all heâs thought about for the last eleven days.
And when you confirm with a jerky, frantic nod, Sanemi leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. âLetâs make it a big one, yeah?â
Without waiting for a response, Sanemi drops his head to the pillow below. Slowly, he allows his weight to sink into you, pushing him further into your warmth. You cry out when his tip kisses a spot deep within you, a slight tinge of pain sparking through your lower abdomen that intensifies when he hits it again and again. Your nails rake down his back and tears well hot and fast in your eyes as Sanemi begins rutting hard and fast into you, no sound leaving your mouth but a series of strangled, choked gasps.
It hurts, the way he hammers away at that spot. You canât deny it. But it also feels so fucking incredible that you canât fathom him stopping now. Ever.
He churns harshly with every brutal snap of his hips, the coarse, rough hairs of his base scraping right against your clit, until that coil behind your navel cinches impossibly tight.
âSanemi ââ you squeak, but nothing else follows, save a single, choked gasp.
Itâs over and he knows it.
âGo on, sweetheart.â His voice husky and warm, murmuring in your ear. âShow me who you belong to.â
Thatâs all it takes; with a guttural gasp, you seize around him like a vice. Your limbs tense even as a warmth bursts deep from within your stomach.Â
Your first orgasm with him had been powerful; this one is a cataclysm.
Climax rips through you like a hurricane; an explosion of pleasure that fractures you apart, shatters you into hundreds of fractals that all sing one name until your throat burns.Â
Sanemi only fucks you harder.
Everything falls away; the industrial iron piping on your ceiling, the faint golden glow of the fairy lights woven around your headboard, even the rough fabric of the towel spread beneath you. All of it fades to white as you freefall into an endless ocean thatâs precisely the color of the eyes you love most.Â
Thick fingers close around your jaw, urging your face towards his. Far away, in the deep throes of your own ecstasy, you hear his soft whisper of your name, a string tugging you through the waves. You follow it all the way back to where you lie, sandwiched between your bed and his body. Through pleasure-bleary eyes, you find him watching you with a hunger that only intensifies the harder you come around him.
Somehow, despite the fact he has now seen every inch of your undressed body, the way his eyes hold yours has you feeling stripped to the bone. Beneath his ravenous, dark gaze, you are flayed open, no part of you left hidden. Truly naked.Â
He has to see it, you think even as you continue to wail his praise. He has to, spread beneath him as you are. He has to know every corner of you bears his name.Â
A brutal snap of his hips sends Sanemiâs cock right into that wonderfully painful place, your back arching hard off the bed as another great wave picks you up and slams you against the shore that is him. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you continue to sob from the force of your orgasm until finally, the tide recedes, sending you plummeting back to the mess of blankets below.
Sanemiâs arms catch you before you land.Â
He lets your legs drop from his shoulders and replaces them with your arms. Though limp, you manage to summon your residual strength to tighten your hold around his neck, clinging to him.
Satisfied, no longer does Sanemi try and hold back his ragged moans and grunts as he chases his release. Not that heâd given much of a shit about it before, but Sanemi finds that he really canât muster one now.
His hands curl around the edge of your mattress above your head, Sanemi using his grip for leverage, deepening the reach of his cock until he canât tell where you end and he begins.
âOh fuck â oh fuck ââ Sanemi canât stop the filth pouring from his mouth as the familiar prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, more electric.Â
Heâs going hard; the entire bed creaks and rocks with the force of his movements, the bedposts rhythmically knocking up against your wall with pronounced thumps. âFuck, Iâm gonna come â baby, Iâm gonna come ââ
Beneath him, your moans have resumed though they now carry the faint cadence of a whimper. Somewhere, in the back of his pleasure-addled mind, Sanemi knows youâre probably overstimulated, but his pace only increases. He canât stop, doesnât want to stop, not when heâs so fucking close, not when itâs been so fucking long â
Unintentionally, you graze the raised skin of his brand, and Sanemi tosses his head back, hissing in approval. More, he wills, fucking into you harder. Do it more, carve your own claim into him. The Corpâs mark doesnât mean shit to him, now.
Whether you understand the bruising demands of his hips or whether youâre simply reacting to their quick, hard snaps, you comply, your hands raking down his spine, Another powerful thrust throws your arm up his back, and you fumbles for purchase right in the dip between his shoulders. Â
Gasping, you sink your nails right into his mark, and Sanemi loses control.Â
With one last mighty push of his hips, Sanemi comes undone with a roar, his balls flush against your ass as his climax slams into him.
A strangled cry of your name is all he can manage before stars explode behind his eyelids. His jaw slackens, and his lower body moves on its own, his hips canting as his release barrels through him and into you, hot and thick. Heâd sworn the first time he finished in you had been the hardest heâd ever came in his life. But then, your legs jerk around his waist, your shins locking together at the base of his spine as your thighs squeeze his hips, and his vision goes white. Â
For someone who has spent most of his sexually active years doggedly refusing to consider the idea of barebacking any of his former partners, Sanemi has a bitch of a time trying to remember why that is. Because nothing, not a goddamn thing at all, will ever compare to this.Â
Below him, you begin to mewl and whine, your hands clawing lightly at his chest in an effort to push him away. A voice blooms in the back of his head, a faint reminder that youâre likely overstimulated to the point of discomfort.
But it just feels too fucking good.
âSorry, sweetheart, Iâm still ââ Sanemi struggles against the deep groan vibrating in his throat as he continues to fuck you through his release. âNot â ngh â not done yet ââ
He shifts, allowing his full weight to sink into you and still your squirming. He pushes your arms away from him, his hands wrapping around your biceps, pinning you down in place.
If you truly wanted him off, Sanemi would have obeyed, regardless of how badly he wanted to finish coming inside you. But though he has you held down, you still manage to rock your hips with his, your walls pulsing around him as his cum continues to fill you.
His cock twitches one last time, leaving Sanemi lightheaded and trembling as he finally finishes spending himself in you. âJesus fuckinâ Christ,â he drops his forehad against yours, panting. âYou got me fuckinâ shaking.âÂ
He unlatches his grip from your biceps in favor of bracing his forearms against your mattress, mindful to ease his full weight off you. Your fingers sweep through his hair, your other hand resting against the side of his neck, scratching at him until his eyes flutter open to reveal you craning your head up, a silent request for his kiss.
Sanemi obliges, and once he starts, he canât stop. He doesnât break the connection of your lips even as he pulls out, soothing your responding wince with a flick of his tongue. He stretches out on his side next to you, no room between your bodies as his arm nestles in the valley between your breasts, his hand cupping your cheek, kissing you all the while.
He lays with you like that for several moments until wetness graces his cheeks. Sanemi pulls back to see tears sliding down your face, more clinging to your eyelashes like tiny, glittering jewels.Â
Worry, hot and frantic, surges in his gut. âHey, hey,â he kisses away the tracks staining your cheeks. âWas that okay? Was I too rough?â
You shake your head, turning it away from him to face your ceiling, your hand wiping tiredly at your eyes. âNot at all. I feel better â so much better. Less achy.â You roll your head back toward him, your eyes still watery but bright. âItâs just that â that was so fucking good. I didnât expect it.â
That does little to assuage some of his concern. âWhat, it wasnât good last time?â
You roll your eyes. âNot what Iâm saying. I mean, I know Iâm more sensitive than usual on my period. Iâve used toys before to help, but nothing has ever reduced me to tears from how good it felt.â
Instantly, his anxiety is washed away with a surge of pride that wells in his chest; a smugness that comes from the knowledge heâd fucked you so well you cried, but he keeps his boasts to himself.
Instead, Sanemi snorts. âTold ya Iâd take care of you.â
You click your tongue, fidgeting as another gush of his cum leaks out of you. âFeels like you needed to be taken care of, too.â
âHavenât jacked off in almost a week. Too much shit goinâ on.â He frowns before adding, âPlus, youâre all I wanted. My hand couldnât compare to you.â
You roll your head back to face your ceiling, your eyes sliding closed and a blissful smile spreading across your lips. A smile that makes Sanemiâs own mouth part, his eyes growing wide, his cheeks, warm.
He doesnât think heâll ever get used to your beauty.
Sanemi settles back down next to you, his body slightly lower on the bed than yours. He remains on his side, eyes tracing every detail of your serene expression as he presses kisses along your bare shoulder.
Moments pass, or maybe hours, and still, Sanemi does not tear his eyes away from you. Eventually, your breathing slows under his adoring gaze, and Sanemi knows youâre moments away from sleep.
He whispers your name and you crack an eye open. âYou feel up for a shower?â
Sleepily, you nod, but you make no effort to rise from the plush comfort of your bed.
Sanemi sighs through his nose. âNeed some help?â
âMy legs donât work anymore.â You canât hold back your giggle as you roll to watch Sanemi shake his head at you before rising, his hand rumpling his hair. The blankets fall away from his lower hips, giving you a premium view of the world-class ass of Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you canât help but smirk at the faint, red crescent marks dotting his skin, left behind by your nails. But the remnants of your post-sex haze dissipate the moment Sanemi and turns back to you, revealing the extent of the mess youâd left behind.
You blanch; his groin and cock are both covered in a sticky redness, a residue of your period blood mixed with both your cum and his.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry!â Your hands flail as you try and wipe away all traces of blood from his groin and his softening cock, desperate to erase the evidence before he can see, before he can be disgusted by it, by you â
âHey, hey â watch it ââ he growls as you brush your hand against his overly-sensitive cock. Sanemiâs hand snatches your wrist away from him, halting you mid-air. âCut it out.â
Your cheeks burn with shame. âBut ââ
âWill ya stop worrying about it?â His fingers loosen around your wrist, and you retract your arm. âLook â see ââ
Sanemi swipes his own hand through the mess youâd left behind and holds it up, your blood smeared on his fingers. âI donât give a fuck. Kinda hot, actually.â
There is a mess of pink between your thighs, a combination of crimson mixed with his white that leaks out of you, staining your skin and the towel beneath you. He knows heâs wanton because he canât stop thinking about how fucking pretty your pussy is.Â
Especially when itâs covered with him.
His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. âDefinitely hot. And youâre gonna let me have a taste next time.â
Your thighs press together at the very obvious hunger in his stare. âSorry my period interfered with your oral fixation.â
âDidnât interfere with shit. When I say ânext timeâ I mean, next time youâre on it.â
You gape at him. âYouâre not serious ââ
âVery.â
Heat creeps up your neck. âSanemi, itâll be bloody ââ
âI told you, I donât give a shit. Only reason I didnât do it tonight was âcuz I was worried you might stroke out.â He shoots you a naughty wink. âIâm still breakinâ you in, after all.â Â
The smugness in his tone ignites a fire in your cheeks, but before you can respond, the bed and blankets disappear from beneath you.
âCâmon,â Sanemi grunts as he gathers you up in his arms. âLetâs get cleaned up.â
â
There is a stark contrast between sleeping with Sanemi Shinazugawa and showering with him.Â
Moments before, heâd been committed to fucking you senseless, seemingly not satisfied until you were reduced to a soggy, pleasure-drunk mess, only capable of gasping his name in stilted syllables.Â
None of that ferocity is present here, under the warm spray of the shower. Instead, Sanemiâs touch is soft, almost hesitant, as his arms encircle you, locking you in against his chest. His hand finds your face, and then his lips, and you melt into him. His kiss is not the passionate, possessive clash of tongue and teeth that it had been only moments before; this time, it is gentle. Chaste.
Any doubts which might have lingered in you as to the status of your relationship with him are quickly washed away, sliding down your legs with the water before mixing with the bubbles that slip down the drain. This is not a speck of softness marooned among an oasis of lust; this is not a temporary moment of affection between two people desperate to know it.Â
This is intimacy.
It is tenderness which warms Sanemiâs eyes as his mouth breaks from yours, that turns them into twin pools of amethyst as he brushes a wet strand of your hair away from your face. Itâs adoration; a vulnerability heâd never dare show to just a hookup. This â he â is meant for you and you alone. And it is that silent understanding which passes between you that your hand moves to lay against his cheek, parrroting his gentle touch. And it is what makes you surge up boldly on your toes, your mouth slanting over his once more.
â-
By the time Sanemi wrenches your bathroom door open sometime later, allowing the steam from the shower to billow out into the open area of your studio, both of your fingers have turned wrinkly. He wagers you wouldâve stayed in there longer, had your hot water supply not run out, your shower head dousing you both with water he reckons was dangerously close to freezing.Â
Heâs the first to step out, though only because your bathroom is laughably small. Heâs lucky the two of you managed to stand comfortably in your tub, but he doesnât think that good fortune extends to you both drying off in the narrow space between your toilet, counter, and tub. Better he peel away now, and avoid starting a fight because you canât mind your elbows.
Sanemi pads back to the bathroom, towel looped around his waist. âTook care of the towel on the bed. Threw it in the wash.â On cue, you hear the familiar click of your washing machine as it settles into its cycle. âNothinâ got on your sheets, but I know some people can be picky. You okay sleeping on âem?â
âItâs fine,â you call from the bathroom. âCan you do me a favor? Top drawer of my dresser â thereâs a row of black underwear. Throw me a pair?â
He returns a moment later, smirking as you hover in your bathtub, wrapped in an overlarge towel, waiting for him to bring you your panties. Like some internal code of decency prevents you from traipsing around your apartment in your towel like he does, even though heâs seen every inch of your body.
You emerge from the bathroom a moment later, still wrapped in your towel, right as Sanemi fishes something dark from its place on your floor.
He tosses his shirt to you. âYou can wear that to bed, if you want. Not that youâll hear me complain if you decide to sleep naked.â He shoots you a wink as he towels his hair. Pride wells in his chest at the sight of you slipping his tee over your head, and it soothes that hot, possessive streak within him. âHope you donât mind if I do, though. Iâm not big on puttinâ dirty clothes back on after Iâve showered.âÂ
âYouâre â?â The surprise in your tone stills his hands, and he lifts his head. âAre you staying?âÂ
Sanemi quirks an eyebrow at you. Heâd thought it obvious he was, given the shower and how youâre now wearing his shirt. He studies you for a moment, notes how your hands twist together and the anxious shift of your weight from foot to foot.
A sudden sobriety settles over him. Of course; youâve said youâd never been in a relationship before, which means all of this â having him over, showering with you, and sleeping in your bed â is brand new. As ready and committed as he is to you, perhaps this is all too much, too fast. Itâs only natural for you to want to hit the brakes; to feel out this unfamiliar road.Â
âI donât have to.â Embarrassment creeps up his neck. âWe can slow this down, if thatâs what you want. Iâm not in any rush.â
Dumbass, he chides at himself. Granted, this is new territory for him as well. He at least thought his years of rotating partners in and out of his bed wouldâve meant he had some tact, but here he is, jumping the gun.Â
Your eyes widen in alarm. âN-no! Thatâs not what I meant. I want you to stay -- I do. I just didnât want you to think you had to.âÂ
He can see how your cheeks darken as he draws near, can see the bob of your throat as you keep your eyes firmly glued to his, a concerted effort to keep from looking down, as though you havenât seen, touched, felt every inch of his nudity.Â
A small smirk settles at the corner of his mouth.Â
Silently, Sanemi takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping your face tilted up towards his. He leans in and feels your eyelashes flutter against his nose in anticipation of his kiss.Â
Only millimeters separate your lips when he pauses. âWho else is gonna slobber all over me âtil I fall asleep?â
Your eyes fly open. âY-youâ! I â!âÂ
He silences your indignant sputtering with a quick peck to your lips. âYeah, Iâm stayinâ. That key wasnât just some empty gesture, idiot.â
You smack his chest half-heartedly, but laugh as you kiss him again. âJust get back in bed. Iâll make tea.âÂ
Sanemi steps back with a cheeky smirk and lets his towel drop to the floor. âYes maâam.â
He must know your eyes are glued to his ass as he walks away, for he offers you a little wiggle as he retreats back to your bed.
âDonât forget to pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart.â He calls smoothly over his shoulder, focused on meticulously peeling back the covers of your bed, layer by layer. âCanât make tea if youâre drooling everywhere.â
Rolling your eyes, you disappear behind the half wall of your kitchenette. Maybe you should kick him out, naked ass and all.Â
Out in the main area, Sanemi has settled back into bed, his arms folded behind his head.
âThereâs another reason it took me so long to see you, you know,â Sanemi stares up at the black pipes striped across the high ceilings of your apartment as you busy yourself with the kettle in the kitchen. âI went to see my brother.â
âGenya?â You poke your head out from the doorway. You disappear only when the kettle beeps, mugs clinking together as you pull them from one of your cabinets.
âYeah.â
You reemerge a moment later, two steaming cups of tea clutched delicately in each hand. âHe doesnât live with you, right? Heâs someplace far from here?â
Carefully, you set the mugs on your small bedside table. You crawl back into bed beside him, Sanemiâs arms opening to allow you to settle in against him, your head coming to rest against his pectoral.
âHeâs enrolled in a boysâ boarding school.â He puffs his chest out in pride. âA damn good one, too.â
Boarding school. Youâd known that Genya attended school in another city, and spent most of his time there at Sanemiâs insistence, but youâd assumed heâd had his brother stay with a friend or a local family.
Now, you think of Sanemi, with his patched-up leather jacket and worn boots; of the apartment you know he keeps in the Silo that he never lets you visit, and try and square that with the Sanemi who pays for his brotherâs private education. âDo I want to know how you manage to afford boarding school tuition?â
âHeâs on scholarship â wasnât hard to get, considering our familyâs finances. Found the proof easily enough.â Sanemi stares off into the empty space of your apartment with a shrug. âBut I also started saving as soon I started makinâ money. The minute I had enough put aside, I sent Genya away. Paid for his uniforms and school stuff. I send him cash every month now so he can do extracurriculars and shit. I want âim socializing. The more friends he makes, the more connections heâs got.â
Sanemiâs voice then softens. âThe more chance that heâll stay far away from here, yâknow?â
You trace your index finger along one of the jagged, silvery scars that cuts across his chest. âWas this before or after your father died?â
âTch. After.â Sanemi snorts. âThe old manâs death was never reported to the cops, so there ainât a death certificate for him. I forged his signature on the transfer paperwork.â He thinks before adding, âhad someone I know get me the paperwork to become Genyaâs legal guardian, once I hit eighteen. Not like it changed all that much. Itâs always been me ân him, even before our old man bit it.â
A year ago, you hadnât imagined Sanemi Shinazugawa was capable of anything other than brash self-service. Heâd been so good at pretending to care about nothing, acting as if the only thing keeping him tethered to this world was a heart that refused to quit beating.
Time and again, Sanemi has proven that his actions are far louder than even his most obnoxious words. While he shrouds himself in arrogance, itâs a cloak thatâs flimsy, at best. Once again, all it takes is a little effort, a little more initiative, to see what lies beneath it.Â
Under the beastâs mask lies the endless beauty that makes up Sanemi Shinazugawa: all his selflessness, all his fierce love and devotion. So gentle, so pure, and so worthy of the love he wonât let himself believe he deserves.
Emotion prickles behind your eyes. As if anyone on earth could be more worthy than him.Â
ââSides, I like havinâ someone to fuss after. Reminds me that some part of me is still human.â He continues, oblivious to the way your throat works to swallow around the lump lodged in your airways. âNow, Iâve got two people I get to care about.â
His hand holds up yours and he turns it over in his palm, admiring the shape of your fingers; the softness of your skin. He smiles and itâs the most devastatingly beautiful thing youâve ever seen. âIâm pretty fuckinâ lucky, if you ask me. All things considered.â
Your silence shakes him out of his indulgent appreciation of your hand. But when his eyes find yours again, itâs his turn to be stunned silent.Â
Youâre doing it again â looking at him as though he is the sun; such adoration feels nearly impossible to accept, especially by someone like him.
And yet, he wants to try; for you, heâd try anything.
For a long moment, the two of you hold each otherâs gaze, neither daring to break the bubble thatâs formed over your heads. What passes between you has a name, and both of you know it. Itâs what slipped off your tongue that first night together, the confession whose weight you could no longer bear.Â
It remains unspoken, for now, but itâs there. Both of you know it; both of you feel it.
âI think the tea has cooled.â You murmur shyly. But you make no effort to reach for it, so neither does he. Instead, Sanemi leans forward and presses his lips softly against yours.
He canât get enough of kissing you. This small act of intimacy was one heâd always left confined to the bedroom. Something he only ever did in the heat of the moment, when clothes were being shed, or when his hand was wound in someoneâs hair, wrenching their head back to tease their lips with his as he pounded into them from behind.
Not since he was a teenager has he kissed anyone for kissingâs sake.
And heâd certainly never had anyone of his own to kiss whenever he wanted; with whom he could give into his desire for physical affection. But now that heâs tasted your lips, Sanemi finds he cannot get enough.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Time doesnât seem to matter here, wrapped up in each other, kissing and talking and being together. As tired as you are, you canât fathom falling asleep now.Â
Chin propped on his upper abdomen, you reach for him. Your fingers brush through his bangs, and Sanemiâs head bows into your touch. His hand smooths up and down your spine, charting your skin.Â
Your head suddenly lifts up, a playful smile on your pretty lips. âWhat do I call you now, anyways? You never answered.â
Sanemiâs fingers pause their lazy exploration of your back. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âI mean this. Us.â
A dent appears between his brows. âIâm your fuckinâ boyfriend. What else?â
That smirk widens into a full, teasing grin. The mirth in your eyes is beautiful, but Sanemi canât help but feel like youâre making a joke heâs not in on. âWhat?â
âNothing, itâs just â you donât seem like the type to care about labels, thatâs all. In fact, I thought youâd be against them.âÂ
Sanemiâs tone turns indignant. âWhy the fuck wouldnât I want a label?âÂ
âI donât know.â You reply drily. âMaybe I assumed you didnât want your bad boy image to take a hit.â
âWhat fuckinâ bad boy image â?â
You settle your head back down against him, your lashes tickling above his abdomen. That faint smile lingers for a second longer, but it disappears when you twist to press a kiss against his skin. Â
Instantly, Sanemiâs griping quiets and his knuckle ghosts over the curve of your cheek. For a moment, he studies you. He traces over every detail of your face, as though youâre nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. Like he needs to savor you, before someone comes and plucks you away.Â
âItâs weird, yâknow?â His fingers play absently with the damp ends of your hair. ââM not used to going to sleep with anyone. My bedâs always cold.â
You snort against his chest. âThatâs not what the rumors said.â
âI didnât let them spend the night,â you can hear the faint defensiveness in his tone. âDidnât even cuddle with âem, either.â
âYes, I heard you were quite the gentleman,â you reply airily. âGave them just enough time to get dressed before you pushed them out the door.â
He chuffs. âYouâre makinâ me sound like some sorta player.âÂ
âName one person youâve slept with besides me.âÂ
He taps his finger to the tip of your nose. âA gentleman doesnât kiss and tell.â He tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. âAnd besides, thereâs only one who matters.âÂ
This time, itâs you who flushes, heat pooling in your cheeks. âYou donât have to seduce me. Youâve already talked your way into bed with me.â
âYouâre the one who cornered me, Princess.â Sanemi counters. âIn fact, you were pretty damn insistent about it. You havenât seen all the ways I know how to seduce a woman â not yet, anyway.â
âOh?â Your hand teases down the length of his torso, your fingers pausing just at the edge of the blanket, where itâs pulled over his lower half. Lightly, you drag your nail over his skin, and Sanemi bites his tongue to keep his hips from twitching under your touch. âCare to share with the class?â
âI might.â And he snatches your hand by the wrist, stilling you before you can sneak below the blanket and start something he knows you canât finish. âBut I think youâd prefer it if I showed you.â
Your giggles are intoxicating as he flips you back under him, his lips peppering your skin with kisses everywhere he can reach.Â
Itâs incredible; heâs never felt so at ease with another. But the weight of his choice soon settles over him once more, and his face turns serious.
âI canât be here every night,â and thereâs something like regret in his eyes as they search yours, and the thumb stroking your cheek feels repentant. âMyâŠjob wonât let me be, as much as I might want to.â
His expression darkens. âAnd I donât want to risk anyone following me. No ââ
âNo patterns,â you finish with a small, understanding smile. âI didnât think that part would change, even if you decided to come back.â
âItâs not fair to you,â Sanemi admits, his mouth thinning into a hard line. âNothinâ about this is fair to you. I canât take you out on dates. We canât move in together. I canât even see you everyday. Iâ.â
He cuts himself off with a sign, and the hand that was playing with your hair falls to your back and stills. âI donât blame you if you decide itâs too much. I told you, you deserve better ââ
A press of your finger against his lips stifles his self-loathing. âAnd I told you, I donât want anyone else.â
Sanemiâs hand closes around your wrist and he presses your hand more fully to his mouth, but he does not speak.
âI told you how I felt about you, and I meant it.â And then, you add more quietly, âI know what I signed up for.â
He winces at that. âNo,â he reaches to stroke your cheek with his knuckle.Â
âNo, you donât. I know you think you do â and Iâm gonna do my damnedest to keep you far away from my shit â but there are risks to beinâ with me, Y/N.â
Risks he never shouldâve brought to your door to begin with.
âLike what, to my safety?â The bluntness of your words is softened by the inquisitive tilt of your head. âI donât know if thatâs as bad as you might think.â
âBut ââ
âDo you think I was somehow safer when I was all alone? Do you think anyone would have noticed if Iâd just disappeared one day?â
Your fingers trace circles in the dip between his pecs, toying with the faint smattering of pale hair that lies there. âMy siblings donât call. I havenât seen my parents in over two years.â You give him a wan smile. âAt least now if something happens to me, thereâs someone in this damn city who would give a shit.â
The thought makes his gut turn, and yet, the nausea he feels at the prospect of anything happening to you pales against the sorrow he feels that youâve been left alone for so long.
It made sense, he thought, for someone like him to have no one. Until you, heâd been a staunch observer of the Corpâs creed; heâd sent his little brother as far away as he could, and resigned himself to an existence of self-imposed isolation. Heâd known his future â how little of it likely existed â would be too hostile to forge any bonds, the soil of his life too acidic, too toxic for anything real to take root. The idea that he could have anyone to love and to keep had never been his to claim and so, heâd not known to mourn its loss.
But you hadnât been raised the same way he had. By his own observations, youâd grown up safe and warm and loved in a nice house that sat situated on a row of other nice homes. Ones built with brick and mortar; where you never had to worry about the lights shutting off or whether you would be warm come winter.
And your parents seemed like theyâd given a damn. Heâd never forgotten the relief on their faces that day, when heâd returned your little sister to them; how theyâd clung to her, tears of relief and gratitude shining in their eyes. That was something else Sanemi hadnât known: the love of a parent. Not apart from his mother, but sheâd died not long after Genya was born, leaving her two boys saddled with a man who couldnât spell the word father, let alone understand the duties of one.
Youâd been given everything he hadnât, and yet, youâd ended up exactly like him: alone.Â
Worse, Sanemi realizes, heâd secured more than you had in his adulthood. Heâd grown a network. His position in the Corps meant he had comrades who would at least know if he turned up dead. Who might even secure justice down the business end of a steel bat or the barrel of a stolen gun.
You didnât even have that.
You shrug. âI donât know. I think you knowing and caring I exist makes me a little safer.â
How could he not? Youâre the axis upon which his world now turns, the only stabilizing force in his life.
A lump builds thickly in his throat. His arms form a protective cage around you, tightening until you lay your head back down against his chest.
His hand cups the back of your skull. âAlright,â he says hoarsely after a moment. âAs long as youâre fine with someone like me, I wonât push it.â His fingers comb gently through your hair.
âMmm. Iâm pretty content with my choices.â You hum sleepily against his skin. Sanemi glances down to see your eyes fighting a losing battle against sleep. ââSpecially when you do that.â
A ghost of a smile forms on Sanemiâs lips. âYou can go to sleep, yâknow.â
You nestle into his chest. âWill you be here when I wake up?â
He huffs a quiet laugh. âYeah. I promise. The felonies can wait.â He settles in deeper against your pillows, his fingers still stroking along your scalp. ââSides, I wouldnât leave my girl before kissinâ her goodbye.â
You snuggle happily into his skin, and before long, your breathing slows and you grow still, your fingers curled limply on his chest. He didnât think it would take you all that long to fall asleep, and here you are, safe and sound and his.Â
âSleep, baby,â he murmurs quietly against your hairline, though he knows you canât hear him. âI ainât lettinâ you go, now.â
For a long while, he holds you, his fingers continuing to drag up and down your spine. Itâs strange to be touched with such affection; such reverence. He hadnât the words to quite sum up how heâd felt that night, but now, Sanemi realizes just how starved for intimacy heâd been.Â
He hadnât let himself do this with the others â quietly lay in bed, letting hands roam for something other than lust as he breathed them in. Relax. This is a side of him for your eyes only; a byproduct of him now being yours.Â
Besides, why shouldnât he relax? Heâs home. Because home, as heâs come to realize, is not some dingy box in the SIlo or even some place far, far away from the Corps and everyone in it.Â
Home is a woman heâd known for most of his life, yet not at all, not until the universe forced him back into your orbit. Home is your fingers twitching against his chest, still guided by the compulsion to touch him with the same gentleness he shares with you; the warmth of your body curled around his.Â
Home is wherever you are.Â
REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES APPRECIATED!
#peach my angel my love i am finally here#i have MUSIC and MULTIPLE SCREENS and i am ready to SCREAM#oh yeah if you hear incoherent screaming its just me âđ»#YOU HAVE DONE IT AGAIN#oof reader being just a tad too relatable rn#i wanna wrap her in a blanket :(#you've nailed the feeling so well#that loneliness that comes with drifting away from your family#on a more positive note WORLDBUILDING#exploring how the city seems to an average person#'whether they'd simply seen writing on a wall you hadn't known to read' i LOVE this line!!!!#'some days you wondered whether you might be a ghost; others you had to convince yourself you weren't#<- a strong contender for my favourite line ever!#i know sanemi is having a crisis and is traumatised but i wanna smack him rn#poor sweet girl#she's a little bit broken too#just in a different way#she misses him so much đ#'thus you're left alone. again' OW MY HEART#she's much better adjusted about the situation tho#sanemi is seconds away from a breakdown and she's at least trying to be rational#she SET AN ALERT to order the book for him đ„ș#i love cocky sanemi#being a shit is one of his love languages clearly#hmmm i seem to remember you saying you listened to casual while writing#I THINK I FOUND THE BIT đ#yeah bestie nothing you and him did was CASUAL#'where's spiralling going to get you stupid?' ME IT'S ME literally how i talk to myself fr#yeah she is definitely handling this better#she's waiting for him to walk through the bookstore door đ„ș
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