#the sibling thing is just. they had to leave their family behind both because of circumstances (drought. sickness. the only way to provide

[tragedykery]

I love taituk they’re so funny. they’re simultaneously really cool and capable and. kind of a loser. wet cat of a woman (not actually a woman). a dykefag AND a fagdyke. they can’t tell when people are flirting with them and suaveness is Not in their vocabulary. everyone wants them and they’re involved with quite literally every crew member their age. their reaction to there being “men’s work” and “women’s work” is “I will simply do everything. all of the work.” they’re fine with the concept & reality of death but thinking about killing somebody with their own hands makes them physically ill. they will quite literally heal their enemies so they don’t die. they’re eldestsiblingcore but only see their siblings like. twice a year. they could be stabbed and bleeding out and their only reaction would be “ugh now my favourite jacket will be stained :/”. they don’t know what’s going on at any given moment. they’ve been permanently banned from the ship’s kitchen even though they’re the captain. by god they’re even transgender. they’ve even got long hair

[eraenaa]

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Warnings: ¿Softer Aemond?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 6,411

Prequel: Blessed Curse

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, who, like her brothers, doesn't have Valyrian characteristics. A scene like at dinner, in which Aemond accuses his nephews of being strong and, consequently, his wife too." (!Not related to the past two fics that were Aemond x Reader Wife!)

A blessing or a curse? Neither of you knew how to take and label this marriage devised by your grandsire. It was a final plea to unite your estranged family, offering you as Aemond’s bride because the King’s fading mind was still set on how you and Aemond were entirely fond of each other in childhood. However, that sentiment had completely changed during the fateful night in Driftmark. Whatever fondness you and your uncle had in childhood had rolled away with the tides in your supposed father’s home. Affection turned into animosity, and animosity quickly turned into resentment.

However, with the marriage you and Aemond were succumbed to, you both tried your most ardent effort to work through past differences. And with half a year since your union, you and Aemond had almost fully buried the grievances you harbored against each other. Gone now was the reluctant prince who stood by the end of Sept waiting for his bride, who was practically dragged down the aisle. Looks of unbridled hatred had faded and turned to looks of passion and longing. Deep-rooted loathing was slowly fading into love that both of you had yet to admit to the other. 

You broke fast in the gardens with your husband, a daily tradition that you and him established since the first days of your marriage. Most of the time, it would be just the two of you, but on some days, you two would be joined by his siblings and his mother, who surprisingly did not hold such great bitterness for you when compared to other members of your kin. And on a day such as this, you were joined by the queen and her only daughter, Helaena. “I saw the maids preparing some of the guest chambers. Are we to host a lord and their house, my Queen?” You asked your mother through marriage with a tilt of your head, your hand intertwined with your husband’s under a table, hidden from anyone’s view. 

Aemond raised his eye from the book he was reading and placed it on his mother. “Not particularly guests… your mother and your brothers are set to visit,” She replied, and your brows shot up in surprise. Aemond turned to you, plush lips agape in shock. “Did you not know?” The queen asked, and you shook your head. “No… they had not written to me about such matters,” You said, your lips twitching into a smile of excitement as you had terribly missed our family. You turned to your husband; whatever reaction he had was hidden behind his ever-stoic expression. However, you did feel his hold on your hand grow tighter. Though his animosity towards you had died with every kiss shared and every hour spent in each other’s arms, you could not say that that would be the case for the other members of your family. You could practically feel the tantalizing anger within radiating off him. 

“I’m going to the tiltyard,” Aemond suddenly announced and abruptly stood up, making you sigh. His mother and sister nodded, but before his departure from breakfast, you felt him place a chaste kiss on your temple before walking off. Leaving you wide-eyed and blushing before his kin for neither of you had displayed such affections so openly. The touches and kisses and pleasures you shared were saved for the privacy of your marital chambers, and to have him do such an affectionate action in front of others was completely uncharacteristic of him. You lower your head as you feel your cheeks burn red, but if you had kept your head held up high, you would see a small smile on the queen’s lips, for she too was shocked and amused by her son’s actions. Never had she imagined for her favored son to find a wife that would bring out the warmth and tenderness in him that everyone believed to be lost the day his eye was taken by your younger brother.

For the rest of the day, you were busied with your engagements with the other ladies of the court to the point that the day had faded into the night. It was past the usual time of your supper, and you were certain your husband was preparing himself for bed, which is why it was a surprise when you entered your marital chambers with Aemond seated by the table where a meal for both of you lay, untouched. “You still have not eaten?” You asked as you stood behind your seat that was across your husband’s. “I was waiting for you,” Was all he said, as he motioned for you to sit. You blinked at him; the warm, flickering light of the fire illuminated his silver locks that were unique to your house but you had not inherited. The silhouette cast made his angular, Valyrian features more prominent, and you could not help but feel a small pang of jealousy, for you were never blessed with such acclaimed features that your house was celebrated for. 

You licked your lips and removed your gaze from your husband’s lilac eye. You took your seat and quietly watched him as he placed items of food onto your plate. “You should have eaten earlier,” you said quietly, knowing that Aemond’s last meal was the one you shared in the morning, for your husband did not eat luncheon nor any other small meal to aid him between the morning and the evening. “Like I’ve said, I was waiting for you,” He said as he poured wine into your chalice. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude, and like always, he gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. “How was your day?” You asked before taking a bit of the temped meal that had been waiting for you along with your husband. “Fine. I trained, I read, and then accompanied my grandsire with business,” he said and took a sip of wine. “And yours?” He asked, and you smiled as you began to recall your day. 

Aemond nodded along as he ate, and you went on to tell him about your day. He had no intention of telling you, but this was his second-most favorite time of each day. He quickly had gotten used to listening to you babble and tell him about the ventures you had just hours before. He had no particular care about the subjects of which you spoke of; all he cared about was hearing you speak. Watching you as you would reenact your encounters or how your expression would change when you told him about the latest gossip in court. He would always note how your voice would grow an octave higher when you spoke of an event you found most entertaining or exciting, and he loved gazing into your beguiling, brown eyes that would twinkle in the candlelight.

“Will you accompany me tomorrow?” You asked as you had finished retelling your day to your husband. “To where?” Aemond asked as he was slightly disappointed that you did not have many anecdotes to share that night; you would usually have prolonged stories that Aemond would listen attentively to until he had fished his meal. “To welcome my mother, father, and brothers by the pits when they arrive,” You say and play with the peas on your plate. Aemond was silent for a moment; you took in a deep breath and thought that perhaps your request was a bit much for him. Though you expected him to act civilly with your kin, wanting him to join you in welcoming them was perhaps a bit much. “Nevermind… I ca—“ Your husband interrupted your sentence. “I shall join you,” he said, and your lips agape in shock once more. 

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder himself from smiling widely at the expression that flashed before your pretty face. His urges announced himself as his eye caught your plump lips parted; amusement and arousal swirling within him. “You will?” You asked, making certain you had heard no false agreement. “My lady wife had made a simple request; of course, I shall oblige it,” He answered and felt his heart flutter as a beaming smile spread to your lips. Aemond felt fire in his veins as you stood from your seat and went to him to place a supposed chaste kiss on his lips, but Aemond wanted more. You gasped as you were pulled to sit on his lap, your kiss deepening with each moment and your body aching with need as Aemond’s hands were holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You feel your husband’s need through his trousers and through your dress. 

You moaned at the taste of wine on his tongue. His hand traveled toward your bosom, cupping your tit through the bodice of your dress, his fingers undoing the laces of your gown but the two of you never parted your intertwined lips. Aemond groaned as you accidentally bit his lip, but you would take it that he liked the occurrence as you felt his hips buck upwards and seek friction. Aemond reluctantly parted your lips to gasp for air; he watched you pant, eyes filled with longing and lust, lips swollen and shined with a glossy shine of him. 

You yelped as your husband punched you on the table, sweeping away the meal you two had just shared, the plates and cutlery falling onto the floor with a loud noise, but neither of you heard as you two were completely lost and dazed with want for each other. You pulled Aemond towards you as you wanted to feel his lips once more. Aemond had fully undone the laces of your gown, and you felt the sleeves of it draping off and the hem of it being risen by your husband. You hummed in question as you felt Aemond push you to lie down on the wooden table. You propped yourself by your elbows to see what he was doing. Your eyes locked with his lone one as he sank to his knees. The hem of your dress had bundled up to your waist, and Aemond placed his cold hands at each of your thighs. 

You bit harshly at your lower lip as he placed kisses on each side of your thighs, nipping the soft skin making you whimper at the stinging pain that he would immediately soothe with his tongue. “Aemond,” you called as he continued to tease you, his tongue licking strips upward to your needing heart but would abruptly stop before inching closer towards the place you need his tongue most. “Yes, wife?” He hummed, and you huffed as you sensed tease in his voice. “Please,” You pleaded in ancient tongue, and there was a long pause before he obliged your request. You breathed heavily as Aemond sucked on your delicate pearl, him humming in delight as he tasted your essence and as well to add to your pleasure. 

Your moans accompanied the crackle of the fire as Aemond inserted two of his fingers, him curling the calloused digits and spurring you quickly to your peak. You could not understand how he was so skilled in such endeavors, able to make you quickly come undone even though he confessed himself that before you, he had only laid with a woman once, on the behest of his older brother. 

Aemond smirked as he gazed at you laying on the table you two had your meals on, your pretty face that everyone tried to sell as plain still contorted in pleasure that he was the cause of. Aemond brought his fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean, his other hand undoing the laces of his trousers as his cock painfully sought to be inside you. Aemond had always believed himself to be indifferent to the acts of intimacy, but he quickly learned that that sentiment was completely false when it came to you. On the night after your marriage, he had no plan to partake in the marital act, ready to cut his palm and pretend he beaded you so the court would not have a new gossip piece in the morning. However, that plan was quickly forgotten by just the sight of you undressing behind a divider. The candlelight illuminated your form and created a silhouette of your frame undressing and caused Aemond to need greatly. And ever since that night, the pleasures of the flesh he always thought he was indifferent to quickly turned, and he now harbored the same needing patterns he saw in his brother that he used to frown upon. 

Aemond locked your lips and assisted you off the table, you had thought he would lead you towards your bed, but you frowned through your kiss as he turned you around in his arms, your back resting against his chest, his pulsating length resting against your still hiked up gown. You feel Aemond’s lips move from your lip to your neck, his cold hands forcing your gown downwards and letting it pool at your feet, leaving you exposed. You whispered as his hands made their way to cup and squeeze your breast. The sensitive buds grew taut at the coldness of touch. You hear Aemond take in a deep breath of your scent, and you let out a bubbling moan as his length is placed in the crevice of your bottom, Aemond letting it glide in between your bum. 

You gasped in shock as you felt Aemond push you down onto the table, bending you over the sturdy wood and abruptly entering you without warning. You let out a wry moan as you did not know if you should focus on the pain or pleasure he gave. Aemond bit harshly at his lip as he was incredibly pleasured by the new angle he was taking you in, as well as the sight of you bent over the wooden table. He bundled your dark hair into his hands, feeling the soft silky waves and pulling on it and earning a moan from your lips and caused a further tightening in your cunt. “It would seem that my wife likes to be fucked like a common whore,” He gritted in between thrusts. Aemond knew he pleasured you well, but with this new position, your moans had only grown louder than the past times you had laid. Your cunt grew tighter and more wet, and you were quicker to come undone once more. 

“Yes… yes, Aemond! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” You cried as he pounded at you from behind. Aemond griped the plump flesh of your behind, watching as the skin grew red from his hold; he moved his hands to your waist as he felt the urge of release coming to him as well. Your moans rang louder in his ears, his name slipping from your lips, urging him to come quickly than past nights. He groaned out your name as he spilled his seed deep inside you, hoping that his seed would finally take as he was already zealous with the thought of you swole with his child. Your dazed mind could barely comprehend Aemond assisting you up from your bent position because all your body could focus on was the peak you had reached and his lips against yours once more. You let your husband carry you to bed, him tucking you in his arms like always, and you drifted to sleep wholly satisfied. 

Aemond placed his gaze upon you, who was practically bouncing in excitement at your spot next to him. You two stood by the pits as a welcoming party for your kin. Aemond placed great restrain upon himself to not let his animosity show when he spotted your brothers landing your little dragons. “Sister!” He heard the boy who took his eye scream, and Aemond felt you let go of his hand to run to your brother. He did not want to entertain the small pang in his heart as you readily let go of his hold to run and warmly embrace the boy who had maimed him beyond repair, but he knew that with your marriage, whatever fondness and understanding you and Aemond had and will develop will be divided with your love for your true family. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” You gushed and kissed Lucerys’ cheek; you smiled widely that even though your brother was on the cusp of adolescence, he melted of talc and your mother’s oils. “Your favoritism is showing, sister,” You hear Jacaerys tease, and you sigh in amusement, letting go of Lucerys and moving to embrace your older brother. 

Aemond watched you as you greeted your family with such open warmth and love that he and his kin were never accustomed to. Aemond shifted his gaze to your younger brother, who had a wary look in his oak eyes. Aemond bit his cheeks as he stared down the boy who cowardly shifted his gaze and went closer to you, like a little scared pup hiding behind Aemond’s wife. 

“Where are Baela and Rheana?” You asked as you let go of your embrace of Jacaerys,  looking around the pits. “They went on the ship along with Joffery and the babes. They shall reach by nightfall,” he answered, and you nodded. Your brother’s gaze shifted between you and your husband, who stood by the side, “How… how are you, sister? Is…” He trailed as Aemond challenged his gaze. You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, Jacaerys, perfectly fine, better now that you are all here.” You said, and Jacaerys hesitantly nodded, not completely believing your sentiments. “Tala,” You hear yourself being called by your stepfather, who stands beside your mother, and you hurriedly go in their direction. “My sweet girl!” Your mother smiled and kissed your cheek as you went to embrace her. “You look more cheery since we left you. Are they treating you well? Or do I have to behead that cunt of a husband that you have?” Daemon asked, and your smile faltered at his words. “Father,” You warned, and you heard him sigh. “They are treating me perfectly well,” You said, and just like Jacaerys, Daemond gave an unconvinced nod. 

You turn to Aemond, who still stands idly by the side; you make hastened steps towards your husband as members of your family remove their riding gear. “Do you wish to return to the keep?” You asked, learning he had grown bored and impatient. He turned his body to face you, his brow raised in question. “I could ride with them in the wheelhouse; you can return to your training if you wish,” You smiled. Aemond studied your eyes; he knew that the words you uttered were for his benefit, but he could not help but think it was you driving him away as you would rather spend time with your family than him. 

“It is not that I wish for you to leave, but if you would rather return to your training or reading, I would completely understand,” You added, and Aemond froze at your words; it was as if you could read his mind. He did not know how you did it, but you had this ability to know things about him without him even saying them out loud. He was quick to learn that you could see past his hardened exterior and see the intent and thoughts he kept to himself. You were the only person who knew him with such a deep level of understanding. “It is fine. I shall wait for you, and we could ride back together to the keep,” He said, and his cold heart ran warm as you flashed him with your beaming smile. 

“What did they do to her?” Jacaerys asked as he stood near his brother and parents. “That last time we were here, she was completely ready to sail off to Essos just to escape him,” he added, and Daemon shook his head, removing himself from the conversation as he, too, was perplexed at how you completely turned your views towards this marriage. “I believe that is what love does,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon scoffed in ridicule from a distance, and Jacaerys quickly shook his head. “Love? You practically had to drag her down the aisle! That is not love… that is some work by a potion slipped into her wine!” Jacaerys disagreed, and your mother breathed out a laugh. “Believe what you want, but your sister is stronger than to let a potion alter her emotions; that affection is brought by love,” She sighed as she, too, was surprised by the outcome of this marriage but was entirely pleased to learn that you found love in a person that all believed had none. 

When all of you returned to the castle, your husband went straight to the tiltyard whilst your parents set off to visit your grandsire. You, however, accompanied your brothers as they wanted to tour around the keep that was once their home. Throughout your whole tour, you could not help but grow curious at the curious and prying glances thrown at the three of you that had faded during the moons of your return to the Red Keep. “They keep staring at us,” You hear Lucerys whisper to Jacareys, who still kept his head held high despite being in the den of vipers. 

“Ignore them,” You whispered to your younger brother. You smile as Jacaeyrs pulls Lucerys towards the tiltyard, hurriedly going down the steps to explore the place they used to frequent as children. You stood by the railings, your eyes catching the flutter of silver hair, your husband training with his sword along with Ser Criston, whom he battled with. You stood steady by your spot by the balcony that overlooks the tiltyard, leaning in on the railing as you watched Aemond impressively train with his sword. It was truly a wonder to watch Aemond with his sword; he was able to command the room with each swing and movement he did. Captivating everyone as he simulated the battlefield, even your brothers stopped their reminiscing to watch him train. Far was he from the little boy he tripped over his wooden sword and struggled to even keep it upright. 

“Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys at no time,” You hear Ser Kristen compliment the prince he had molded into a warrior as the tip of Aemond’s sword placed at the knight’s neck. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” You hear your husband reply as you descended down the stairs, making your way to your brothers. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked as you paused behind Lucerys and Jacaerys. Aemond’s challenging gaze turned to you, who announced her presence. You stared into his lilac eye and saw it somewhat softened. Aemond clenched his jaw and lowered his sword as the crowd that surrounded him began to dissolve. A clear path leading to you was made, and Aemond crossed it, forgetting about his want to challenge his nephews.

“You were most impressive with your sword,” You complimented lowly as you felt Aemond guide you to the side, and he placed his hand on your lower back. “I am glad that you found that impressive, little wife,” He hummed and wiped his sword, ignoring the stares of your brothers who stood by the side. “Perhaps I should wonder more often to the tiltyard; I would not want to miss an opportunity to watch my husband best the most acclaimed knights of the realm.” You feel your heart flutter as Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Perhaps you should,” He said, unable to control the amusement that laced his voice and shinned brightly in his eye. 

“Do you believe what Mother says? That they are in love?” Jacaerys whispered to Lucerys, who looked at you smiling upon your husband, “I… I do not know, perhaps,” he whispered as he noted that the smile on your lips was no pretense nor was it forced. And the gleam in your eyes could only be translated into love. Lucerys shifted his gaze back to his brother as you walked off and Aemond returned to training. “But how? How could our sister love someone like him?” Jacaerys asked incredulously, his voice growing a bit louder. 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he heard your brother’s words. It was a danger to all that rage was quickly bubbling inside him, and he had a weapon in his hold. The one-eyed prince took in deep breaths to calm himself, reminding himself that you were just by the side waiting and watching him. 

But a gnawing feeling in his gut had settled, and he too started to wonder as to how you could ever love someone like him. It is no secret that you and he were raised with opposing views of the world and even clashing families as well. His mother never approved of how your mother had raised you; everything about yours and your brother’s conception and upbringing had brought shame upon the Targaryen name and reputation. And the years before were nothing short of hatred. Yes, the both of you were fond of each other in childhood, but is that enough to undo the following years of animosity and contempt? Will these past moons that were filled with shared understanding and longing be enough to undo the resentment of the past? 

It was enough for him. You were enough of a reason for him to let go of the grudges and grievances harbored. By some divine, paradoxical power, your blessed touch was the only touch that could tend and stitch Aemond’s broken past created by your own kin. Even with all the traditions and honor that were desecrated by your mere birth, Aemond could not help but love you, even if he had not said it out loud. No matter your differences, no matter the truth of your illegitimacy, he loved you truly. 

However, that overflowing affection he had towards you was for you and you alone. The civility he knew that he should display was slipping out from his hold as old hatred for your brothers was starting to wake, and Aemond was not entirely certain if he could control the burning rage in his veins once more. 

You sat next to your husband for a rare family dinner; it was the first time the whole of your clan had been together since your and Aemond’s wedding. You smiled fondly as Baela and Rhaena had already arrived along with your youngest brothers, who were now fast asleep in the nursery. You kept your secret hold on Aemond’s hand as the dinner proceeded, your heart full of joy as you wanted to erase the emotions you were feeling the last time the whole of the family was together with something more pleasant. Gone now was the hatred and agony you felt in your heart as your grandsire ordered your marriage with Aemond. The only thing you now felt for your husband was love. It could be considered ridiculous that with just half a year of marriage, all the deep-rooted anger and ire from the past had completely decimated and turned into blooming love, but that was the truth of it. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” His final plea for peace was supposed to be yours and Aemond’s marriage, but that seemed to do little for the others to bury the grievances made years before. Your hold on Aemond’s hand tightened as you Grandsire removed his mask and exposed his decaying face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” the king turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to you and your siblings. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” He ended. 

You were so entrapped by the speech given by your grandsire that you had not even realized that in the midst of that heartfelt moment, your husband was having a contest of stares amongst your brothers. Not a word by the king affected nor lessened the hatred in their hearts for each other. 

You watched and listened intently as toast from both sides of your families started to circulate to the table, obliging the king’s request for civility and the possibility of unification for your house. By the end of the toasts, the intimate feast once more commenced, and your smile only grew with each passing moment of peace. However, it was quickly taken from you as a roasted pig was placed in front of you and Aemond, our gaze flying to your younger brother, who snickered as he recalled the cruel jest they made at Aemond’s expense years before. “Lucerys,” you hissed sharply in warning. Your heart skipped a beat as your husband let go of your hold and slammed his clenched fist on the table, rendering the room silent. “Final tribute,” He announced, the attention of the entire room upon him. 

“To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luc… and Joffery,” He began, and you felt your hands grow cold at his words, already knowing where this would lead. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He trailed, catching your eyes that pleaded for him to stop and not speak of offense. He, however, ignored your pleas. “Strong,” He ended, and you feel your heart painfully pit in your chest. Your gaze flew to your lap, and you softly shook your head in disappointment, for you had foolishly believed that your husband would at least grow somewhat sensitive at the matter of you and your brother’s true paternity. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys!” He announced, and you felt a painful twist in your stomach. 

The peaceful meal between your kin that you had longed for had turned ugly and violent; you shook your head as your husband and his brother, along with your brothers, waltzed back into old patterns and began to brawl and fight each other. You shook your head and stood from your seat, quietly exiting the room and leaving the fight that the other tried to break up. Aemond watched your departing figure, disappointment oozing off your frame as you exited the hall. He turned to your brothers' red and angered faces, and it only dawned upon him the severity of his offense. He was ready to go after you, but his mother pulling on his arm hindered him, the queen scolding her grown son as if he were a boy. 

Moments after, Aemond rushed to your chambers in dire need to speak with you, but you were not there. Aemond walked the darkened corridors of the keep, searching every spot you would frequent but to no avail. Aemond halted in his steps as he heard footsteps and voices approaching. “I’ve told you that they were not suited for each other,” Aemond heard your stepfather say, voice enraged. “You saw how openly he disparaged and humiliated her and her siblings— what more if they were behind closed doors?” Daemon seethed, him having half the mind to march to the king and demand an annulment of your marriage with Aemond.

Aemond clenched his fists in anger as he heard how low the opinion of your stepfather had of him, but that anger was being overpowered by guilt as he recalled your pleading face earlier as you quietly begged him not to speak offense. But Aemond could no longer control himself as being in the presence of your brothers brought back the uninhibited rage he genuinely thought he could control for your sake. Aemond took in a deep breath and stomped off, determined to find you. He scoured the entirety of the keep in search of you, with each passing moment that you were not found added to his guilt and the pang in his chest. It was nearing the hour of the wolf, and Aemond still had not found you. Aemond rarely felt fear; he refused to be in fear of anything, but just by just the mere hours of your absence had him drowning in dread and despair.

Aemond thought of retiring back to your chambers and perhaps try to find you when the sun had risen, but his body could not physically rest without your presence. Aemond found him straying towards the gardens, his feet carrying him towards the weirwood tree that you two had often frequented in childhood. He halted in his steps as he heard quiet sobs and sniffling, his knees growing weak at the sight of your body curled upon the trunk of the tree, your face in your hands as you tried to stifle your sobs. Aemond made cautious steps towards you, swallowing thickly as he had never succumbed to such guilt and pain before; it was unbearable to see you cry— more so for he knew that the reason for your tears was him. 

Aemond felt his breathing caught in his throat as you lifted your gaze, and your bloodshot eyes met his. “Why?” You managed to ask, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion. It was too much; Aemond wanted to fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness; he could not take the way you stared up at him with such great sadness. “Why… why would you do such a thing? Why could you not l…” You could not even make yourself finish your words as a bubbling sob of angered sadness took over you. You tightly shut your eyes as Aemond fell on his knees before you, trying to take hold of your hand, but you over away from his touch. 

“I know of the resentment you have for my siblings— for me because we are bastards and because Lucerys had taken your eye. It was foolish for me to think that with our marriage, perhaps that enmity in you would lessen or at least be concealed enough that you would not seek out revenge so… so openly and as well as disparage me and my honor,” You say, your voice shaking as you try to take hold of your cries. “I did not mean to offend you; that was not aimed toward you,” Aemond said, and you shook your head. “They are my brothers, Aemond. Questioning their paternity means to question mine as well. Wounding them would be wounding me as well,” You countered and shook your head as Aemond moved to take hold of your hands. 

“I… I know it is difficult for you to be subjected to a room with my kin— especially my brothers, but could you not have let this one-night slide past peacefully? I am not seeking out your forgiveness; I was just hoping for something that resembled peace, just for one night,” You said lowly, voice trembling with your sobs and the cool night air that gusted around the gardens. Aemond sighed and rested his head against your clasped hands, still on his knees as you sat before him dejectedly. “I’m… I’m sorry, my love,” He whispered, and you froze, trying to decipher if you had heard him correctly. Never once had you heard him apologize nor use such an endearment. 

“I apologize. I was consumed by my anger, and I could not control my rage. I should have kept my composure,” He said and looked up at your face, tear-stained cheeks flushed with sadness, bloodshot eyes in question, and pink lips agape in mystification. “I’m sorry,” Aemond said once more and placed a kiss on your knuckles. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it rolled effortlessly as he knew it would be his saving grace not to lose you. You sat quietly, uncertain what to reply, though you had been enveloped in rage and sorrow, by Aemond’s actions, it somehow miraculously faded by his words and touch. 

“You called me ‘love’,” was all you could manage to say, the word still ringing in your ears even though you knew you should focus on the other matter. Aemond scrunched his brows as he gazed at your face, “I… I suppose I did,” He said, not even realizing the word slipped out his lips. He had been wanting to call you that endearment for weeks now, but he thought you would not take it well or that the softness and affection of it would lessen his stoic exterior. “Do you love me?” You could not help but ask, preparing yourself for the blow if it proves that your judgment was false. Aemond’s cold hands turned a degree colder as you asked the question. With each moment of silence, you feel your heart pit further, your mind scolding you for asking such a query. After another moment of prolonged silence, you sighed and were ready to stand, ready to mourn a different type of sadness. 

“Of course I do,” Aemond finally spoke, “I love you,” He added, determined for you to believe his words. You were stunned at his confession that words eluded you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss his lips. “I do not care about your paternity. I don’t think I ever truly did… I only acted as such to appease my mother and her father. And I know I have played the part well, acting as if I harbor loathing for you ever since childhood, but I could never resent you, not truly.” Aemond sighed as your lips parted, and you smiled widely against his lips. Tears of melancholy turned into tears of glee. 

“You love me,” You mused as you cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently brushing the raised skin of his scar. “I love you.” Aemond confirmed, and he hummed as you kissed his lips once more. The events at supper were long forgotten as you and he finally shared the affection you both harbored long ago but were just too afraid to say out loud. 

[peachdues]

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 we’re right back to the seedy violence of the Corps in Chapter 4.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • period sex • grinding • lots of tit play • brief cervix fucking • creampie • Sanemi is a certified yapper in bed • light angst • humor • two idiots helplessly in love • mentions of a gun • mentions of gang violence • bookshop AU • gang AU

MASTERLIST HERE

COMPASS – CHAPTER 3 

It’s hard to notice the way time stops when you aren’t paying attention to it; when you have no reason to bother. 

Life hasn’t always been this way – lonely. In fact, your upbringing had been on the cushier side of comfortable, and you’d thought you’d been surrounded by love, from both family and friends alike. High school hadn’t been any different, You’d had a social circle, you’d been involved in extracurriculars, and you had a good relationship with your parents and siblings. 

Or, so you’d believed. Because then you graduated and everyone moved on while you were left  behind. 

That was when time stopped. 

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 parents’ 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 hadn’t paid it much mind. 

That’s the tricky thing about it; it wasn’t something that happened all at once. It was slow, a trickle of sand in an hourglass you didn’t 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. 

It started as an exodus of sorts from the city, right after graduation. Leaving home behind in search of greener pasteurs elsewhere wasn’t uncommon, so it hadn’t seemed all that surprising that communications with those you’d 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. 

Had there been signs that the cancer was spreading? It’s 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. 

Growing up, you’d 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 couldn’t explain, changed anything at all. 

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. 

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 they’d simply seen writing on a wall you hadn’t 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. 

Your family, apparently, also had sensed whatever metamorphosis lingered on the City’s horizon, even if they hadn’t bothered to warn you, too. Once your youngest sister set off for university in a distant town – the very one who’d brought Sanemi to your family’s stoop that day, years ago – your parents swiftly packed up the townhouse you’d grown up in and put it on the market. 

They only told you they were moving after the place sold. 

They didn’t offer to take you with them, and you didn’t bother to ask. You didn’t even have their mailing address until that Christmas, when a festive little card arrived in the mail, bearing only Season’s Greetings from Mom and Dad.

Sure, maybe you’d realized a hair too late that you were only a transient presence in the lives of those you’d once considered friends, but the relegation to the background of your own family’s portrait had stung. Not important enough to be remembered, but too significant to forget. 

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. 

Alone, with nothing but a semi-failing bookstore to keep you busy, you quickly faded into the skyline of the city you’d once loved. And even it couldn’t keep itself from rotting. You tried not to resent it; decay, at least, still meant change. You just remained stuck. Frozen. 

When monotony is your only companion, it doesn’t 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. 

Some days, you wondered whether you might be a ghost; others, you had to convince yourself you weren’t. 

And then he came along. 

———

“Come again!” 

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 day’s worth of nothing ended up being as dull as the hours you’ve spent bored behind the cash register. From the moment he’d stepped inside, he’d 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 didn’t offer much in the way of free time, and you don’t 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, isn’t something you’re particularly interested in unpacking. 

Thus, you’re left alone. Again.

Disheartened, your head slumps against your arm. You could always go back to your novel. It’s a crime fantasy; a latest release from an author you’d 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 it’s all you’ve been doing. Once, you would’ve 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 store’s bell. But that was before you’d 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 wouldn’t give to hear a snarky comment or scoff from him, now. 

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. 

Maybe it’s 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 you’d 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 kids’ procrastination. 

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 — 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. It’s only half-past four, and the store doesn’t close until eight. 

Groaning, you thud your head against the counter. Three and a half more hours to go. 

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 you’ll 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. 

When Sanemi Shinazugawa first exploded into your store last summer, you’d known you’d have to contend with a number of possible consequences as a result of getting involved. There’d 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. You’d devoted plenty of hours at the store reading crime novels, enough to know the police weren’t 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 you’d stuffed under your counter, even if the only association you’d ever had with him had been a decade earlier, when he’d been playing hero. 

Of course, that outcome hadn’t been the only slot on your bingo card, and once you’d pulled off your little stunt of hiding him away, you’d been forced to consider other options. Perhaps he would demand free pick of your store’s inventory with the same casual arrogance he’d had striding out that day, book in his hand and not a damn dollar paid for it. Maybe he’d want your shabby bookstore to become a front for whatever nefarious dealings he did on behalf of the Corps. 

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 you’d end up seeing something you shouldn’t, and he’d have to cut you out to prevent any further harm. Hell, you’d even grappled with the very real possibility of getting tangled up in something you shouldn’t, only to disappear without a trace, right alongside him. 

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 wouldn’t be caught off guard in the event whatever you had with him ended in a blaze of glory. Or gunfire. 

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. 

Not entirely true, you think with a small snort as you start up the store’s computer, clicking through a catalogue of upcoming releases eligible for the next shipment. He’d 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 didn’t. Now, here you are, six days out from Sanemi taking your virginity, and you haven’t heard a god damn word from him. 

Not that you’re bitter about it. 

As you scroll through the website of the store’s main distributor, one title manages to catch your eye. It’s newer, but it’s only you’d already stocked a few days earlier, having reserved a handful of copies the moment the publisher opened up preorders to smaller retailers. 

You’d 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. 

Whaddya mean I gotta wait another four months ‘til the next one? Sanemi had whined, tossing his book onto your counter. It was the third installment in a fantasy series you’d turned him onto, and he’d rapidly devoured it with the same veracity as he’d had the other two. That’s bullshit.

That’s publishing, you’d snipped back, shoving his arms off the freshly wiped-down surface of the store counter. 

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 didn’t want it. Guess you’ll have to think of somethin’ else to occupy me with, Princess. 

Oh? You leveled that insufferable smugness with a sly grin of your own. What do you suggest? 

You got brains that match all that beauty. ‘M sure you’ll come up with something. He’d replied, tapping your nose with your finger, and snorting when you jerked away. 

In retrospect, the blatant flirting made you want to crawl under your counter and never emerge again. He’d been so damn obvious, and you’d eaten every bit of it up. Perhaps that’d been his plan all along, and you’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. 

It’s hard not to let insecurity gnaw at you but you’re only human, and your edges are becoming more jagged. 

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 you’d picked that particular bone clean. There was nothing left to dissect, not even the marrow, but that didn’t stop you from returning to it, again and again. 

You roll your shoulders. The best thing you can do for yourself is to find a distraction. 

The back stock room sits full of new releases, and it’s been a few weeks since you updated the store’s 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 it’s something you’ve 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 store’s operation, and give yourself something else to do that isn’t this – feeling hopelessly, pathetically sorry for yourself. 

Two trips between the back room and the store’s 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. 

Logically, it isn’t hard to imagine why Sanemi’s 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 you’d long since learned how to see right through the facade. Even if he’d made good on his empty threat to handle you roughly, he would’ve regretted it — so much so, you doubt he would’ve been able to keep the charade up through the end. Sanemi didn’t seem like the type who got off roughing up his partners.

Given how gentle he’d been in the hours that followed, it seemed you’d been proven right. If only he could realize it, too. Maybe then, he’d figure out how to get his head out of his ass. 

Sighing, you toss the last of the previous display’s 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 you’ve spent the last five days nursing. For all the ways Sanemi’s experience between the sheets greatly outpaces yours, it’s also limited. Affection wasn’t something he’d been known to give. In fact, you’d spent a fair deal of time wracking your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ever heard of him being in a relationship – as teens or otherwise – only to come up empty-handed. 

In this respect, at least, he’s no smarter than you are. Actually, he’s 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. 

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. 

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. You’re nearly finished with a row of new romance titles, when the title of one in particular snags your attention. 

Only Casual. A resounding fuck you from the universe if you’ve ever known one. You wouldn’t have been more surprised if the letters leapt off the book’s glossy front cover to smack you square in the nose. 

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 haven’t heard from him because you never will again. Maybe it was only casual. Because that’s Sanemi’s nature, and you’d given it up for someone who would never be capable of anything more than that. 

“Stop it,” you chide yourself, taken aback by your own venomous thoughts. That’s not him; at least, you’re almost certain it isn’t. Sanemi’s 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 would’ve said something, and he’d never struck you as the dishonest type. But Sanem’s persistent silence has bred a foreign sort of doubt in you that you haven’t quite figured out how to shake. “Where’s spiraling going to get you, stupid?” 

Casual wouldn’t have been Sanemi trying desperately to scare you away when you’d asked the most of him. It wouldn’t have made him insist – quietly, resignedly – that you deserved someone better than him. And somehow, you don’t think it was very casual for him to fuck you without protection or sleep naked with you in your bed. 

I love you, Sanemi. 

That certainly hadn’t 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 you’d 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 it’s 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. It’s time for you to get the hell out of this asylum. 

Closing time at the bookstore is a monotony you never mind, because it always means you’re 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. 

As you gather your water bottle and bag, you chew absently on your thumbnail, mind still working through the mess your isolation has created. 

It’s only been five days. In the grand scheme of your friendship, that was nothing. Sanemi said you’d hear from him, and he’d never given you a reason to doubt him. 

So, you’ll continue doing the only thing you know how to do, where he’s concerned.

You will wait. 

———

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. 

Either way, your phone is still silent and you are still alone. 

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, it’s only a little, but it’s still substantial enough to form a pit in your stomach. One that gnaws at your edges just enough to irritate you, an itch you can’t quite scratch.

At first, it’s easy to ignore; after all, gaps in Sanemi’s communication aren’t uncommon. In fact, you’re 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 wasn’t dead in some ditch. 

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. 

Is it irrational? Maybe. And you’re not so stupid that you can’t draw the very obvious connection between his silence and your anxiety. No, you’re painfully aware that your insecurity has everything to do with how the two of you left things after that night. 

You don’t 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 aren’t 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. Sanemi’s the one who owes you that; it’s his rules that have dictated whatever it is that’s blossomed between you in the last year. You can’t make his choice for him, not when he won’t so much as clue you in on the options. The why.

But god, do you wish you knew. 

—

The ninth morning arrives just like the previous eight: hot, humid, and without a goddamn word from Sanemi. 

The day passes like all the others. You rise at six, dress, and try to pretend there isn’t 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 store’s 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 you’ve 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, you’ve forgotten how to see them at all.  

You wonder whether you’re falling right back into that frozen stasis in which you’d lived before Sanemi exploded into your store, dragging in with him a string of felonies, his foul mouth, and the sun. It’s 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 won’t do that again. Whatever you’d been doing before Sanemi hadn’t been living; it was barely more than existing. As bright as your world had been since he’d become a part of it, you can’t chalk your happiness up to him. It isn’t a burden he asked for, and it would be unfair for you to dump it on him. After all, he must’ve been just as lonely, if he’d sought a friend in you.

You’ll survive without him; you know you will. After all, you’ve managed just fine, these last few years. 

But you’d be lying if you said you haven’t 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. 

—

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. 

Of course, your headache could have everything to do with the fact you’ve gone the entire day without a meal, but it’s easier to blame Sanemi and his silence, so you do. Still, the thought of cereal yet again churns your stomach. 

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 it’s still sticky, and sweat beads around your temple before you’ve made it down the block. 

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, it’s not like you have ties to anything or anyone here, save a criminal who can’t be bothered to shoot you a goddamn text. 

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 City’s shortcomings. 

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.  

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 — 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. 

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 they’re painfully aware that they’re stranded on a sinking ship. Maybe they’ve decided to just enjoy what few precious moments they have, before it all goes down for good. 

Or, maybe they haven’t noticed there’s any water rising, at all. 

In fairness, it’s not like you’re 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. 

Arguably, that means you’re 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. 

Oh well. If the merry twenty-somethings gathered outside and toasting to overpriced wine haven’t 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. 

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. Don’t fuckin’ go near the Western Wing, you hear me? Off limits. Silo, too.

If he eventually came back, how long before he’d 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.

—-

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; you’re all too familiar with the strain of meager wages.

You make to depart the diner with a cheerful “thank you!” called back to your waitress, though you can’t 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 that’s been sitting in your gut hardens. You’d anticipated the mental toll from your utter lack of human connection, but you hadn’t expected any physical effects from it. If nothing else, let Sanemi’s absence be your very obvious sign from the universe that you need to find yourself a friend. Preferably, one who isn’t habitually involved in illegal activity that may or may not land you in jail as his unwitting accomplice. 

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. It’s 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.   

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 he’s in the wrong because he’s blocking the exit, but that doesn’t 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. 

Here, in a city surrounded by skyscrapers and streets lined with buildings jam-packed together like sardines, there’s little room for space, and it’s not something you’ve ever particularly missed. But as you stare into his eyes — black and cold — you finally realize what it means for something to be empty; how it feels, to look into an abyss.

Perhaps it’s because this man has within him, a void, that his eyes reflect the neon signage cluttering the diner’s walls. That’s 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 it’s 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. 

“Ladies first.” 

You fumble around your words, searching for something — anything — to say, but there is only cotton in your mouth. Worse, the longer your paralysis persists, the more you’re forced to study him, even though everything about him — from his pale hair to his unusual eyes — sets your teeth on edge. 

A too-red tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and the sweat gathering at your temple freezes. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe your nerves have you searching for shadows that may or may not exist, but you swear there’s something on his tongue. A tattoo of sorts, perhaps. 

Whatever it is – light tricks or you own over-imaginative mind – it’s nothing you need to look harder into. If anything, your friendship with Sanemi has taught you there’s no safety measure more important than minding your business. And, it’s getting late. You need to get home, before it gets dark.

Sanemi hates when you walk alone in the dark. 

“Sorry again,” 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 won’t, so you aren’t.  

All you can do is stare into those soulless eyes.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t rush,” he chastises with a saccharine smile, and his fingers squeeze your arms. His skin is cold and clammy.  

At last, you find your voice and you imbue it with all the steel you can muster. “My boyfriend is waiting.”  

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 diner’s 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. 

You don’t 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 won’t dare to let him see where you live in the event your paranoia proves correct. 

You walk around the block — twice — 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 you’re certain you can’t 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 you’d 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. 

For once, Sanemi’s paranoia doesn’t feel like a burden.

—

All your life, you’ve 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, you’re left to chew on bits of scrambled egg and your own loneliness. You’ve never had a roommate — 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. 

Overpriced and temperamental as your apartment could be, it’s still home. 

And yet, somehow, home feels emptier than you remember, despite the fact you’ve always lived here alone. 

Normally, you’d turn on the TV or listen to something in order to distract from the utter stillness in your apartment, but tonight, you can’t 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 you’ve shoved your empty takeout containers to the side, you sit at your kitchen table and fiddle with your phone. 

It’s been a few days since you’ve 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. 

You have few contacts saved, so finding Sanemi’s name takes little time – but not before you scroll past the entry marked simply, “Mom.”

You don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you last talked to her – 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. 

Oh, Mama, you think bitterly. What would you make of me, now? 

Knowing her daughter had fallen helplessly in love with a season criminal might very well do her in. She’d have a conniption, at the very least, especially if she learned of Sanemi’s reputation among women. There’d be no chance to deny what you’d let him do – what you’d asked him for, and it wouldn’t matter that you loved him any more than it would that he’d rescued her other child, once upon a time. 

Though, you suppose you’re getting ahead of yourself. All of your spite rests on the presumption that she remembered to care.

She doesn’t, so it doesn’t really matter. 

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! I’m dating a known gang-banger – talk next year!

God, their faces when they realized you were nothing more than some felon’s whore. You’d 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, you’d rather not have all your bridges burned. At least the annual check-in with them confirmed you were alive – if those ended, you’d truly have no one. 

So, you scroll on, finding the object of all your ire – and heartache – and tap on its entry.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as the cursor in the blank text box blinks at you, Sanemi’s name just above it. 

Hey. You type before deleting it with a wince. 

That book you’ve been waiting on just arrived. I’ll leave it on the restock shelf for you. 

No, no, that won’t work either. You don’t 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 it’s to establish it can never happen again. 

The thought of losing him makes your heart crack, the fissure spreading across your chest until you’re not sure whether you can keep yourself together. 

If you’re cutting this off, I at least deserve to know. 

Your thumb hovers over the arrow to send, your cursor blinking expectantly at you. 

You don’t want to be hateful any more than you want to appear insecure. After all, Sanemi said you’d hear from him, and it’s only been a week. He’d promised you would hear from him. 

 He’d promised. 

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. 

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; it’s only a matter of time before sleeping became downright unbearable. 

Though no one is around to hear, you snort. Figures that Sanemi’s sudden disappearance from your life coincides with your yearly descent into renter’s hell. If the universe has decided to you need to be dragged through shit, it’s 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 month’s birth control card should’ve been your warning. Your  already shitty mood is about to get even worse. 

Your new prescription is already in your drawer, and you half-contemplate skipping the half-row of sugar pills, but you hold off. You’d already suffered a stern lecture from your doctor for doing that in the past, and you know it’s not good for you. No matter how great the temptation to spare yourself from debilitating cramps, you’ll just have to suffer through it. 

Besides, this period probably isn’t the one to try and skip, anyways. Not after the events of that night. You’re better off making sure you’re getting your money’s worth out of birth control that, admittedly, costs more than you reasonably can afford. If nothing else, it’s worth it to avoid having to eat crow and admit you should’ve 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 you’ll muster up the courage to text him tomorrow, but for tonight, you’ll 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.

—--

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. 

God, he feels like shit. It’d been after midnight by the time he’d 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 Rengoku’s car so he wouldn’t have to deal with it come sunrise. 

Despite the emotional taxation of his visit with Genya, however, Sanemi had been hard-pressed to find sleep. Now that the sun’s up, though, he can’t 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. 

Today is the day he muscles up the courage to talk to you. 

Not like he’s really got much of an excuse to put this off longer than he already has. Genya had told him as much. 

The bristles of his toothbrush flatten against his teeth under the force of Sanemi’s brushing, toothpaste foaming in the corners of his mouth. Embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing. His teenage shithead of a brother — who couldn’t even talk to girls, let alone date one — 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 Sanemi’s life has even been simple, so it figures he’d 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. 

He supposes it was inevitable; he can’t 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. 

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. 

Sweat rolls down his back as Sanemi guns through the city’s 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 he’d taken then — 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. 

And Sanemi is still as hopelessly shackled to the Corps as he was then – as he’s always been.

The brand between his shoulders itches.

Still, he supposes he can count his lucky stars that he’s not on the run from the cops as he’d been last summer – at least, not currently. And he takes comfort in knowing that he won’t 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 that’s 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. You’d be stupid not to be, and while your unfathomable affection for him suggests otherwise, you are smarter than he is – infinitely so. He’s ghosted you for more than a week, and you can’t 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 – however much of it you’ll allow. 

He should start with an apology, that much is obvious. And he’ll follow it up with something he never deigned to give anyone who didn’t have the name of the Corps’ boss family attached to them: an explanation.

Though, he notes with a grimace, an explanation supposed you’d 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 you’re angry, then he’ll let you be. You can curse him all you want, throw as many book-bound projectiles at his head as you’d like, as long as you’ll hear him out.

There is another possibility, however. One that he can only label as a worst-case scenario, one that he hasn’t dared let himself consider even though he knows it’s a very real — and very understandable — outcome. The one where you have no reaction at all, only utter indifference to him and his absence. After all, you’d only asked one thing from him, and he gave it to you. Even if you’d told him you loved him, you hadn’t asked him to love you back. 

Maybe you’d said it knowing he was a lost cause, and now that you’ve gotten what you wanted — the loss of your virginity and the weight of your confession off your shoulders — 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. You’re better off without him; he knows this. So, he’ll pick up the pieces of himself and he’ll 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. 

About two doors down from the bookstore sits a coin laundromat and a repair shop. It’s here that Sanemi’s 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, he’d pull into the alley behind the bookstore and come in through the back exit, but he doubts you’ve left the door unlocked for him. Not when he’s dropping by unannounced. He can’t imagine you’d take kindly to him pounding on the emergency exit, and the fewer opportunities he has to piss you off, the better. He’ll 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 shop’s entryway, Sanemi stops cold. 

The store is dark; there are no lights on inside, and even the way the door sits shut seems uncharacteristically cold.

He frowns. Perhaps you’re in the back, dealing with some delivery issue. Sanemi reaches for the door’s knob, ready to call out your name —

It’s locked.

Sanemi’s 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 it’s midsummer; the store should not be closed. The lights shouldn’t be off, it shouldn’t be empty.

You should not be missing from behind the clerk’s 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. 

Sanemi’s hands are dialing your number before his mind can fully process the action.

“Answer your fucking phone.” His voice trembles as the phone rings and rings. “Now.”

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 doesn’t have anyway, not while his thumb is busy jamming repeatedly at the call function on his phone, as Sanemi sprints for your studio. 

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 don’t 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 — 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.

Sanemi’s breath comes hard out of his mouth in short, panicked gasps. Of all your eccentricities, Sanemi knows there are exactly two things you’re 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 you’ve 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, it’s 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 hadn’t taken enough steps to ensure your safety, your blood is on his hands. That means it’s his responsibility to fix it — 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. He’ll fix your door after he finds you and makes sure you’re safe. After he takes care of whoever dared to lay a hand on you, his you —

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 doesn’t think; his hand seizes tightly around your wrist and he yanks you into the hallway, slamming your door shut with the other hand.

“What the fu —?” You start but you’re 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. “Sanemi, what —?”

“Who else is here?” His voice has a deadly sort of authority you’ve never heard, and it makes a lump of cold fear lodge in your throat. “How many?”

He flashes a quick look at you over his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“What are you talking about?” 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. “What are you doing, you psychopath?”

He doesn’t answer; not until he clears your kitchen, that deadly hunk of metal still braced before him.

“The store was closed.” He says shortly, eyes scanning the shadows. “You weren’t answering your phone. I called and called and you didn’t answer —“

“I’m on my period!” You burst, hands dragging down your heated cheeks. “I’ve been here dying from cramps, you idiot!”

The hand holding the gun drops limply to his side, as Sanemi turns to blink dumbly at you.

“I told you, you imbecile, that my periods suck!” Your face feels hot and your voice has taken on a distinct squeakiness in the wake of your mortification. “I have pain meds to manage my symptoms, so I’ve been in and out of sleep all fucking day! I wasn’t answering my phone because I didn’t feel well enough to answer it, you — you —“ Your eyes screw up as you wrack your brain for something that can express the depths of his idiocy. “You — stupid!”

Your lackluster insult is enough to break Sanemi’s blank stupefaction. “I didn’t know.” He finally offers after a long moment, a hint of pink rising in his cheeks.

“So, your first instinct was to do what — act like a goddamned maniac?” You demand as Sanemi hastily puts the safety back on his gun and tucks it into the waistband of his pants. “You don’t speak to me for more than a week, but you think it’s a good idea to come beat my door down? Because I don’t answer a few texts?”

“Not a few texts,” Sanemi spits back. “I called and messaged over and over -- I was worried —“

“You were about to kick my door in!”

He squares his shoulders at that. “Yes,” he says hotly. “Yes, I was. Because I was fuckin’ 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 I’ve spent the last half hour trying to get a hold of you? What the fuck else was I supposed to think?”

“That you would decide I was sick or busy or maybe dealing with something and couldn’t respond, like a normal fucking person –”

“You say we’re friends and you still haven’t figured out that there ain’t nothin’ normal about this? About me?”

Something flashes across your face, your eyes tightening at the word friends, but it’s gone before he can blink. Sanemi doesn’t 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.

“Oh, fuck me.” You groan, pressing a hand to your abdomen. You wave him off, dismissive. “I’m going back to bed. You know I’m not dead, so do whatever you want. You know where the door is.”

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. You’re safe, nothing is wrong, you’re okay. He repeats this, again and again, a mantra that slowly eases the tension in his shoulders, soothes the violent fury in his veins. 

A groan of frustration sounds from beneath your blankets and pillows, slightly muffled. “Well? What do you want?” 

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.

“Where’re your keys?”

“Huh?” You lift your head just in time to see him start rooting through your bag where you’d 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 – 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.

“Later.”

Silence, and then, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me —“

He’s out the door before you finish your indignant sputtering.

—-

If any doubts lingered as to what exactly Sanemi’s decision was when it came to you, he’s fairly sure they’re resolved here, in the pharmacy’s period care aisle. Because, really, what else can he call this – him, standing before shelves lined with an array of boxes and tampons and pads, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to get – if not a commitment to you? 

A clear choice as any, he supposes. It’s you, or it’s nothing – no one – else. Whatever it is the two of you are though, is another matter. 

Rule Three: don’t get attached. 

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, he’d funcationally ran it over, again and again until nothing remained, the second he put his dick in you. 

Whatever the label, he supposes he at least has to pretend to give some semblance of a shit about Corps’ 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 can’t outwardly call you his girlfriend anymore than he can openly date you. 

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 he’d settled on. Leave it to him to mull over shit like what to call you, now, when he’s got far bigger fish to fry. Never mind that for all the ways he’s decided he wants you to be his, he doesn’t yet know whether you want him. 

He did ditch you for over a week. Eleven days, to be exact. 

Oh, well. If somehow you don’t throw him out on his ass, then it doesn’t really matter what he calls you. It’s not like he’s particularly attached to labels, anyway. Not when girlfriend is far too casual a way to describe what Sanemi feels for you. 

He tries ignoring the pang of want in his heart as the word boyfriend flits through his mind. While he can’t call you his girlfriend to anyone within city limits, you don’t wear the same shackles that he does. You’re not bound by the same code. And damn, what he wouldn’t do to have you call him your boyfriend; to finally belong to something – someone – other than the Corps. It’s the sort of brand he’s gone his entire life craving even if he didn’t quite know it. One he’d wear proudly on his heart, even if no one else would ever see it. 

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, you’ll 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 won’t let you put his target on your back. 

Whatever labels do or do not await him, nothing changes the fact he cannot be a normal – whatever – to you. The only way you stay safe is if Sanemi lets his paranoia dictate the lines of your relationship, and even then, he can’t guarantee it’ll ever be enough. 

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 he’d felt sprinting to your apartment has given way to an unfamiliar lightness. One that makes him feel like he’s floating even as he stops at a small kiosk near the pharmacy’s exit and feeds your apartment key into the machine. 

Yeah, he’s 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, it’ll be worth it. 

—-

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. 

A soft thump against the wall to his right snaps his head up. 

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. 

Bewildered, Sanemi demands, “The fuck is your problem?” 

“You!” 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. 

Finding nothing, you jab a finger toward the door. “Get out!” 

“Nah,” he folds his arms across his chest and levels your fury with a cool stare of his own. “Don’t feel like it, and I know you don’t want me to go, either.”

Your right eye twitches and Sanemi smirks. If you really wanted him gone, you would’ve fought harder when he took your keys. Probably would’ve chased him out the door, hurling all kinds of venom his way. If nothing else, you would’ve blown his phone up, calling him every name in the book, leveling every threat you could concoct.

You’ve forgotten, it seems, that he’s spent the past year learning you; being your friend. He’s far too used to your stubbornness; he knows when you’re full of shit. 

“You’re impossible.” 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. 

He stomps over to your side of the bed and glowers down at your back, put stubbornly to him. 

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 hadn’t 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. 

While the loss of the blanket’s 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.

“You’re not ignorin’ me,” he growls, balling the quilt in his hands.  “I can be a bigger pain in the ass than this.”

Still nothing. 

After a moment, Sanemi’s irritation finally boils over. “Can I just fuckin’ hold you, please?” 

You flip over to gape up at him, returning his pinched glare with outrage of your own. If Sanemi’s 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. 

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. 

You go for the in-between. “No!” Your voice is shrill. “No, you can’t 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?” You throw your hands up over your head in exasperation before dragging them down your face, exasperated. “Are you stupid?”

Never mind that’s exactly what you want to happen — it’s all you’ve wanted, actually. But Sanemi’s idiocy has to cost him something, and despite the way your stomach dipped in excitement when you heard him sliding your keys into the door’s 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. “Fine.” He gestures vaguely behind him. “But I’m still gonna put all this shit away, and then you and me are gonna talk.” 

That makes you sit up. “What shit?” 

Sanemi doesn’t bother dignifying you with an answer; doesn’t 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. 

“Wait,” you frown, reaching for his arm. You try and still him as he unloads aspirin followed by a fresh box of tampons. “Sanemi —“

“Just shut up and let me take care of you.” He pulls a frozen pizza out of the shopping bag and glances at you. “Did you eat?”

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. It’s a strange sight. Sanemi bustles around as if it’s 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. 

His comfortability makes sense, given how much time he’s spent here over the last year. Still, you never imagined a hardened criminal could look so…domestic.

What doesn’t make sense, however, is why. From the moment he’d thundered into your apartment in a murderous rage to his abrupt exit with your keys and sudden reappearance with groceries, Sanemi’s erratic actions have you in a tailspin you can’t begin to find your way out of. Because none of it makes sense.

Too much; this is all too much. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” Your hand snatches around his forearm, stilling him. Annoyed, Sanemi huffs down at you only to be met with your own frosty glare. 

You cut your eyes to the spread of snacks and period products atop your kitchen counter. “What is all this, Sanemi? I mean,” you gesture helplessly between him and the bags. “What are you doing?” 

Sanemi grabs the frozen pizza box and turns it over, eyes skimming the instructions. “Taking care of you.” He monotones, like it’s supposed to be obvious. Like him sifting through a bag full of snacks — all your favorites, you note — was normal, part of some unspoken ritual.

You know better; because the sidelong look he casts you is one of remorse; guilt. 

He’s stalling. And it’s precisely because of his own hesitancy that you can’t be the first one to give in; to open the very obvious can of worms that sits between you. 

You will not make his decisions for him; you won’t shoulder the burden of any blame should this go tits up.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?” 

He busies himself with your oven’s settings, fiddling with the knobs until it clicks on, preheating. Wordlessly, Sanemi slides the pizza into the oven and sets the timer.

“Sanemi.” You press.

Instantly, the rest of his arrogance deflates. He turns back to you, shoulders heavy, slumped forward with something like shame. 

“‘M sorry, I just…” 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.

“For months, I haven’t been able to think about a damn thing but you.” Sanemi begins, his expression uncharacteristically grave. “Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can barely fuckin’ breathe without thinking about you. Without thinking of how fucking badly I want you.”

A tired hand runs through his hair. “Haven’t even been with anyone else in months. Not when all I can think about  is you.” He snorts, though it’s without humor. “Started picturin’ you when I was with the others and everything. Nearly called out your name with one of ‘em one night, and knew I couldn’t do it anymore.”

That little revelation nearly knocks the wind right out of you. Since your friendship with him began, you’ve kept your ears steadily tuned toward any mention of Sanemi’s name. Part of you rationalized it was out of concern for his wellbeing, but in truth, you’d been nosy.

Not once had there been a whisper of the infamous Sanemi Shinazugawa settling down, of him slowing his antics. 

Then again, the moment you’d begun catching the details of his wild reputation among the women of the Silo, you’d tuned out all the noise, too embarrassed to admit your own interest.

“I was selfish, kissin’ you.” Sanemi’s hoarse voice calls you back. “Swore it was only gonna happen once, and couldn’t even keep that promise. And then, what we did that night — that only made it worse. D’you know why?” 

He chances another step toward you and the air between you thickens. Suddenly, there’s little space left between your bodies, and you’re all too aware of the heat rolling off his body, drawing you in, a moth to a flame. 

A hand reaches for you, his fingers nearly grazing your hair, but his arm drops back limply to his side. “‘Cuz I shouldn’t have been able to have you. Not like that. But I did, and —“ he swallows, hard. “I knew I wanted more before I slept with you. Knew that if I ever crossed that line, I wasn’t coming back from it. Couldn’t.”

Your lips part. “Sanemi —“

“I can’t be your friend, Y/N.” Sanemi says heavily. “I just can’t. I knew that way back when I first started comin’ around, but I wanted to try. But I sure as hell can’t be your friend, now."

A crack splinters across your chest, and by the way Sanemi’s eyes tighten, you wonder if he heard it; the sound of your heart breaking.

It was only ever going to end this way. You should’ve known — a part of you did know. But that hadn’t stopped you from trying, from loving him, anyways. 

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. 

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 it’s 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.  

“I had it made while I was out.” Sanemi’s confession is breathless, and he swallows hard before adding, “If you don’t want me to have it, then take it. It’s yours.”

For a long moment, you say nothing; you only stare at the key hanging in the air. Half a heartbeat ago, you’d believed this — whatever it was — with Sanemi was over. That whatever brightness he’d brought to your dreary little life had faded, and he’d leave you behind, just like everyone else you’d dared to love. 

“If I tell you to keep it,” you start carefully, gaze trained so pointedly on the key dangling from his fingers that you don’t notice the way his eyes round. “Then what does that mean for us?” 

He needs to say it. After a week of nothing from him, he at least owes you this. A label. 

His throat bobs. A beat passes, and then, “It means I’m all yours. Only yours.” 

Not good enough. “My what?” 

Sanemi’s fingers tense in faint agitation and your eyes cut to his. 

“Yours,” he insists again, more hotly. “Your boyfriend, your partner, your whatever-the-fuck-it-is that you call someone who’s all in and wants to be with you, and only you.”

Air hardens in your throat, forms a lump you don’t know how to swallow around.��

He says it so simply, as though it’s obvious; like he hadn’t avoided you without a damn word for more than a week, leaving you to fight against insecurity you hadn’t known to have, before him. 

I love you, Sanemi.

He hadn’t said it back, then. Initially, you thought it was because he didn’t feel the same. Sure, he cared for you, that much was obvious, but perhaps that consideration didn’t rise to the level of devotion you held for him. You were okay with that; you hadn’t said it out of expectation, anyways. You’d only wanted him to know your heart, to know that as long as it was beating, it would be his. 

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, it’s just as much as a confession on his part. 

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. 

You don’t. 

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. 

He saw you and all your monotony, all your inexperience, and he came back anyway.

He was the only one who ever had. 

Quietly trembling fingers latch around his wrist and for a moment, Sanemi thinks you’re 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. 

A buzz settles in his ears and Sanemi braces for the rejection he should’ve known was to come. He’d screamed it at himself that night, his head warning his stupid heart that this was precisely the only way this could go. You’d gotten your fill of him, loved him even, but this — he — is too much. He should’ve known better, he did know —

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. 

“Keep it.” Your hands are warm where they embrace his. “I’m yours.”

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. “Thank fuck.” 

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 — desperately — into yours. 

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. 

You fling an arm around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as Sanemi’s enthusiasm threatens to send you stumbling back. Some small, distant voice hisses that you should’ve made him work for it a little longer, should’ve made him grovel for forgiveness. But then his hands are dragging down your front, and he’s pulling you into him by your hips with a possessive grunt and suddenly, you can’t remember why any of it matters.

Neither of you are aware that you’re 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 Sanemi’s tongue to sweep into your mouth, branding you with his claim. 

It was always going to end this way — 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 hadn’t chosen your bookstore to hide in that day, somehow, the universe would’ve found another way to throw him into your life.

Sanemi breaks away with a pant. “Fuck, Y/N,” he moans against your lips. “You don’t know what the fuck you do to me.” 

“Took you long enough,” you chastise between quick pecks. “I was beginning to think your head was perma-lodged up your ass.”

A sound of exasperation accompanies the nip of his teeth at your lip. “God forbid the Princess has to wait on anything.”

You hum into his mouth. “Not anything,” you correct, breaking away from his lips in favor of brushing your nose against his. “You, asshole.”

This time, it’s Sanemi who moans. “Bullyin’ only turns me on, sweetheart. Thought you knew that already.”

“And deflecting doesn’t help your cause. You still have some making up to do.” You scoff, lowering yourself back down to your normal height. Sanemi’s hands linger, cradling your face, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“Yeah, well,” Sanemi murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. “‘M here now, and I want you. And I’m a fuckin’ idiot for thinking this is a good idea, and so are you for wantin’ me, but that’s where we are. Can’t go back.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. “You mean, you can’t unfuck me.”

“Nah,” he agrees, though his eyes darken. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head toward his. “Wouldn’t wanna take that back, anyways. Not in a million years.”

Not when you’re his. 

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. 

Oh, he’s far too good at making you melt. 

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.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?” He teases, pausing only to trace the tip of your nose with his, before he leans back in. “Tell me where.”

You’d love to, except the greedy asshole’s greedier lips are right back on yours, and you don’t have the willpower to argue. You sigh into him, and Sanemi’s tongue sweeps easily into your mouth, flicking against yours. 

Those damn hands of his manage to sneak beneath your t-shirt again. “Mmm. Here?” He teases when you arch, his thumbs brushing along a sensitive part of your waist that makes you squirm.

He kneads against your ribs. “How ‘bout here?”

Your nails scratch the nape of his neck in warning. “Sanemi —“

Those devilish fingers of his inch higher beneath your shirt until he’s cupping your bare breasts. 

“My bad. Here, right?” He smirks, catching your lower lip between his teeth. 

He palms at your chest until you’re whimpering into his mouth. The tender, swollen ache of your breasts is soothed by Sanemi’s 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 —

The oven timer buzzes. 

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. Sanemi’s lips are still teasing under your jaw as he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head back toward him. 

He silences your building protest with another kiss. “Let it burn,” his teeth nip at your bottom lip. “We’re busy.”

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. 

“‘Nemi,” you murmur between heated kisses. There’s a low vibration in the back of Sanemi’s 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. “The oven —“

His tongue licks at the roof of your mouth before his lips break away from yours. “Fuck the oven,” he moans before he claims your lips again, his kiss every bit as needy and possessive as touch. 

He can’t fathom stopping now — not when you feel so damn good in his hands, not when he’s 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 another’s pants. Only now, Sanemi’s 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.

He’s about to suggest moving to your bed, eager to continue because he can, you’re actually his --

A loud rumble from deep within your stomach slices between you like a knife. Sanemi’s hands freeze, right atop your bare breasts. 

A beat passes, and then he murmurs against your lips, “when did you last eat?”

Before you can feed him your bullshit, he adds, “a real meal.”

You fiddle with the ends of his hair, wincing. “…Last night?” 

Even if you could protest, could claim that you weren’t 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.

“Sorry,” you mutter, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Ignore that, we can keep going –”

“I’m not competing with your stomach. If I’m gonna have you moaning, I want to hear you.” 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. “’Sides, you need to eat.” 

You rub a hand over your grumbling belly. “It’s not that bad –” 

“You’re an ass when you’re hungry.”

You can’t 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.

—

Once he’s ensured you’ve eaten enough and washed your dishes, Sanemi sets to work on your bed, righting the mess he’d made of your covers. The moment everything is back in its place, even the obnoxious throw pillows you’d hurled at his head, he turns to you, expectant. 

“Well?” He pats your newly remade bed. “Come on. You said you don’t feel well, so get over here and rest.” 

For once, you don’t 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. 

Sighing, Sanemi kicks off his shoes and slides in behind you. Admittedly, when he’d played out the number of ways tonight could go in his head, he hadn’t envisioned nursing you against the debilitating side effects of your period as one of those possibilities. 

Still, Sanemi can’t imagine any place he’d rather be. 

His body fits against yours with ease, and the way his arm winds around your waist feels natural; automatic. For so long, he’d been navigating the world, unaware that something was missing; that he was incomplete. Sure, maybe he’d felt off to some extent — like there was a gap somewhere among his parts, one that he never knew quite how to fill. 

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 can’t quite figure out what to do with it. There’s a lightness in his chest he’s 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. 

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. “What’s that about?”

“You’re warm,” you groan, snuggling back against him. “Heat helps cramps.”

He squeezes you close and presses a kiss against your ear. “Use me as much as you need, then.”

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.

——

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. 

Curled behind you as he is, Sanemi can’t quite tell whether you’ve finally succumbed to sleep. Your breathing is slow, and while you haven’t 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.

It’s 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, 

struggling to find a position that will allow you the most relief from the throbbing ache in your lower stomach.

He doesn’t think you’re doing it intentionally — in fact, he’s almost certain you aren’t. But if you don’t stop grinding your ass against him, Sanemi might just snap.

He’d already had to quietly fight off the pain in his groin after getting hot and heavy with you in the kitchen, before he’d 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.

“Knock it off,” Sanemi finally grumbles into your ear, arms squeezing once around your waist in warning. “You tryin’ to make me cream my pants?”

“It’s not my fault,” you groan miserably. “I can’t get comfortable.”

“Don’t you take meds?”

Another groan. “Already did.”

Sanemi fights the swear building on his tongue. He’s acutely aware that you’re 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, it’s 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.

That’s when Sanemi snaps. 

With a disapproving click of his tongue, he flips you to your back and under him. You’re his woman now, after all; that means it’s on him to take care of business. 

“You still got cramps?” He hovers close over you, nose nearly bumping yours.

Wide-eyed and blushing at his proximity, you nod.

“You took your meds already?”

Another nod.

“And they ain’t helping?”

This time, you slowly shake your head.

A smile, a wickedly devious smile, spreads across his lips. “I know what will.”

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. 

“What are you --?” You sit up on your elbows, cheeks heating as your eyes roam the rocky planes of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth waters. “What are you doing?”

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. 

He’s harder than stone.

Silky lips dance down your chin before sliding to explore your jaw. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I told you, I’m — oh — on my period!”

“So?”

“So, it’s — it’s — messy!” You stammer, your cheeks turning crimson as Sanemi’s lips continue their heated path down your neck.

He snorts against your collar bone. “You got towels, don’t you?”

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.

“Sanemi,” you squirm under his mouth, hands tugging at his hair, though even you don’t know whether you’re 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. “If you want to say no because you’re uncomfortable with it, then we can stop.” And, despite the faint, irritated twist of his mouth, his eyes are sincere. “But if you’re only complaining because you think I’ll mind —“

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you murmur, shyly looking away. “But, Sanemi —“

Your protest is smothered by a warm, firm hand closing over your mouth. Sanemi leans down until his forehead nearly touches yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

You blink up at him. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly shake your head, eyes wide.

“Then shut up.”

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. 

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. 

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 Sanemi’s throat when you begin pushing your hips down to meet the hardness protruding into you, your movements out of your control. 

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. 

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. 

The ache between your legs is sharper, more intense than usual; closer to a burning throb than a mere flicker of desire. 

The hand he’d 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. 

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 he’s been itching to give you for the last week. 

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. “You got somewhere you want me to be, Y/N?” 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. “You just gotta ask, Princess. I’m right here, waitin’.” 

“S-Sanemi —“

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.

“There. Wanted to see you properly.”

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.

It’s 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. 

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. 

Right now, there’s only one thing – well, two things – he wants, and your damn shirt is getting in his way. 

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. “Hold this.” 

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, don’t 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. 

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. 

And there his mouth is, so close yet so far. The memory of just how expertly he’d navigated you the last time with his mouth makes your nipples stiffen, adds gasoline to the fire burning hotly in your lower belly. 

With a whimper, you thrust your chest toward him. 

“Oh?” Sanemi raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. Idly, his index finger traces a circle around your right nipple, followed by another. “Sensitive are we?” He smirks. “Looks like you’re achin’ for some attention, sweetheart.” 

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. “I can help with that.”

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.

“Pretty,” 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 you’re 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. “Prettiest I’ve ever fuckin’ seen, just like the rest of you.”

Sanemi’s 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 he’d left behind into your flesh. He pinches your nipple in time with the graze of his teeth over the one sucked between his lips.

It’s too much; the pulsing ache between your legs has grown too riotous, too incessant, and you’re 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 you’ll be damned to mess that up for yourself.

There it is again — 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 Sanemi’s gaze locked heatedly on your face, a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“You gonna cum just from this, sweetheart?” Despite his attempt at derision, his voice is rougher than gravel. His hands latch around your hips, shifting you until you’re perched right over the rock-hard bulge that has formed beneath the seat of his pants. 

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, he’s bucking up into you with equal fervor, the two of you gasping into one another. 

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 — 

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 he’d given you that night that you’d 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.

“God damn,” he says roughly, imparting a final few flicks of his tongue across your nipple. “That was fuckin’ beautiful.”

With a last, harsh suck, Sanemi’s 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, you’re back under him, caged against your mattress by his hulking mass.

It’s thrilling, how easily he manhandles you, his touch firm and assured. Yet, no matter how capable he is of throwing you around — no matter how easily he can overpower those ever bigger and meaner than you  — 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. 

His fingers slide over the front of your underwear, circling. “There,” he marvels with a satisfied click of his tongue. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

You don’t bother to tell him the wetness he feels might very well be from your period – after all, you’re wearing your speciality underwear, the kind that doesnt’ require you to wear tampons or pads. But you also don’t think Sanemi would care much either way, given how he continues circling your clit, savoring the way your legs spasm and jerk beneath him. 

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 it’s embarrassing how quickly your body commits to that effort, but he pulls his hand away. 

Your whine needles some remorse out of him. He ducks to press a sweet kiss against your knee. “Be right back.” 

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.

“Hips up,” he orders, motioning for you to lift yourself from the mattress. Wide-eyed, you obey, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“For the record, I don’t care if we use a towel,” Sanemi tells you as he spreads it beneath you, creating a barrier between your body and your blankets. “I’d wash the sheets for ya once we finished. But if you prefer to use it, that’s fine by me.”

His hands guides you back down against the bed and linger once you settle, his fingers teasing along the jut of your hip. “But a period ain’t gonna stop me from helping my girl feel good.” 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 aren’t. 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. 

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 he’d 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 can’t remember the words necessary to form your demand.

For Sanemi’s 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. 

His voice is as coarse as gravel. “Come here.”

Normally, you’d 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. 

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. 

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. 

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.  

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.

“Fuck.” 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. Sanemi’s 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 Sanemi’s tongue sweeping into your mouth.  

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. 

Only your second time and already, your bodies are moving together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re drawing him in like a magnet, your body his North Star. 

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.  

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 he’s properly lubricated for you. 

Beneath him, you tense. “N-now?” You squeak, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rubs himself against the slick heat of you.

He almost groans. “Yeah, now.” If he has to wait any longer, he might go insane.

“But — but — don’t you want a condom —?”

Sanemi scowls as he drags his tip up and down your slit before pressing against your entrance. Fuck no, he doesn’t.

“Shhh. What’d I say?” He quells your worrying with a mighty thrust of his hips. The coppery slickness of you mixed with your arousal means there’s no resistance, and so, Sanemi sheathes himself to the hilt inside you in a single, fluid movement. “Shut up and let me take care of you, yeah?”

You answer him with a high-pitched cry, one that almost borders a small scream, and he’s hard-pressed to restrain himself from joining you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sanemi grinds out. “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

He thought he’d 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, he’s 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.

You’re 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. It’s taking him a surprising amount of self-restraint to keep himself from coming right then, too lost in the heaven of your body. 

Amazed that he’s still able to form a coherent thought, he manages to ask, “You still on that pill?”

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 he’s only happy to oblige. He grunts into you, a needy, guttural sound as he works to set his pace. “You want me to pull out?”

You pause for a moment and then with wide eyes, you slowly shake your head.

Sanemi smiles against your mouth. “Good. Me neither.”

Sure, his rule against having children while still entrenched within the Corps’ operations threatens to go up in smoke, but you’re on birth control. And, as he’s learned, he can’t 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.

“Jesus Christ,” he inhales deeply, mouth pressed to your skin. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

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 should’ve known, he thinks as he rolls his hips with yours, working to set his pace. It’s 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 it’s nowhere near as sharp as it had been then. Still, it takes a moment to adjust to his intrusion, despite how ready you’d 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. 

And god, does he know how to use it. No wonder he’s so insufferably smug all the time. He’d earned his bragging rights a hundred times over.

You’re 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. “Just let me do all the work, sweetheart.” He coos, pressing you firmly into your bed, limiting your movements with his weight. “You ain’t gotta do a thing but take it.”

Truth be told, Sanemi is dreaming of the day you’ll ride him. In addition to reminiscing how fucking good your pussy tastes, Sanemi also hasn’t 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, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of, and he’s more than happy (if not downright insistent) that he’s 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 can’t fathom being anything else but his.

He’s only able to cling onto that last bit of self-control because he’s 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 can’t believe he denied himself of this for so long – of you, of the privilege of taking care of you, of making you cry out his name and beg for more.  

“God, you’re perfect.” He moans out in praise. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.” 

Though it’s only your second time, your bodies slide together like it’s 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 can’t even chalk it up to his eye for detail. The observations he’d made of you last time had nothing to do with survival. It was instinctual. Sanemi hadn’t needed to work to memorize you; he’d known you the second your skin met his. 

It’s this familiarity that guides him now, Sanemi’s 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. 

Though he’s 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 Sanemi’s movements gain momentum, making you bounce against the mattress, your nails lightly – hesitantly – crest into his skin.

He chuckles against the shell of your ear. “You can cling to me as much as you want, darlin’. I don’t mind.” He rolls his hips more purposefully this time, the arm around your waist tightening, forcing you to arch harder into him. “I’ll take good care of my girl.”

His knees shift forward and Sanemi pulls back to study you. It’s 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 it’s 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. “You like it when I call you that, huh? My girl.”

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.

“Yeah?” And he pins you down harder into the mattress with a snarl, his arm pressing your leg nearly to your shoulders. “Good, ‘cause you are.” 

The lewd squelching of Sanemi’s 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 it’s 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.

“And this is all mine, too, isn’t it?” 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. “Yeah, it is. ‘Cuz you’re my girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

Your cunt clenches around him in steady pulses, every fleck of your slick warmth fogging his brain. It’s 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 he’s managed to steal away his own piece of heaven. 

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, Sanemi’s dizzying pleasure becomes edged by solemnity. 

Sure, sex has always been an easier way to work through emotions he wasn’t allowed to feel, but that sort of self-distraction can’t 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t attach any strings to that key. You need to know. You need to know how fucking serious he is about this. You. 

But in case any ambiguities remain, let him clear them up now.

“Can’t believe I wasted all that fuckin time on the others when I could’ve had you. You used to smile at me, you remember that?” Sanemi draws his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside before slamming back into you. “When we were in school. Used to make me go dumb in the head when ya did.”

The wet, sticky squelching where your bodies connect only grows louder as Sanemi increases his pace. “And then I’d see you smile at others and it drove me nuts. But then I realized you were smilin’ special for me — and not just because you were bein’ polite. You meant it.”

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. “Should’ve made you mine back then.” He growls, and below him, you tense. “Should’ve made you my girl and taken you far away from here. Might’ve even become a better man, if I had. I would’ve, if I’d known. That you were fuckin’ made for me — fuck!” 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, there’s recognition there, an understanding that parts your lips as the weight of his words settles.

I would’ve wanted you, then. 

Judging by the dent that appears between your eyebrows, he knows his silent confession isn’t lost on you, even as a sharp cry tears from your throat. 

Sanemi leans down and kisses you, roughly, in confirmation. “And I don’t just mean your body,” he breaks away from your lips with a pant. “You were fuckin’ made for me. Wish I’d known it back then.”

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.

There’s a limberness to your body that hadn’t 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 he’s only too happy to accept. 

“Oh fuck — that’s it, baby. Yes.” He can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed by the way his voice strains as he shouts, “Fuck!”

As tight as you’d been when he’d first entered you, nothing compares to the way you’re squeezing his cock, now. You’ve 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. 

A too familiar tingle at the base of his spine prickles. He going to come and soon, and that’s unacceptable. His entire sexual history has been predicated on two rules: no unprotected encounters and no cumming before his partner.

He’d thrown the first rule to the wind with enthusiastic ease; but he’ll be damned if he starts reneging on the second. Not when he’s promised to take care of you.

Sanemi’s 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.

“S — San —“ you try, but whatever thought you’re trying to string together dies in your throat under a keening wine as Sanemi shallowly thrusts into you.

He grits his teeth. Not enough; he’s still too damn close. His balls have become painfully tight, and the electric prickle he feels has bled into his stomach, forming a know that’s becoming tauter by the second.

He won’t be able to hold off for much longer.

“C’mere, baby.” He manages with a croak. “Need ya to cum for me.” 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. “Keep ‘em up. I’m gonna get real deep, okay?” 

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. “Might feel a bit strange, but I need ya to trust me. I’ll take care of you.” 

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 you’re even tighter than before, and the extra slickness from your period has him bumping up against all the right places in record time. 

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.

“S-Sanemi,” you whine, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his back

“I know you’re feelin’ sensitive, baby, but you’ll feel better if you cum. Can you do that for me?”

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 he’s 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. “Yes, baby — that’s it. Shit.” 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. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

He hasn’t dared forget how it feels when you’re 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.

It’s all he’s 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. “Let’s make it a big one, yeah?”

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 can’t deny it. But it also feels so fucking incredible that you can’t 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.

“Sanemi —“ you squeak, but nothing else follows, save a single, choked gasp.

It’s over and he knows it.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His voice husky and warm, murmuring in your ear. “Show me who you belong to.”

That’s 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. 

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. 

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 that’s precisely the color of the eyes you love most. 

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. 

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. 

A brutal snap of his hips sends Sanemi’s 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.

Sanemi’s arms catch you before you land. 

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 he’d given much of a shit about it before, but Sanemi finds that he really can’t 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 can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“Oh fuck — oh fuck —“ Sanemi can’t stop the filth pouring from his mouth as the familiar prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, more electric. 

He’s 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.  “Fuck, I’m gonna come — baby, I’m gonna come —“

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 you’re probably overstimulated, but his pace only increases. He can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, not when he’s so fucking close, not when it’s been so fucking long —

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 Corp’s mark doesn’t mean shit to him, now.

Whether you understand the bruising demands of his hips or whether you’re 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.  

Gasping, you sink your nails right into his mark, and Sanemi loses control. 

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. He’d sworn the first time he finished in you had been the hardest he’d 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.  

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. 

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 you’re likely overstimulated to the point of discomfort.

But it just feels too fucking good.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m still —“ Sanemi struggles against the deep groan vibrating in his throat as he continues to fuck you through his release. “Not — ngh — not done yet —“

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. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he drops his forehad against yours, panting. “You got me fuckin’ shaking.” 

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 can’t stop. He doesn’t 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. 

Worry, hot and frantic, surges in his gut. “Hey, hey,” he kisses away the tracks staining your cheeks. “Was that okay? Was I too rough?”

You shake your head, turning it away from him to face your ceiling, your hand wiping tiredly at your eyes. “Not at all. I feel better – so much better. Less achy.” You roll your head back toward him, your eyes still watery but bright. “It’s just that – that was so fucking good. I didn’t expect it.”

That does little to assuage some of his concern. “What, it wasn’t good last time?”

You roll your eyes. “Not what I’m saying. I mean, I know I’m more sensitive than usual on my period. I’ve used toys before to help, but nothing has ever reduced me to tears from how good it felt.”

Instantly, his anxiety is washed away with a surge of pride that wells in his chest; a smugness that comes from the knowledge he’d fucked you so well you cried, but he keeps his boasts to himself.

Instead, Sanemi snorts. “Told ya I’d take care of you.”

You click your tongue, fidgeting as another gush of his cum leaks out of you. “Feels like you needed to be taken care of, too.”

“Haven’t jacked off in almost a week. Too much shit goin’ on.” He frowns before adding, “Plus, you’re all I wanted. My hand couldn’t compare to you.”

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 Sanemi’s own mouth part, his eyes growing wide, his cheeks, warm.

He doesn’t think he’ll 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 you’re moments away from sleep.

He whispers your name and you crack an eye open. “You feel up for a shower?”

Sleepily, you nod, but you make no effort to rise from the plush comfort of your bed.

Sanemi sighs through his nose. “Need some help?”

“My legs don’t work anymore.” You can’t 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 can’t 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 you’d 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.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 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 —

“Hey, hey — watch it —“ he growls as you brush your hand against his overly-sensitive cock. Sanemi’s hand snatches your wrist away from him, halting you mid-air. “Cut it out.”

Your cheeks burn with shame. “But —“

“Will ya stop worrying about it?” His fingers loosen around your wrist, and you retract your arm. “Look — see —“

Sanemi swipes his own hand through the mess you’d left behind and holds it up, your blood smeared on his fingers. “I don’t give a fuck. Kinda hot, actually.”

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 he’s wanton because he can’t stop thinking about how fucking pretty your pussy is. 

Especially when it’s covered with him.

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Definitely hot. And you’re gonna let me have a taste next time.”

Your thighs press together at the very obvious hunger in his stare. “Sorry my period interfered with your oral fixation.”

“Didn’t interfere with shit. When I say ‘next time’ I mean, next time you’re on it.”

You gape at him. “You’re not serious –”

“Very.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Sanemi, it’ll be bloody –”

“I told you, I don’t give a shit. Only reason I didn’t do it tonight was ‘cuz I was worried you might stroke out.” He shoots you a naughty wink. “I’m still breakin’ you in, after all.”  

The smugness in his tone ignites a fire in your cheeks, but before you can respond, the bed and blankets disappear from beneath you.

“C‘mon,” Sanemi grunts as he gathers you up in his arms. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

—

There is a stark contrast between sleeping with Sanemi Shinazugawa and showering with him. 

Moments before, he’d 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. 

None of that ferocity is present here, under the warm spray of the shower. Instead, Sanemi’s 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. 

This is intimacy.

It is tenderness which warms Sanemi’s 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. It’s adoration; a vulnerability he’d never dare show to just a hookup. This — he — 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.

—-

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 would’ve 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. 

He’s the first to step out, though only because your bathroom is laughably small. He’s lucky the two of you managed to stand comfortably in your tub, but he doesn’t 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 can’t mind your elbows.

Sanemi pads back to the bathroom, towel looped around his waist. “Took care of the towel on the bed. Threw it in the wash.” On cue, you hear the familiar click of your washing machine as it settles into its cycle. “Nothin’ got on your sheets, but I know some people can be picky. You okay sleeping on ‘em?”

“It’s fine,” you call from the bathroom. “Can you do me a favor? Top drawer of my dresser — there’s a row of black underwear. Throw me a pair?”

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 he’s 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. “You can wear that to bed, if you want. Not that you’ll hear me complain if you decide to sleep naked.” 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. “Hope you don’t mind if I do, though. I’m not big on puttin’ dirty clothes back on after I’ve showered.” 

“You’re —?” The surprise in your tone stills his hands, and he lifts his head. “Are you staying?” 

Sanemi quirks an eyebrow at you. He’d thought it obvious he was, given the shower and how you’re 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; you’ve said you’d never been in a relationship before, which means all of this — having him over, showering with you, and sleeping in your bed — is brand new. As ready and committed as he is to you, perhaps this is all too much, too fast. It’s only natural for you to want to hit the brakes; to feel out this unfamiliar road. 

“I don’t have to.” Embarrassment creeps up his neck. “We can slow this down, if that’s what you want. I’m not in any rush.”

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 would’ve meant he had some tact, but here he is, jumping the gun. 

Your eyes widen in alarm. “N-no! That’s not what I meant. I want you to stay -- I do. I just didn’t want you to think you had to.” 

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 haven’t seen, touched, felt every inch of his nudity. 

A small smirk settles at the corner of his mouth. 

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. 

Only millimeters separate your lips when he pauses. “Who else is gonna slobber all over me ‘til I fall asleep?”

Your eyes fly open. “Y-you—! I —!” 

He silences your indignant sputtering with a quick peck to your lips. “Yeah, I’m stayin’. That key wasn’t just some empty gesture, idiot.”

You smack his chest half-heartedly, but laugh as you kiss him again. “Just get back in bed. I’ll make tea.” 

Sanemi steps back with a cheeky smirk and lets his towel drop to the floor. “Yes ma’am.”

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.

“Don’t forget to pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart.” He calls smoothly over his shoulder, focused on meticulously peeling back the covers of your bed, layer by layer. “Can’t make tea if you’re drooling everywhere.”

Rolling your eyes, you disappear behind the half wall of your kitchenette. Maybe you should kick him out, naked ass and all. 

Out in the main area, Sanemi has settled back into bed, his arms folded behind his head.

“There’s another reason it took me so long to see you, you know,” 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. “I went to see my brother.”

“Genya?” 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.

“Yeah.”

You reemerge a moment later, two steaming cups of tea clutched delicately in each hand. “He doesn’t live with you, right? He’s someplace far from here?”

Carefully, you set the mugs on your small bedside table. You crawl back into bed beside him, Sanemi’s arms opening to allow you to settle in against him, your head coming to rest against his pectoral.

“He’s enrolled in a boys’ boarding school.” He puffs his chest out in pride. “A damn good one, too.”

Boarding school. You’d known that Genya attended school in another city, and spent most of his time there at Sanemi’s insistence, but you’d assumed he’d 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 brother’s private education. “Do I want to know how you manage to afford boarding school tuition?”

“He’s on scholarship — wasn’t hard to get, considering our family’s finances. Found the proof easily enough.” Sanemi stares off into the empty space of your apartment with a shrug. “But I also started saving as soon I started makin’ 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 ‘im socializing. The more friends he makes, the more connections he’s got.”

Sanemi’s voice then softens. “The more chance that he’ll stay far away from here, y’know?”

You trace your index finger along one of the jagged, silvery scars that cuts across his chest. “Was this before or after your father died?”

“Tch. After.” Sanemi snorts. “The old man’s death was never reported to the cops, so there ain’t a death certificate for him. I forged his signature on the transfer paperwork.” He thinks before adding, “had someone I know get me the paperwork to become Genya’s legal guardian, once I hit eighteen. Not like it changed all that much. It’s always been me ‘n him, even before our old man bit it.”

A year ago, you hadn’t imagined Sanemi Shinazugawa was capable of anything other than brash self-service. He’d 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, it’s a cloak that’s flimsy, at best. Once again, all it takes is a little effort, a little more initiative, to see what lies beneath it. 

Under the beast’s 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 won’t let himself believe he deserves.

Emotion prickles behind your eyes. As if anyone on earth could be more worthy than him. 

“‘Sides, I like havin’ someone to fuss after. Reminds me that some part of me is still human.” He continues, oblivious to the way your throat works to swallow around the lump lodged in your airways. “Now, I’ve got two people I get to care about.”

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 it’s the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “I’m pretty fuckin’ lucky, if you ask me. All things considered.”

Your silence shakes him out of his indulgent appreciation of your hand. But when his eyes find yours again, it’s his turn to be stunned silent. 

You’re doing it again — 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, he’d try anything.

For a long moment, the two of you hold each other’s gaze, neither daring to break the bubble that’s formed over your heads. What passes between you has a name, and both of you know it. It’s what slipped off your tongue that first night together, the confession whose weight you could no longer bear. 

It remains unspoken, for now, but it’s there. Both of you know it; both of you feel it.

“I think the tea has cooled.” 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 can’t get enough of kissing you. This small act of intimacy was one he’d 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 someone’s 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 kissing’s sake.

And he’d 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 he’s tasted your lips, Sanemi finds he cannot get enough.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Time doesn’t seem to matter here, wrapped up in each other, kissing and talking and being together. As tired as you are, you can’t fathom falling asleep now. 

Chin propped on his upper abdomen, you reach for him. Your fingers brush through his bangs, and Sanemi’s head bows into your touch. His hand smooths up and down your spine, charting your skin. 

Your head suddenly lifts up, a playful smile on your pretty lips. “What do I call you now, anyways? You never answered.”

Sanemi’s fingers pause their lazy exploration of your back. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean this. Us.”

A dent appears between his brows. “I’m your fuckin’ boyfriend. What else?”

That smirk widens into a full, teasing grin. The mirth in your eyes is beautiful, but Sanemi can’t help but feel like you’re making a joke he’s not in on. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just — you don’t seem like the type to care about labels, that’s all. In fact, I thought you’d be against them.” 

Sanemi’s tone turns indignant. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I want a label?” 

“I don’t know.” You reply drily. “Maybe I assumed you didn’t want your bad boy image to take a hit.”

“What fuckin’ bad boy image —?”

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.  

Instantly, Sanemi’s 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 you’re nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. Like he needs to savor you, before someone comes and plucks you away. 

“It’s weird, y’know?” His fingers play absently with the damp ends of your hair. “‘M not used to going to sleep with anyone. My bed’s always cold.”

You snort against his chest. “That’s not what the rumors said.”

“I didn’t let them spend the night,” you can hear the faint defensiveness in his tone. “Didn’t even cuddle with ‘em, either.”

“Yes, I heard you were quite the gentleman,” you reply airily. “Gave them just enough time to get dressed before you pushed them out the door.”

He chuffs. “You’re makin’ me sound like some sorta player.” 

“Name one person you’ve slept with besides me.” 

He taps his finger to the tip of your nose. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “And besides, there’s only one who matters.” 

This time, it’s you who flushes, heat pooling in your cheeks. “You don’t have to seduce me. You’ve already talked your way into bed with me.”

“You’re the one who cornered me, Princess.” Sanemi counters. “In fact, you were pretty damn insistent about it. You haven’t seen all the ways I know how to seduce a woman — not yet, anyway.”

“Oh?” Your hand teases down the length of his torso, your fingers pausing just at the edge of the blanket, where it’s 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. “Care to share with the class?”

“I might.” And he snatches your hand by the wrist, stilling you before you can sneak below the blanket and start something he knows you can’t finish. “But I think you’d prefer it if I showed you.”

Your giggles are intoxicating as he flips you back under him, his lips peppering your skin with kisses everywhere he can reach. 

It’s incredible; he’s never felt so at ease with another. But the weight of his choice soon settles over him once more, and his face turns serious.

“I can’t be here every night,” and there’s something like regret in his eyes as they search yours, and the thumb stroking your cheek feels repentant. “My…job won’t let me be, as much as I might want to.”

His expression darkens. “And I don’t want to risk anyone following me. No —“

“No patterns,” you finish with a small, understanding smile. “I didn’t think that part would change, even if you decided to come back.”

“It’s not fair to you,” Sanemi admits, his mouth thinning into a hard line. “Nothin’ about this is fair to you. I can’t take you out on dates. We can’t move in  together. I can’t even see you everyday. I—.”

He cuts himself off with a sign, and the hand that was playing with your hair falls to your back and stills. “I don’t blame you if you decide it’s too much. I told you, you deserve better —“

A press of your finger against his lips stifles his self-loathing. “And I told you, I don’t want anyone else.”

Sanemi’s hand closes around your wrist and he presses your hand more fully to his mouth, but he does not speak.

“I told you how I felt about you, and I meant it.” And then, you add more quietly, “I know what I signed up for.”

He winces at that. “No,” he reaches to stroke your cheek with his knuckle. 

“No, you don’t. I know you think you do — and I’m gonna do my damnedest to keep you far away from my shit — but there are risks to bein’ with me, Y/N.”

Risks he never should’ve brought to your door to begin with.

“Like what, to my safety?” The bluntness of your words is softened by the inquisitive tilt of your head. “I don’t know if that’s as bad as you might think.”

“But —“

“Do you think I was somehow safer when I was all alone? Do you think anyone would have noticed if I’d just disappeared one day?”

Your fingers trace circles in the dip between his pecs, toying with the faint smattering of pale hair that lies there. “My siblings don’t call. I haven’t seen my parents in over two years.” You give him a wan smile. “At least now if something happens to me, there’s someone in this damn city who would give a shit.“

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 you’ve been left alone for so long.

It made sense, he thought, for someone like him to have no one. Until you, he’d been a staunch observer of the Corp’s creed; he’d sent his little brother as far away as he could, and resigned himself to an existence of self-imposed isolation. He’d known his future – how little of it likely existed – 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, he’d not known to mourn its loss.

But you hadn’t been raised the same way he had. By his own observations, you’d 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 they’d given a damn. He’d never forgotten the relief on their faces that day, when he’d returned your little sister to them; how they’d clung to her, tears of relief and gratitude shining in their eyes. That was something else Sanemi hadn’t known: the love of a parent. Not apart from his mother, but she’d died not long after Genya was born, leaving her two boys saddled with a man who couldn’t spell the word father, let alone understand the duties of one.

You’d been given everything he hadn’t, and yet, you’d ended up exactly like him: alone. 

Worse, Sanemi realizes, he’d secured more than you had in his adulthood. He’d 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 didn’t even have that.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I think you knowing and caring I exist makes me a little safer.”

How could he not? You’re 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. “Alright,” he says hoarsely after a moment. “As long as you’re fine with someone like me, I won’t push it.” His fingers comb gently through your hair.

“Mmm. I’m pretty content with my choices.” You hum sleepily against his skin. Sanemi glances down to see your eyes fighting a losing battle against sleep. “’Specially when you do that.”

A ghost of a smile forms on Sanemi’s lips. “You can go to sleep, y’know.”

You nestle into his chest. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I promise. The felonies can wait.”  He settles in deeper against your pillows, his fingers still stroking along your scalp. “‘Sides, I wouldn’t leave my girl before kissin’ her goodbye.”

You snuggle happily into his skin, and before long, your breathing slows and you grow still, your fingers curled limply on his chest. He didn’t think it would take you all that long to fall asleep, and here you are, safe and sound and his. 

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs quietly against your hairline, though he knows you can’t hear him. “I ain’t lettin’ you go, now.”

For a long while, he holds you, his fingers continuing to drag up and down your spine. It’s strange to be touched with such affection; such reverence. He hadn’t the words to quite sum up how he’d felt that night, but now, Sanemi realizes just how starved for intimacy he’d been. 

He hadn’t let himself do this with the others – 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. 

Besides, why shouldn’t he relax? He’s home. Because home, as he’s 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. 

Home is a woman he’d 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. 

Home is wherever you are. 

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES APPRECIATED!

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Eleven} {<- kinktober masterlist}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Klaus Mikaelson x F!Reader} Request { @xtwistedchaosx }: "Where are my Klaus lovers for my Kinktober asks?" I have been summoned! First, I want to say, I absolutely love your writing and your blog. It always makes me happy seeing you post not just your fics but the responses you have for your followers as well. You're so amazing! Ok! Enough with the sap and on to the debauchery! I have two fem-reader asks (I'm being greedy I know, totally happy if you only choose one) 1. Spanking/Impact Play and Bondage Reader has been acting like an absolute brat and Klaus just sets them right. 2. Breeding/size kink No real guideline on this one, you get it. I know you do. I would let this man do the nastiest things to me, my morals straight out the door. Anyways! Love ya and you're doing the horny gods work by feeding us the month of Kinktober 🥰

♡♡♡ Thank you!!! you are so sweet. & Girlllll, I see you... I understand you... I went with #1 because that man lovess to put people in their place ~ XOXO ♡♡♡

2.1k words {remember how I said these requests were only going to be 500 to 1k???? lol I LIED} - Kinks: Klaus being Klaus, dom / sub, spanking, bondage & an awkward dinner party...

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, darling?" Klaus looked across the table at you, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a slight smile as he waited for you to answer. You knew you were in trouble, that his eyes were boring into you, daring you to try him. You could feel his stare burning a hole into you. It took everything in you to finally look up at him, only to see the amusement on his face, knowing that you had to repeat yourself and there was nothing you could do to get out of it.

"I said," you started, keeping your tone level and trying to make it seem like you weren't bothered by having to repeat yourself, "that you could be nicer to your family." Your voice came out much smaller than you would have liked, your confidence quickly dissipating under his intense gaze.

Rebekah's soft chuckled broke the tense silence that had formed after your comment. Elijah looked like he wanted to laugh but was holding back and Kol had a full-on grin on his face, looking like a child on Christmas morning.

"She's right, Nik," Kol chimed in, "You really could be nicer."

The fact that Kol was defending you wasn't helping your current situation, only making you more nervous, knowing that his agreement was going to piss off Klaus further.

"I have my reasons," Klaus said, his voice eerily calm. He had moved his gaze from you, staring at Kol instead.

"Oh, come on," Rebekah added, "Can't we have a normal family dinner?"

"No," Klaus snapped, "I won't be lectured on how to treat my own family."

"Niklaus," Elijah cut in, trying to stop the fight that was brewing, "That's not what anyone meant."

You had remained quiet, letting everyone speak and not wanting to add to the conversation. The siblings were prone to dissolving into bickering at the smallest thing. You were used to it, but tonight was worse than usual, and you had started it.

"Maybe," Kol said, "You should listen to your girlfriend."

You tried to hold back a smile at Kol's comment, not wanting to draw attention back to yourself, but you couldn't help the small giggle that escaped your lips.

"That's enough," Elijah said firmly, interrupting Klaus from answering.

"It is," Klaus agreed, "In fact, it's time for everyone to leave."

"What? Why?" Rebekah protested, "You always have to ruin everything."

Kol scoffed and stood, "Fine, I have better things to do."

Rebekah and Kol both left, slamming the door behind them, leaving you and Elijah alone with Klaus. Elijah gave you an apologetic smile, before standing up, "I'll let you two talk."

You watched the one person who could talk your boyfriend down from any situation walk away. Your gaze shifted back to Klaus and he was glaring at you.

"What?" you snapped, trying to play innocent, even though you knew exactly what you had done. "Why did you kick them all out?"

"You know why," Klaus growled, his voice low, a clear warning. You didn't say anything, just shrugged, knowing it would rile him up. "They weren't going to stop and you kept pushing."

"Well... They had some valid points..." You muttered, shifting in your seat as you fidgeted with the hem of your dress and tried to avoid Klaus' gaze.

Klaus stood and walked over to you, grabbing the chair and pulling it back from the table. You looked up at him and his eyes were darker, a look that meant you were definitely in trouble.

"Have you forgotten your place?" he asked, tilting his head and smirking, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying not to give him a smart remark. He leaned down and pulled you up from the chair, kissing you deeply. You melted into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

Klaus pulled away, "Upstairs. Now."

You turned and rushed upstairs, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. You could hear Klaus following behind you, and once you reached the bedroom, he grabbed you, spinning you around and pressing you against the wall.

"Are you going to behave?" he asked, his voice deep and husky.

"No," you teased, sticking your tongue out.

Klaus smirked and crashed his lips against yours, his hands roaming over your body. He kissed his way down to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, causing you to whimper and moan.

"On the bed, now," Klaus ordered.

You did as he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He walked over to the closet, taking his sweet time, enjoying watching you squirm and become impatient.

"Take off your clothes."

"Make me," you challenged, not caring how much you were pushing him.

Klaus flashed over to you, his eyes glowing and a wicked smirk on his face, "Is that how we're playing tonight?"

You nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. Klaus let out a low chuckle, leaning over and kissing you again, his tongue pushing into your mouth and dominating the kiss. You moaned against his lips and he pulled away, flashing to the closet again.

"I think you need a reminder," he called from inside, "Of who is in charge."

He emerged with a box and placed it on the bed, opening it and pulling out a few items. Your heart began to race, knowing exactly what was in the box, and not wanting to show how excited you were.

"Hands," he ordered, and you held them out. He wrapped the soft rope around your wrists, securing it tightly.

"Lay back," Klaus said, pushing you down on the bed.

You giggled and bit your lip, feeling his strong hands grip your ankles and pull you down to the end of the bed. He knelt on the floor and pushed your legs apart, his fingers brushing over your clothed pussy, making you gasp.

"Already so wet," Klaus chuckled. He moved your panties to the side and began rubbing your clit, making you moan. "Do you get off on making me upset?"

"Y-yes," you stuttered, bucking your hips.

Klaus laughed, moving his hand away from your clit, instead sliding his fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out. He leaned in and kissed your thigh, sucking and biting the soft skin, leaving marks.

"Klaus, please," you begged, wanting him to touch your clit again.

"Oh no, you don't get to boss me around tonight," Klaus said, curling his fingers inside you, hitting your g-spot, making you moan and arch your back. "I'm the one in charge, remember?"

You nodded, trying to catch your breath, the pleasure overwhelming. Klaus pulled his fingers out of your pussy, replacing them with his tongue, licking and sucking at your clit. Your hands balled into fists, wanting so badly to grip his hair and push him further, but unable to do so.

Klaus pushed your legs up, resting them on his shoulders and burying his face between your thighs. He groaned at the taste of you, the way your thighs shook as he worked you up. He continued to lick and suck at your clit, his hands gripping your hips and holding you down as you bucked and squirmed.

"Fuck, Nik, please," you cried, the pleasure building inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing.

Just when you were about to reach your peak, Klaus pulled away, standing and leaving you a panting, quivering mess. He wiped his mouth, licking his lips, his gaze hungry and lustful.

"I didn't tell you that you could cum, did I?" he teased.

"No," you whimpered, desperate for release.

"Well, then," he said, his eyes sparkling, "You'll have to wait."

You watched him slowly get undressed, taking his time and enjoying your frustration. You bit your lip, admiring his muscular body, your eyes traveling down his chest, over his abs, and landing on his rock-hard cock, making your mouth water.

He saw where your gaze lingered, a smug smirk on his face. He reached down, stroking himself, letting out a soft moan. "You want this, don't you?"

"Yes," you whined, squirming.

"Then beg for it."

"Please, Nik," you whimpered, "Please, fuck me."

Klaus walked over, standing between your legs and leaning down, pressing his body against yours. You could feel his hard cock against your thigh, making you even more desperate.

"Please, Klaus," you begged, "I'll be a good girl."

"Promise?" he whispered, kissing along your neck.

You nodded, unable to form words.

Klaus grabbed your hips, flipping you over and pulling you up onto your knees. You felt his hands on your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh. He pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest and face into the mattress, while his other hand moved to your ass, squeezing and slapping the soft skin.

You let out a small whimper, feeling his cock press against your entrance, the anticipation killing you. He let out a low hum, sliding his cock inside your pussy, stretching you and making you gasp. He started with a slow, steady pace, teasing you. You pushed back against him, trying to get him to go faster, but he smacked your ass, hard, and you whimpered.

"Patience, love," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

He began to thrust harder, his cock slamming into you, hitting just the right spot and making you moan. But every time you got close to the edge, he'd slow down and strike your ass, reminding you that he was in control.

Your skin was hot and flushed, sweat beading on your forehead. Klaus leaned down, his chest pressing against your back and his lips against your ear.

"You're mine, do you understand?" he growled, his voice rough and possessive. "You don't get to act like a brat anymore."

"Yes," you moaned, "I'm sorry."

Klaus chuckled, his hand tangling in your hair and pulling your head back. He kissed and sucked at the exposed skin of your neck, making you gasp and moan. Then his hand came down on your ass, making you yelp. He continued to spank you, alternating between hard and soft, sending waves of pleasure and pain through your body.

You were a trembling, whimpering mess, unable to focus on anything other than the sensation of Klaus fucking you. He had pushed your face into the mattress, his body pinning you down, and his cock buried deep inside you. The heat and friction were too much, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

He let out a soft laugh at your desperation, pulling away from you, leaving you face down on the bed. His hands slid under your body, lifting you up and placing you in his lap. Your wrists were still bound, but Klaus made quick work of untying them, massaging the tender flesh.

"You alright, love?" he whispered, kissing and sucking at your neck.

"Yes," you breathed, looking up at him through your lashes.

He grinned and smacked your ass, making you yelp. "Good," he growled, "Now ride my cock."

You did as he commanded, straddling his hips and sinking down onto his thick shaft. His hands rested on your hips, guiding you, and his mouth was all over you, kissing, biting, and sucking little marks into your skin.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails raking across his back, as you bounced up and down on his cock. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and whimpers, Klaus' groans, and the slapping of skin. His hand kept slipping down to your ass, squeezing and smacking it, the pain mixing with the pleasure and sending you into a frenzy.

You could feel the tension building, your body aching for release, and you knew Klaus was close too, his cock throbbing inside you. His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive bud, and you couldn't hold back any longer. Your body tensed, and you let out a cry, the orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Klaus followed soon after, groaning and burying his face in your neck.

"Fuck, love," he panted, his breath hot against your skin.

You collapsed against him, exhaustion washing over you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, a slight tease in his voice.

"Maybe...," you mumbled, "I'm always going to speak my mind, though."

"Oh, I know," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "That's what I love about you."

"Mmm," you hummed, nuzzling against him. "I love you too, Nik."

You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow, knowing that no matter how many times you misbehaved, Klaus would always put you back in your place.

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ ITboyfriend!jungkook (5)⋆𐙚₊˚⊹*nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: surprise! a written... also,, the end. hehehehee. enjoy <3

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

the door swings open just as you raise your hand to knock.

jungkook stands there, eyes wide, completely still. he was on his way to you. the minute you sent that text, he was more than ready to go through war to get you back. rain pours behind you in sheets, soaking through your clothes, but you barely feel it. how could you? all you can feel is your heart racing and how good it is to see him again.

before he can say a word, you take a shaky breath and let it out.

"marry me."

jungkook’s heart skips a beat.

for a moment, he’s not sure he heard you right. the rain is pounding so hard it feels like it’s muffling everything else. but the look on your face—it’s raw, desperate—there’s no mistaking what you said.

"w-what?"

"i did everything they wanted me to," you blurt out, the words coming faster now, like you’ve been holding them back for too long. "i studied the major they chose. i graduated like they wanted. but i can't... i can't leave you." your voice cracks, your hands trembling as they curl into fists at your sides.

the weight of everything you’ve been carrying is finally crashing down on you. jungkook stands there, rooted in place, his heart pounding as your words hit him like a freight train.

"they told me to break up with you. they said i couldn’t have both—you or them. i had to pick." you swallow hard, your voice rising with emotion. "they think you distracted me, that i never chose them over you. they hated it... they hated that i loved you more. they wanted me to walk away, said i’d never be successful if i stayed with you, that you were either too good to be true for me, or i'd live the rest of my life behind you and your success. i was scared. so, i listened... i listened, and i broke things off. but jungkook—"

your voice shakes, your eyes glistening, "i’ve never felt loved by them the way i feel loved by you."

his heart clenches, the guilt and confusion swelling in his chest as he processes the weight of your words.

"i did everything right. i raised my siblings, i paid for my school, i got all the scholarships for a degree they chose that i don’t even give a rats ass about..." your voice is shaking, raw with emotion, "there's so many things in this life i don't know what to do about—but one thing’s for sure... you're it, jungkook. i love you."

"___—"

"and they didn’t understand,” you huff. “so i left."

jungkook feels like the ground is shifting beneath him, part of him relieved that you’ve come back, but the other part devastated knowing how much you sacrificed.

"you… left?" he asks softly, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"i left," you say again, firmer this time, though your eyes are still pleading, still searching his face for some sign of hope. "i'm so tired of choosing between you and them... and it fucking pisses me off because it's not entirely about you, you know? it's about me, too. and i... i can't do this—not without you."

jungkook stands there, stunned, trying to process everything. part of him is relieved—he’s wanted you back, has missed you so deeply it hurt—but another part of him is consumed with guilt. you were drowning under your family’s pressure, and he let you go, thinking it was for the best.

he steps forward, reaching out to you. "come inside," he says softly, his hand brushing your arm. "let’s talk about this—"

but you shake your head, cutting him off, your voice trembling but fierce.

"no," you refuse. "not until you say you'll marry me. i need to know that i'm choosing right and that i put everything between my family and i at risk because you love me enough to—fuck. jungkook, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to put you down. if anything, you’re the only thing i held on to.”

your voice shakes.

then, a sob escapes your lips.

"f-fuck," you begin to cry. "jungkook, you are the only one who has ever made me feel like i'm enough."

jungkook’s breath catches, but there’s no hesitation in his eyes.

instead, a soft, almost relieved smile breaks across his face as he steps closer. his hands gently cupping your face, brushing away the wet strands of hair sticking to your cheeks.

"why couldn't you wait another hour?" he asks, voice low but steady, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "i was gonna propose to you."

you attempt to smile. hitting his chest lightly, you pout.

“you propose like every month."

he leans his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your cold skin.

“yeah, i know," he whispers, his smile widening, "so fine. i guess i’ll marry you... since you're crying in the rain and everything—"

you let out a shaky breath, and hit him again. he laughs and crashes his lips onto yours, instantly feeling the weight of the past months finally lift.

in that moment, everything feels right.

... because it is.

jungkook can’t get enough of you.

as you two tumble together in his bed, both of you still damp from the rain, his hands roam your body like they’ve been starved for too long. the past few months had been an agonizing stretch of absence, where all he had were fleeting memories and pictures—poor substitutes for the real thing.

and he knew it.

nothing beats this.

nothing compares to feeling your skin under his fingertips, the way your breath hitches when his lips brush the curve of your neck.

you bite his bottom lip playfully, pulling away just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling quickly as you look at him with a glimmer in your eyes.

"your room is really clean," you murmur, the softest trace of a smile curling your lips. "were you expecting me over?"

jungkook snickers, a teasing glint flashing in his eyes. "my room is always clean," he quips, his hands still running up and down your back, savoring every inch of you.

you roll your eyes dramatically, propping yourself up on your elbows as you hover over him.

“this is exactly why my parents think you're too good for me."

the lightheartedness in your tone doesn’t sit right with him. jungkook’s face falls, his expression shifting as he shakes his head, not loving how quickly you’re turning the weight of the situation into a joke. his brows knit together, the tension in the air palpable.

“don't say that," he mutters quietly, a hint of frustration in his voice, but mostly concern. "you know that’s not true."

you shrug, but your sigh betrays the heaviness that lingers in your chest. the momentary playfulness drains from your face as the gravity of everything settles between you again.

he gently grasps your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, bringing them to his lips and pressing soft kisses along your knuckles. his gaze is intense but filled with a deep affection.

“i'm gonna marry you,” he says softly, his voice carrying a quiet conviction, as if it’s the most certain thing in the world to him. “but not until we figure your family stuff out first."

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can say anything, jungkook speaks again, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your palm.

"i love you," he says simply, the words holding a quiet power, like a promise etched into the very air between you. "and i want you to have everything good in life. you know your parents love you… they’re just complicated. i’m okay with that… if complicated is what you come with, so be it. i’m okay with marrying into complicated. i just want you.”

the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. you swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words and the tenderness behind them. he's not just offering you his love—he’s offering to shoulder your burdens with you, to walk beside you through whatever storms come your way.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice a little shaky as you nod, accepting his pitch, your fingers still tangled with his. “but… can i have some time to cool off?” your eyes search his, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. “i feel like i just need space right now. to breathe. to figure everything out in my own head.”

jungkook studies your face for a moment before nodding. “of course,” he murmurs, his hand squeezing yours gently.

a beat.

“take all the time you need... we have a lot of sex to make up for anyway.”

throwing your head back, you laugh. jungkook takes this opportunity to kiss your neck and behind your ear. 

“should we start?”

make up sex is always fun. 

regardless if it was a silly argument or something as big as this break up—you and jungkok seem to always know how to make the fuck up. 

“h-holy shit,” you moan. 

jungkook has you bent over his bed as he stands behind you. his throbbing cock is inside and moves in more and more by the second. you hiss at the feeling but also can’t help but shut your eyes to the pleasure. 

he gives you a moment to adjust. 

“did you get bigger or something?” you breathe. “fuck, give me a minute.”

jungkook bites his lip, bringing his hands to your ass. he spreads them before slapping them, loving the way the redness shows up. his slap mark glows and so does his heart. 

“if my dick got bigger, then so did your ass. holy fuck, ___.” 

you snicker and angle your body to a more comfortable state. jungkook takes that as the signal, bringing his hands to your hair. he wraps them around, tightening his grip. he tugs your hair back, bringing you to lift your face to look up at him. he leans down to kiss you. 

when he pulls away, he keeps on pulling your hair. he then begins to thrust himself in and out of you, causing you to gasp and moan his name. 

jungkook continues to fuck you in this position for a hot minute. his hands go from your hair to your breast. he cups them, holding them like he’s afraid to let go. they then travel down your curves to your pussy where jungkook plays with your clit as he fucks you. 

it feels so good. 

when your pussy tightens and you’re about to climax, jungkook pulls himself out. he cums first.

he does a few backshots on you.

then, he holds you to lay down on the bed. quickly, he gets on his knees, pulling your legs over the edge and on top of his shoulders. 

he digs his face into your swollen pussy. 

without warning and without hestiation, he flicks his tongue on your clit. then, he drags it along the inside of your folds. he eats you out as you grip his hair. he spits and shoves his nose in the most surprising parts that make your breath hitch. 

he’s kind enough to let you cum. 

jungkook licks you up, loving the way you taste. it’s so familiar and so sweet. he can’t believe he lived without your delicious pussy for the past few months. it’s heartbreaking, really. he can’t believe you deprived him of such delight. 

when he finishes you up, he spits on it once more before shoving his fat cock back inside you. he stands as you lay there, reaching for him. he shakes his head, denying you the closeness. 

“cum fast like this and then let’s switch to missionary,” you demand. “need you close.”

like a good boy, jungkook listens. 

he takes your hand and places it on his chest. slightly leaning forward, you’re able to feel his heart beat as he fucks you. it races and you swear you feel it skip a beat. jungkook looks at you the entire time, face wincing from the sparks of pleasure and built up tingles. 

then, he cums. 

the minute he does so, he pulls out and jerks himself on top of your stomach. with loving eyes, you watch as he spills himself. 

as he leans in to kiss you, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down. 

he smiles into the kiss as you move your way into the middle of his bed. you set him to lay below you and get on top. panting, he takes in the sight of you. 

beautiful. 

so fucking beautiful. 

as you slip yourself in, you crash your body down. grinding and bouncing, you take all of him in. he moans as his hands go up and down your body. you keep yours in his hair or cupping his jaw. in between the fucking, you kiss him as often as you can. 

he kisses you back, losing his breath way too fast. 

“i love you,” he breathes. 

“i love you too,” you exhale. 

jungkook wakes up to the soft glow of the kitchen light spilling into the hallway. 

the quiet sounds of glass clinking and gentle movements pulling him from his sleep. groggy, he rubs his eyes and pads down the hall, stopping when he sees you standing at the counter, your back to him.

"what’re you doing up?" he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep. “everything okay?”

you turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder with a small, tired smile. 

"couldn't sleep," you reply, holding a glass of milk in your hand. 

he moves closer to you. 

"you're out of sugar, though," you add softly, almost as an afterthought. "my mom always gives me milk with a teaspoon of sugar when i can’t sleep… guess i’m looking for some comfort."

jungkook watches you for a moment, his chest tightening. there’s something about the way you say it—so casual, yet heavy with the weight of memories, of things unsaid. he can see it in your eyes, the storm brewing beneath the surface, even if you’re trying to hide it. without a word, he crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest.

you freeze for a second, the glass still in your hand, but then your shoulders sag, and the tears you’ve been holding back start to fall. they come quietly at first, a soft, shuddering breath escaping you as the dam breaks. jungkook presses his cheek against the side of your head, his arms tightening around you, like he’s trying to shield you from the weight of everything that’s been crushing you.

"it’s okay," he whispers, his lips brushing the top of your head. "i got you."

your body trembles in his arms as the sobs come. 

your grip on the glass loosening until you set it down shakily on the counter. you press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it’s too late. the floodgates are open.

"it’s just… so hard," you choke out, your voice barely audible through the sobs. "i feel so guilty… choosing myself. i’ve spent my whole life trying to please them, trying to be the daughter they wanted, and now…" your words trail off, lost in the overwhelming emotions crashing over you. "i don’t even know who i am without their expectations anymore."

jungkook stays silent, holding you closer, his heart aching for you. 

he doesn’t rush you nor does he try to fill the silence with empty words. 

he just lets you cry.

jungkook lets you grieve for the years you’ve spent trying to live up to someone else’s vision of who you should be. he knows how complicated your relationship with your family is, the impossible choices they’ve forced you to make.

"it’s okay to choose yourself," he says softly after a while, his voice low and steady. "it doesn’t make you selfish. you’ve given so much to them… but you deserve to live for yourself, too. and this isn’t forever, okay? this is just for now. this feeling… this guilt—not being with them."

you lean back against his chest, your body still trembling, your eyes red and swollen from crying. 

"but it hurts so much," you whisper, your voice fragile, like you’re admitting it for the first time. "it feels like i’m breaking apart. like i left parts of me behind."

jungkook’s hand moves to the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles there. "i know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "maybe you did… and that’s the truth, ___. they’re your parents. they’re not some ex best friend you have a few memories with… it makes sense that it hurts. it’s okay that it hurts… but you’re not alone. you’ve got me, and i’m not going anywhere. we’ll figure this out, together."

your breath hitches again, but this time, it’s different—a softer, calmer release. his words seep into you like warmth, easing the ache in your chest just a little. you turn in his arms, burying your face in his neck as he holds you, his fingers weaving through your hair.

"i love you," jungkook whispers against your skin, his voice a soft promise. "i love you so much, and no matter what happens with your family, no matter how hard it gets, we’ll get through it. i don’t care how complicated it is. you’re the love of my life and i will do anything to make you happy… it’s that simple."

you close your eyes, breathing in his scent, his warmth, the safety of his embrace. with his arms wrapped around you—everything feels a little less heavy, a little less overwhelming. even though you know what’s to come won’t be easy; you also know that being with him and choosing him will be the one decision you’ll never regret.

"everything will be okay," jungkook whispers, his voice like a lifeline. "we’ll make it okay."

and somehow, with him holding you like this, you believe him.

[gyuuberryy]

vanilla coconut !

pairing: sunshine!sunoo x grumpy!reader

genre: one sided enemies to lovers, sunshine x grumpy trope, barista au, christmas au

synopsis: it's winter break and instead of exploring switzerland with your friends, you're unwillingly working in your mom's cafe. to make matters worse, the new hire is a little too clingy and hyper, always adamant on getting you excited for the holiday season, much to your dismay. as you're forced to be around him for more than half of the day, every single day, you learn a thing or two from each other. he smiles for the both of you, whatever you do is enough for him and whatever he does is too much for you. maybe just maybe you could be friends, or perhaps something more?

warnings: kissing, jealousy, flirty!sunoo, family issues, argument, reader is kinda mean, crying,

note: i finally got to write for my biggest crush—sunoo!(I'M SO IN LOVE WITH HIM) this has a slight hallmark movie vibe because i lovee them. merry christmas!

word count: 10.1k

i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3

the plan had been perfect.

switzerland in winter, cozy chalets, the sparkle of snowflakes in the alps, and hot chocolate that was more melted dessert than drink. your friends had already started posting pictures: selfies by frosted windows, snow-covered towns that looked ripped out of postcards, and captions so carefree they stung.

but no. you weren’t in switzerland. you were here, in the cramped kitchen of your mom’s café, drowning in holiday specials and watching other people live out the joy you were supposed to be having.

“do you have to look so miserable?” your mom asked that morning as you trudged downstairs. “you’ll scare away the customers.”

“it’s not my fault i’m stuck here,” you muttered, your words muffled by the scarf you were wrapping around your neck.

your mom sighed but didn’t argue. she didn’t have to. the weight of responsibility—the oldest sibling’s eternal curse—hung heavily between you. when your mom had insisted you stay behind to help with the café’s holiday rush, the conversation hadn’t exactly been open for debate.

“it’s your responsibility,” your mom had said, her voice as unwavering as ever. “you’re the oldest. you understand that, don’t you?”

she’d said it like it was obvious, like it didn’t matter that you’d saved for months or that this was your last winter break before finishing university. your siblings had been conveniently absolved of all obligations, leaving you to pick up the slack.

and now here you were, staring out the café window at holiday shoppers bustling about their merry little lives.

it wasn’t just the lost trip that soured your mood. normally, you liked the holiday season—the warm lights, the scent of cinnamon in the air, the general buzz of joy. but this year, it felt impossible to muster up even a hint of cheer. maybe it was the bitterness of being left behind. or maybe it was the feeling that everyone else got to celebrate while you were stuck doing the thankless work.

whatever it was, you wanted no part of it. no twinkling lights, no jingly music, no forced smiles. if it were up to you, you’d fast-forward straight to january.

suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, snapping you out of your brooding. you straightened up, putting on your polite customer-service face as you prepared to take their order. but the sight that greeted you stopped you cold.

the man standing in the doorway looked like he’d lost a fight with a christmas clearance bin—and lost spectacularly. his coat was a patchwork of red and green, his scarf glittering with snowflake designs, and atop his head sat a ridiculous pom-pom hat that looked like it came straight from santa’s workshop, bouncing with every step.

you squinted at him, wondering how anyone could walk around looking like a walking holiday advertisement and not feel the slightest bit self-conscious. he practically radiated cheer, and you were already bracing yourself for the headache that would inevitably follow when you took his order. 

his curious eyes stopped their surveillance once they stopped at you. he lit up and waved at you enthusiastically(his mittens made a soft fwip-fwip sound against the air as he did that, making him look even more adorable ridiculous in your opinion).

“sunoo!” your mom’s delighted voice rang out, cutting through your internal judgment. she emerged from the back, her face lighting up as if he were her long lost son. “you’re early! perfect timing.”

“always early for christmas,” he replied, his voice as bright as his outfit.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to piece together what was happening as your mom motioned for him to come closer.

“sunoo’s going to be helping us out during the holiday rush,” she explained, turning to you with an expectant smile. “isn’t that wonderful?”

wonderful was not the word you would have chosen.

before you could object, sunoo turned his attention to you, his smile widening like he’d just found the best present under the tree.

“hi!” he said, thrusting out a hand. “i’m sunoo. it’s so great to meet you! your mom’s told me all about you.”

“uh.. hi,” you managed, shaking his hand hesitantly.

“she also said you’re going to be showing me the ropes!” he added, his enthusiasm not faltering for even a second.

your mom patted his shoulder approvingly before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving you alone with who could only be described as christmas incarnate himself.

“where should we start?” sunoo asked, looking around the café with sparkling eyes. “drinks? decorations? oh, wait—do i get an apron?”

you blinked at him, trying to process how someone could have this much energy so early in the day. “uh, yeah. apron’s over there,” you muttered, pointing toward the storage cabinet.

as he darted off to grab one, you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that this holiday season was about to get a lot more...complicated.

the next few days were nothing short of exhausting and it wasn’t because of the café rush.

it was him.

day one with sunoo was a test of patience.

he wasn’t just enthusiastic—he was relentless. he greeted every customer like an old friend, remembered their names and favorite drinks, and even started a suggestion box for “holiday improvements,” which was quickly overflowing with ideas.

on his second day, came the first incident. while you were preparing an espresso, sunoo decided to take matters into his own hands and “spread holiday cheer.” which apparently meant hanging garlands around the counter while you worked.

"could you not?" you finally snapped as a strand of tinsel landed on your shoulder.

"it’s festive!" he countered, grinning as he perched a tiny santa hat on the espresso machine. "doesn’t it make you feel jollier?"

you glared at him. "i’m plenty jolly."

he blinked innocently. "are you sure? because you’ve been frowning for…well, since i got here."

but it wasn’t just the decorations. sunoo had an uncanny ability to be everywhere at once. whether it was bringing you hot cocoa during your break (“it has marshmallows!”) or attempting to teach you his rendition of “jingle bells” while you prepped the next batch of cookies, he was always there.

“smile more!” he said one afternoon as you handed a cappuccino to a customer.

“i am smiling,” you replied through gritted teeth.

“that’s not a smile. that’s...a grimace,” he teased, leaning in with mock seriousness. “here, watch me.”

he turned to the next customer, flashing a grin so radiant it could have melted an iceberg. “welcome! isn’t it just a great day to treat yourself?”

the customer chuckled, clearly charmed. you, on the other hand, wanted to crawl under the counter and hide.

well yes, you begrudgingly had to admit that his presence had improved the café’s working tremendously. the customers loved him. he remembered names, guessed favorite drinks, and made people laugh. tips flowed into the jar like magic.  but he was trying to ruin your plan of not appreciating the holiday season! and you were not going to let that happen.

but, by the end of the week, something shifted.

slowly—very slowly—you had started to tolerate him.

it wasn’t that he stopped being annoying. if anything, his energy seemed to double with each passing day. but somewhere between his absurd carol remixes and the way he handed out extra cookies to kids who looked like they’d been dragged to the café against their will, you found yourself less irritated.

not impressed. definitely not charmed(lies!). just...less annoyed.

but one question lingered at the back of your mind: why? why was he so happy? what made him light up like a human christmas tree every day?

you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. but as you caught him grinning at a regular customer who’d just handed him a homemade ornament, you couldn’t help but wonder.

the café was quiet as you flipped the sign to "closed" and started tidying up for the night. it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to finally go home.

just as you locked the register and reached for your coat, the bell above the door jingled. you turned, irritation already bubbling up.

“we’re closed,” you started, but your words faltered when you recognized the man standing there.

“y/n,” your ex-boyfriend said, his smirk as familiar as it was grating. he stepped inside, dressed in a tailored coat that screamed money and arrogance. god, you can’t believe you fell for someone like him as a teenager.

beside him stood a woman teetering on heels that seemed entirely impractical for the icy streets outside. her outfit was bold, to say the least, a mishmash of sequins and faux fur that seemed more suited for a nightclub than a quiet evening in a café.

“oh my gosh,” the girlfriend squealed, twirling a strand of platinum-blonde hair. “babe, is this the little place you were talking about? it’s, like, so...cute!”

your ex casually leaned against the counter you had just wiped, trying to look cool. “i told her about this café. thought we’d stop by, see if you were still here.”

still here? the condescension in his tone made your jaw clench.

“it’s nice to see you’re keeping busy,” he added, his eyes sweeping over you like he was assessing your worth.

you plastered on a polite smile, one you reserved for particularly rude customers. “we’re closed, actually. maybe come back tomorrow.”

“aw, don’t be like that,” he said smoothly, ignoring your words entirely. “i was just telling tiffany here about how we used to hang out all the time. she couldn’t believe it. right, tiff?”

tiffany nodded enthusiastically, chewing gum as she looked around the café. “totally. i mean, you’re, like, so brave for working here. i could never do customer service—ugh, people are just the worst, you know?”

you stared at her, unsure if she was trying to insult you or if she genuinely had no self-awareness.

“i’ve been doing amazing, in case you were wondering. just opened my own tech startup. big investors, huge growth potential. you know how it is—some of us were always meant to do big things.”

he gave you a pointed look, and you felt your jaw tighten.

“and of course, i’ve got tiffany now.” he draped an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders, and she giggled, resting her manicured hand on his chest.

“uh-huh,” you said, folding your arms. “well, congrats. i need to finish closing, so if you don’t mind—”

“oh, don’t rush us,” tiffany said with a pout. “we’re just, like, so fascinated by this little place. did you decorate it yourself? it’s so quaint!”

before you could respond, the door opened again, and in walked sunoo, bundled up in his bright scarf, carrying a bag of cookies.

“there you are!” he said cheerfully, making a beeline for you. he barely glanced at your ex before sliding an arm around your shoulders, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “sorry i’m late, babe. got caught up picking these up for you.”

your ex straightened, his brows knitting together. “babe?”

sunoo turned to him, his smile wide. “oh, sorry, i didn’t realize you were talking to my girlfriend.”

the word “girlfriend” sent a jolt through you, but sunoo didn’t give you time to react. he extended a hand towards your ex. “i’m sunoo. and you are?”

“her ex-boyfriend,” he replied stiffly, clearly caught off guard.

“oh!” sunoo said, feigning surprise. “well, nice to meet you. guess you’re the one who didn’t see how amazing she is, huh?”

you blinked, your cheeks warming as sunoo turned to tiffany, giving her a polite nod before focusing back on your ex.

“you know, y/n’s been working so hard lately,” sunoo continued, his voice light but deliberate. “between helping out here and pursuing her corporate law degree, she’s just incredible. i mean, it’s not every day you meet someone with brains, ambition, and kindness all rolled into one.”

your ex’s confident smirk faltered, and tiffany’s chewing slowed as she looked at you with newfound confusion.

“she’s studying law?” tiffany asked, wide-eyed.

sunoo nodded, his smile unwavering. “yep. top of her class, too. honestly, i don’t know how she does it. i feel lucky just to be a part of her life.”

your ex opened his mouth, likely to retaliate, but sunoo wasn’t done.

“and she’s so good with people,” sunoo added, looking at you with a softness that made your heart skip a beat. “customers just adore her. i see it every day—her kindness and how much she cares about others. it’s inspiring, really.”

your ex looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, his girlfriend now staring at him with something akin to disappointment.

“and now,” sunoo said, turning back to you, “i think it’s time we head home, don’t you, sweetheart?”

before you could process what was happening, sunoo leaned in and kissed you. it wasn’t a quick peck, nor was it overly dramatic. it was soft, lingering just enough to leave your heart racing and your mind spinning.

when he pulled back, he smiled at you, completely unfazed. “let’s go.”

you nodded, your voice seemingly lost, and allowed him to guide you toward the back.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you whispered, “what the hell was that?”

“that,” he said, grinning, “was me helping you. you’re welcome.”

you wanted to argue, to scold him for his audacity, but instead, all you could do was feel the butterflies in your stomach.

sunoo, ever the cheerful enigma, simply winked at you before heading to the kitchen, leaving you wondering why you couldn’t stop smiling.

the next day at the café began like any other, the morning rush fading into a calm lull as the afternoon light filtered through the frosted windows. you stood behind the counter, idly wiping it down, the hum of soft café music mixing with the faint clinking of dishes being cleaned.

across from you, sunoo was in his usual element, drying a tray of mugs with an ease that felt almost theatrical. he hummed a festive tune under his breath, the kind of annoyingly catchy holiday song you couldn’t escape this time of year. unlike most people, though, he wasn’t out of tune—his voice was smooth, each note light and cheerful.

despite yourself, your eyes drifted toward him. it was hard not to watch the way he worked, his every movement quick yet deliberate. but what caught you the most wasn’t his efficiency—it was his smile.

sunoo had this way of smiling that was entirely his own. it wasn’t just polite or perfunctory; it was warm, genuine, and impossibly bright. whether it was an elderly regular ordering tea or the grumpiest customer throwing a tantrum over a latte, he treated everyone with the same sunny energy, as if he’d been waiting all day just to see them.

you barely noticed your cloth stalling on the counter as your gaze lingered on him. his lips curved up, eyes crinkling at the corners, his entire face lighting up in a way that could rival the café’s twinkling christmas lights.

“earth to y/n!”

his voice jolted you from your thoughts, and your head snapped up to see him standing there, a mug still in one hand, the other waving dramatically in front of your face.

“you’re staring,” he said with a knowing grin, leaning casually against the counter. his apron hung slightly askew, a splash of frothy milk smudged near the edge, but he didn’t seem to care.

“i was not staring,” you shot back, too quickly for your own good. the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you, though, as you fumbled to sound indifferent. “i was zoning out.”

“sure you were,” he teased, his grin widening into something playful, yet somehow unbearably charming. “let me guess—you were thinking about me, huh?”

before you could even process a retort, sunoo moved. he stepped closer, his easy grin never wavering. instinctively, you leaned back, only for your spine to hit the counter behind you. the realization that you were cornered sent your heart into overdrive.

“w-what are you doing?” you stammered, your eyes darting up to meet his.

he was close now, too close. his arm came up, his hand braced against the counter next to your head, the air around you enveloping you in his mouthwatering scent of vanilla and coconut. his other hand still held the mug, but that didn’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. the way he leaned over you, his face mere inches from yours—it made your breath hitch. for one wild, utterly ridiculous moment, you thought he was about to kiss you(again?).

but then, with a smooth, almost nonchalant motion, he reached past you and grabbed a washcloth from the counter behind your shoulder.

“got it!” he announced cheerfully, pulling back and holding up the cloth like it was a prize.

you blinked, stunned into silence as your brain scrambled to catch up with reality.

sunoo tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “what? did you think i was gonna—” he paused, letting the suggestion hang in the air, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips.

“no!” you snapped, your voice cracking as you shoved past him to put space between you. “as if!”

his laugh was light, melodic, and thoroughly maddening as he turned back to the mugs, completely unbothered.

you busied yourself with refilling the napkin dispensers, determined to ignore the way your heart was still racing. yet as much as you wanted to brush the whole thing off, you couldn’t help the small, traitorous smile tugging at your lips. and you hated that somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if sunoo had caught it.

later that evening, you found yourself at the door, keys in hand, ready to lock up. the café was quiet, the streets outside eerily calm. the cold had settled in deeper now, a biting wind nipping at your fingers even through your gloves.

as you pulled the door shut and turned the key in the lock, a figure caught your eye. sunoo was leaning casually against the lamppost just outside, his breath visible in small puffs of condensation.

“what are you still doing here?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself to stave off the chill.

he straightened, brushing some snow off his coat. “wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

you froze for a moment, caught completely off guard. “you didn’t have to do that,” you said, though your voice was softer than usual, your usual bite missing.

“i know,” he replied with a shrug, his tone light, almost nonchalant. “but i wanted to.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. his sincerity was disarming, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. the light from the streetlamp cast a faint golden glow on his face, catching the warmth in his eyes and the faint pink dusting his cheeks from the cold.

your chest tightened, the realization of how kind he was settling in. it wasn’t a grand gesture, but it felt significant. genuine.

you wondered if he could hear the pounding of your heart in the quiet night, loud and insistent as it was.

“thanks,” you mumbled after a beat, unable to meet his gaze for too long.

he smiled at you, soft and easy. “anytime.”

as you both started walking toward your respective homes, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. there was something about sunoo that you couldn’t quite put your finger on—a warmth that you hadn’t noticed before but suddenly seemed impossible to ignore.

the nightly walks home had become a routine you hadn’t quite agreed to but couldn’t seem to stop either. sunoo, had decided somewhere along the line that you needed a chaperone to make it home safely through the wintry streets. you’d grumbled about it at first, muttering under your breath about his unnecessary chivalry, but over time, you’d grown to expect the sight of him waiting outside the café after closing.

of course, you hadn’t told him that. no, you preferred to keep up your facade of mild annoyance, pretending not to notice how his presence made the cold nights feel a little less lonely.

sunoo, naturally, was undeterred by your grumpiness. if anything, it seemed to fuel his determination to get you into the holiday spirit. one evening, as he walked beside you, humming yet another cheerful christmas tune, he turned to you with a sudden burst of excitement.

“y/n, i just had the best idea!”

you glanced at him warily, already regretting whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “do i even want to know?”

“yes, you do!” he insisted, his grin as bright as the fairy lights strung across the street. “i’m going to teach you my famous christmas cookie recipe!”

you stopped in your tracks, giving him an incredulous look. “your famous christmas cookie recipe? who exactly considers it famous?”

“everyone who’s ever tasted them,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “they’re a holiday masterpiece.”

you couldn’t stop the amused huff that escaped you, though you quickly masked it with a roll of your eyes. “and why, exactly, do i need to learn this ‘masterpiece’ recipe?”

“because,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “you need some christmas cheer in your life, and nothing says cheer like baking cookies with me.”

you groaned, already feeling your resolve weakening under his hopeful gaze. “fine,” you muttered, trying to sound begrudging. “but only because i’m curious if they’re actually as good as you claim.”

his cheer was instantaneous. “you won’t regret it!”

the next day, sunoo dragged you to the grocery store and. you trailed behind him, half-heartedly protesting whenever he added something to the cart that wasn’t on the list.

“you’re buying way too much butter,” you pointed out as he tossed another block into the cart.

“you can never have too much butter when it comes to cookies,” he said with a sage nod.

he practically bounced beside you, a walking ball of excitement, clutching a carefully curated shopping list for his "famous" christmas cookies.

“y/n, we need to decide on the chocolate chips,” he said, holding up two bags like they were precious artifacts. “semi-sweet or dark? this is critical.”

you shrugged nonchalantly, feigning disinterest. “it’s your recipe, gordon ramsay. pick whatever.”

he pouted dramatically, clutching his chest. “gordon ramsay? that’s a little harsh. i’m more of a... what’s the name of that really cheerful baker on tv? you know, the one who smiles a lot?”

“sounds like your spirit animal,” you muttered under your breath, though a faint smirk tugged at your lips.

while he deliberated between chocolate options with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, you wandered off to grab some sugar. as you made your way back toward the cart, a voice called your name.

“y/n? is that really you?”

you turned to find yourself face-to-face with an old high school friend. their warm smile was familiar, even if their fashion choices now had taken a complete 180.

“oh my god, it’s been forever!” they said, pulling you into a quick hug. “how have you been?”

you exchanged pleasantries, updating each other on work and uni life. it was nice, catching up after so long, until their eyes flicked past you.

“wait, who’s that?” they asked, nodding toward sunoo, who was now examining a bottle of vanilla extract like it held the secrets of the universe.

“oh, him?” you said casually, glancing over your shoulder. “that’s just sunoo.”

they raised an eyebrow, their smirk teasing. “just sunoo? he looks like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

“what? no, no,” you said quickly, a little too loudly. “sunoo’s not my boyfriend. god, no. he’s just my coworker. we work at my mom’s café. that’s all.”

your friend gave you a knowing look, the kind that made your cheeks heat. “coworker, huh? he’s got major boyfriend energy. seems sweet.”

“sweet?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “he’s more like a hyperactive puppy. always smiling, always humming, always doing something. it’s exhausting.”

your friend chuckled, clearly enjoying your exasperation.

“and don’t even get me started on his christmas obsession,” you continued, rolling your eyes for effect. “he’s like a walking hallmark movie. i swear, if he could marry a christmas tree, he’d probably do it and throw a wedding with carolers.”

your friend burst out laughing, egging you on. “does he sing christmas songs all the time too?”

“constantly,” you replied with mock suffering. “if i hear ‘jingle bells’ one more time, i’m going to lose it. it’s like he’s got a jukebox in his head that’s stuck on holiday mode.”

the two of you laughed, exchanging more exaggerated and judgmental quips about sunoo’s overly cheerful demeanor. but then, as your laughter faded, you caught sight of something—or rather, someone—out of the corner of your eye.

sunoo was standing there, a bag of flour in one arm and a bottle of vanilla extract in the other. his bright smile, the one you’d always teased him for, was gone. in its place was an expression you’d never seen on him before—hurt, raw and unguarded.

“sunoo,” you started, your voice weak and unsure.

he blinked, his eyes darting between you and your friend, as though piecing together everything he’d just overheard. then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps brisk and unsteady.

“wait, sunoo—” you took a step toward him, but he didn’t stop, his figure disappearing around the corner.

your friend shifted awkwardly beside you. “uh... i think i’ll let you handle that. good luck.” they offered an apologetic smile before retreating, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

the guilt hit you like a freight train. you replayed every word you’d said, each one now twisting like a knife. you hadn’t meant to be cruel, not really, but hearing it all in retrospect made you wince.

you stood there in the middle of the aisle, the festive chaos of the store blurring around you, and all you could think about was the devastated look on sunoo’s face. for someone who always wore his heart on his sleeve, you’d just managed to break it without even trying.

and now, you had no idea how to fix it.

the café felt colder than usual, and it had nothing to do with the weather. sunoo, the walking ray of sunshine who once filled every corner with warmth and holiday cheer, had dimmed entirely. it started the day after the grocery store incident. he no longer greeted you with his annoyingly bright smile or playfully nudged you when you were grumbling about the customers. instead, he was polite—frigidly so.

“good morning,” you said tentatively as you walked in for your shift.

“morning,” he replied without looking up from the espresso machine, his tone flat.

no teasing. no humming. not even a sarcastic remark about you being late again. just a curt acknowledgment, followed by silence.

you couldn’t deny it—it stung. you thought back to the way he used to coax reluctant smiles from customers, how he would hum festive tunes so loudly you’d complain, and how his energy made the café feel like a holiday movie set. now, he did his job mechanically, avoiding unnecessary conversation with you and barely engaging with anyone else.

the decorations he had painstakingly hung felt like they belonged to a different world. they no longer carried the magic they once did.

at first, you told yourself this was what you wanted—a quiet, sunoo-free workspace where you could brood in peace. but it wasn’t peace you felt. it was guilt. crushing, suffocating guilt.

even though sunoo seemed hellbent on giving you the cold shoulder, he still made sure you reached home safely. your evening walks were not the same anymore, with him trailing a few metres behind you instead of him usually sticking right to your side. you couldn’t help but feel even worse. even after you had been inconsiderate about his feelings, he still cared.

one day, during a rare lull, you approached him, the desire to fix things clawing at your chest. you were generally awkward with apologies but you had to try your best. he was wiping down the counter with that same forced nonchalance, eyes focused on the towel, not sparing you even a glance.

“sunoo,” you started, your voice small, breaking the silence between you. “i… i wanted to say sorry about what happened. i didn’t mean—”

“it’s fine,” he interrupted, finally looking up with an expression that was almost unreadable. “don’t worry about it.”

but you could tell it wasn’t fine. it wasn’t fine at all. the tension in his jaw, the lack of the usual warmth in his eyes—it was all proof that you had hurt him more than you realised.

that afternoon, a customer—a girl around your age—came in and ordered a latte. she was attractive, dressed in trendy winter clothes, her hair a perfect cascade of curls despite the weather. you barely registered her order, too preoccupied with the way sunoo’s demeanor had shifted as soon as she walked up. he leaned over the counter with a smile that was just a touch more dazzling than usual, his eyes bright with that cheerful, carefree light you hadn’t seen in days.

“oh, you’re so good at making latte art!” she said with a little laugh, eyes wide as she watched him.

sunoo chuckled, a sound that came so easily, so naturally, it made something sour twist in your stomach. “thanks. i’ve had a lot of practice. what’s your favorite design?”

“oh, anything cute! maybe a heart?”

you clenched your jaw. the way he laughed, the way he looked at her, it was like the last few days had never happened. he was back to being the sunoo who had brightened every corner of the café, the same sunoo you’d ignored and pushed away. a storm of irritation and something deeper bubbled inside you.

you couldn’t help yourself. marching over, you interrupted their conversation, “sunoo, the tables need wiping. i’ll finish this order,” you said, your voice sharper than intended.

he looked at you, his smile fading as quickly as it had come. for a moment, you thought he might argue, but instead, he stepped back and handed you the steaming cup. “sure,” he said quietly, walking away without another word.

the customer looked at you, slightly startled, but you avoided her gaze, focusing on finishing the latte art. your hand trembled slightly as you poured the milk, frustrated at yourself for the way your emotions had spiraled out of control.

this wasn’t like you. you weren’t the type to get jealous, especially not over someone like sunoo, who you’d spent weeks convincing yourself was nothing more than a coworker.

the silence that followed felt deafening, and the rest of the shift passed in a haze. every time you looked at him, he looked away. every time you spoke to him, he responded with clipped, polite words, his voice void of warmth. he was now a shadow of the sunoo you had known, and it was your fault.

and the worst part? you missed it. you missed him.

every day, the weight of your guilt grew heavier, and with it, the realization that you hadn’t just been cruel—you’d hurt someone who had only ever tried to brighten your world.

you wanted to fix things, but you didn’t know how. every attempt to reach out was met with silence, and every smile he gave someone else felt like another nail in the coffin of what you had ruined.

the festive tunes in the café continued to play, but now, they felt hollow, much like the ache in your chest.

that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ache of regret clawing at your chest. the guilt was like an icy chain around your ribs, squeezing tighter with every passing minute. you could still picture the smile he had given the girl, so carefree, so genuine, and the way he had walked away from you, a hint of defeat in his posture.

the next day, he was back to avoiding you, treating you like a stranger he’d once known. you watched, helpless, as he poured that same energy into talking to customers, chatting with people as if he hadn’t lost himself in the process. it hurt more than you thought it could.

the coldness extended past the café. sunoo’s laughter seemed to be reserved for everyone but you, and you watched as the cheerful light he carried dimmed even further. it made you wonder if you had lost something you didn’t even know you wanted.

the day had been relentless. the café buzzed from the early hours with orders flying in and customers bustling through, each interaction adding another layer to your growing frustration. by mid-afternoon, you were running on fumes, barely holding it together as the weight of responsibility pressed down on you.

it wasn’t just today. it had been like this for weeks. ever since your mom insisted you stay back during winter break to help with the café, it felt like you’d been drowning in expectations. and somehow, the family seemed perfectly content to let you struggle.

you caught sight of your younger siblings in the corner booth, lounging with their phones in hand, sharing quiet laughs. the image stung. while you juggled orders, cleaned counters, and played the perfect hostess, they enjoyed carefree moments, untouched by the demands that seemed to fall squarely on your shoulders.

by the time you escaped to the back room, your patience was hanging by a thread. you slammed a tray of used mugs onto the counter harder than you meant to, and the sharp clang echoed in the small space.

“do you have to make such a racket?” your mom’s voice came from behind you. she stepped into the room, her hands busy with a clipboard, completely unfazed by your obvious distress.

your control snapped. “maybe if someone else around here actually helped me, i wouldn’t have to,” you retorted, spinning around to face her.

she paused, her eyes narrowing. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’m exhausted, mom,” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a rush. “i’m doing everything—running the counter, cleaning up, dealing with customers—and for what? so everyone else can just sit back and relax?”

“don’t be dramatic,” she said, her tone clipped. “i’ve been working just as much as you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “are you serious right now? i haven’t seen you take a single order all day. and don’t even get me started on them,” you gestured toward the café, where your siblings were still parked, oblivious to the world around them. “they get to sit around doing nothing while i’m running myself into the ground.”

“they’re younger,” your mom said flatly. “you’re the oldest. you should know better by now.”

the words cut deep, sharper than you expected. “so what? that means i don’t get to have a life? i don’t get to enjoy a break like everyone else?” your voice wavered, anger and hurt intertwining. “you expect me to just give and give, and no one cares about what i need.”

“stop being so ungrateful and selfish all the time,” she snapped, her eyes hardening. “this is your family. you do what’s necessary.”

her words hit like a physical blow, and you staggered back a step, the air knocked out of you. selfish? after everything you’d done? 

she didn’t wait for a response, brushing past you and leaving the room without a backward glance.

the silence that followed was suffocating. you stood frozen, your chest heaving as the tears burned behind your eyes. you tried to fight them, but the weight of her words, of everything, was too much.

your legs gave out, and you sank to the cold floor, pulling your knees to your chest as the first sob broke free. it came in waves, uncontrollable and raw, until you buried your face in your arms, muffling the sound.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. time seemed to blur, your thoughts spiraling in the same vicious cycle of frustration and hurt. the ache in your chest felt unbearable, like a storm raging inside with no signs of clearing.

then, faintly, you heard footsteps. they stopped near you, hesitating, before a familiar voice called softly, “y/n?”

you didn’t look up. you couldn’t. but then you felt it—a warm, steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

when you finally lifted your head, your tear-filled eyes met sunoo’s. his usual brightness was dimmed, replaced with an expression so soft and concerned that it made your chest tighten all over again.

he didn’t say anything at first, just crouched down beside you. then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. the action was gentle, almost hesitant, but as soon as you felt the warmth of his embrace, you broke all over again.

your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something solid as the tears came harder. “i’m so tired,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking.

“i know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “i know.”

his hand moved to your back, rubbing slow circles that seemed to ease the ache just a little. he smelled his signature scent of vanilla and coconut, a scent so comforting it made you lean into him further, seeking out the solace he offered.

sunoo didn’t let go. not when your tears soaked into his shirt, not when your breath hitched as you tried to form words between sobs. he stayed there, holding you, his warmth anchoring you in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

eventually, the tears slowed, leaving you shuddering against him. he didn’t rush you or ask questions, just kept his hand moving in those soothing circles on your back, his presence steady and unwavering. it was only when your breathing evened out that he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do you want to talk about it?”

for a moment, you hesitated. but then, the weight of everything—the years of bottled-up frustration, resentment, and heartache—came spilling out.

“it’s just… it’s so much,” you began, your voice hoarse from crying. “being the oldest, it’s like… it’s like my life stopped being mine the moment dad left.”

sunoo’s hand stilled for a second, then resumed its comforting rhythm, encouraging you to continue.

you sniffled, swiping at your damp cheeks. “he just—he ran off with some rich woman when i was sixteen, like we didn’t matter to him at all. mom was devastated, and suddenly, it felt like i had to grow up overnight. taking care of my siblings, helping with the café, picking up the pieces he left behind…” your voice cracked, and you bit your lip, trying to hold it together.

“and now it’s like nothing’s changed,” you went on, your words tumbling out faster. “mom still leans on me for everything. the café, the house, the family—it’s always me. i can’t even remember the last time i did something just for myself.”

sunoo didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. he just listened, his gaze fixed on you with such unwavering focus that it made your chest ache in a different way.

“and today—today was just the last straw,” you admitted, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “i feel like i’m suffocating, sunoo. like no matter how much i give, it’s never enough. and it’s so… so lonely.”

you looked away, ashamed of your outburst, but his arms tightened around you. “you’re not alone,” he said softly, his voice steady. “not anymore.”

that simple promise unraveled something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “and i’m sorry. for everything. for being so mean to you, for judging you when i didn’t even know you, for acting like a total brat.”

sunoo blinked, his expression softening even further, but you didn’t let him speak yet. “i know i’ve been awful,” you continued, your words spilling over each other in a frantic rush. “and you’ve been nothing but kind, and here i am, all snotty and messy and—”

“y/n,” he interrupted gently, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“and i probably look terrible right now,” you rambled on, ignoring his soft chuckle. “like, who wants to deal with this?” you gestured vaguely to your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.

“y/n,” he said again, a little firmer this time, his hand brushing against your cheek.

you froze, finally meeting his eyes. they were impossibly warm, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but that made your breath catch all the same.

“you’re perfect,” he said simply, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear.

and then, before you could process his words, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was soft at first, hesitant, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. but when you didn’t—when you found yourself leaning into him instead—it deepened, his lips moving against yours with a warmth that chased away every lingering shadow of doubt and hurt.

you melted into him, your hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had felt so unsteady. the kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed—comforting, electrifying, and completely disarming all at once.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the quiet of the room.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

you stared at him, still dazed, your fingers brushing your lips as if trying to hold onto the feeling. “you… you kissed me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i did,” he said, his smile growing. “and if i had known it would shut you up, i might’ve done it sooner.”

a laugh bubbled up in your chest despite yourself, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the heaviness inside you lifted.

“i don’t think i deserve you, sunoo,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the floor.

he tilted your chin up gently, his expression earnest. “then it’s a good thing i get to decide that, isn’t it?”

and just like that, with sunoo’s arms still wrapped around you and the lingering warmth of his kiss, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

the next morning, you found yourself standing outside the café, shivering in the early chill. snow blanketed the ground, sparkling under the soft glow of the streetlights. the café wasn’t open yet, and you were earlier than usual, clutching a small box in your hands. the carefully wrapped gift felt heavier than it should, the weight of nerves pressing down on you.

inside the box was a collection of little things that reminded you of sunoo: a cheerful snowman mug, a candle that smelled like warm sugar cookies, and a pair of bright green fuzzy mittens. they weren’t much, but they were chosen with care—a way to apologise properly, to show him you understood now just how much he meant to you.

the quiet street stretched around you, peaceful but lonely. you rocked back and forth on your heels, trying to shake off the morning cold and the knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach. what if he didn’t accept the gift? what if he was still upset?

before you could spiral further, you heard footsteps crunching in the snow. turning, you saw him walking toward you, his breath visible in the frosty air. he wasn’t wearing his usual bright smile, but the sight of him was enough to make your chest ache.

“y/n?” he called out, stopping a few steps away. “what are you doing here so early?”

“i, uh…” you hesitated, holding the box tighter. “i wanted to see you.”

his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “really?”

wordlessly, you held the gift out to him, your breath hitching as he stared at it. slowly, he reached out and took it, his fingers brushing yours.

“what’s this?” he asked, his tone soft.

“an apology,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “for everything. for being mean to you, for not appreciating you sooner, for—just open it.”

sunoo glanced at you, then down at the box. he tugged the ribbon loose and carefully peeled back the paper, his movements deliberate. when he saw the contents, his expression shifted, his eyes widening as a genuine smile began to spread across his face.

“you got me mittens?” he exclaimed, holding them up like they were a treasure. “and this mug—it’s so cute! and a candle?” he brought it to his nose and sniffed, his grin widening even more. “it smells amazing!”

the brightness in his reaction melted the last of your nerves, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“i thought they’d suit you,” you said quietly, feeling a little silly now but also oddly proud.

“suit me?” he repeated, his tone playful. “y/n, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s given me in a long time.”

before you could react, he closed the distance between you in one swift motion.

“wait—sunoo!”

but he didn’t wait. he scooped you up effortlessly, spinning you around in the snow. the world blurred for a moment, the sound of your surprised laugh ringing out as he twirled you like you weighed nothing at all.

“put me down!” you cried, though your laughter betrayed any real protest.

“not until you promise you’ll stop being so hard on yourself,” he said, his voice full of warmth and mischief.

“okay, okay! i promise!”

he set you down at last, but your balance wavered, and the two of you tumbled into the snow together, a heap of giggles and cold breaths.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, brushing snow off your coat.

“impossible to stay mad at, right?” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow beside you. his grin was as dazzling as ever, and it was contagious.

you rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter than it had in days. “yeah, yeah. don’t let it go to your head, sunoo.”

“too late,” he quipped, tossing a handful of snow at you.

what followed was an impromptu snowball fight that left both of you breathless, your cheeks pink from the cold and the laughter. by the time the café was ready to open, you’d built a lopsided snowman and shared stories over hot cocoa.

as you sat across from him, watching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, you realized something else had thawed—your carefully guarded heart. sunoo had done more than bring holiday cheer into your life; he’d brought a warmth you hadn’t known you were missing.

over the next few days, things between you and sunoo took on a rhythm you hadn’t expected. there was no big moment when it all changed, no grand confessions. it just sort of happened. in the middle of the busy café, amidst the noise of espresso machines and the chatter of customers, the two of you found your own little world, filled with unspoken understanding and a quiet kind of comfort.

despite your shy nature, sunoo was anything but reserved. he was touchy, cuddly, and so unapologetically confident in his affection that it left you flustered at least twice an hour.

one morning, you were at the counter, meticulously preparing an intricate coffee order for a regular. concentrating on the froth, you didn’t even hear him approach.

suddenly, his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. the warmth of his body against your back startled you, and you nearly dropped the milk frother.

“good morning to you, too,” he murmured softly near your ear, his voice low and teasing.

“sunoo,” you hissed, your cheeks burning as you glanced around the café. thankfully, it was mostly empty, save for the regular who seemed too engrossed in their phone to notice. “what are you doing?”

“giving my girlfriend some love,” he said matter-of-factly, resting his chin on your shoulder. his hold on you was secure but gentle, and you couldn’t ignore how solid he felt.

your brain scrambled as you became hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his hands fit around your waist, the way his sweater couldn’t completely hide the firmness of his chest and arms.

you tried to maintain your composure, focusing on pouring the steamed milk into the cup. “you’re distracting me,” you mumbled, your voice shakier than you’d intended.

“oh?” his tone was pure mischief now, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. “didn’t know i had that kind of effect on you, y/n.”

“stop,” you groaned, half-horrified and half-flustered, trying to wriggle free from his hold.

but he just tightened his arms slightly, chuckling. “not a chance. you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

your heart pounded in your chest as you finished the order, sunoo still clinging to you like a human koala. when you finally handed the coffee to the customer, you turned to him with an exasperated glare.

“happy now?” you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“very,” he replied, his bright smile disarming you completely.

moments like these became a regular occurrence. sunoo had no concept of personal space, especially when it came to you, and he seemed to revel in how easily he could fluster you. whether it was sneaking up behind you to steal a kiss on your cheek while you were stocking shelves, lacing your fingers together under the table during your lunch break, or leaning in close just to whisper something playful and teasing—he was unabashedly, wholeheartedly himself.

at first, you didn’t know how to handle it. the warmth of his attention made you feel vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected. but it also made you feel… cherished, like you were the only person in his world.

one afternoon, you were wiping down tables when he plopped down in a chair nearby, resting his chin in his hands as he watched you.

“what are you staring at now?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“my beautiful girlfriend,” he said with a grin so sincere it made your chest ache.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you’re still with me.”

despite your best efforts to stay composed, sunoo always managed to draw out the softer, shyer side of you. and though it terrified you to be so open, so seen, it also filled you with a kind of warmth you’d never known before—like stepping into the sunlight after a long winter.

the warm light of sunoo’s home bathed the living room in a soft glow, creating a sense of comfort that seemed almost too perfect. the scent of cinnamon and roasted vegetables filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of christmas carols playing in the background. laughter and the sound of clinking glasses bubbled up around you, and it was hard to believe you were even there, in this place that felt so full of warmth and life.

sunoo had invited you and your mother to an early christmas dinner at his house a few days ago. you had come alone, expecting your mom to stay home after the fight you’d had earlier that week. she’d been sharp with her words, and you’d spent the past few days wrapped in the solitude of your thoughts, wondering if things would ever be the same between you two. but now, as you glanced around at the smiling faces, the feel of this home settled into your chest in a way that was almost foreign, yet achingly familiar.

sunoo’s family, full of kindness and easygoing laughter, was everything that you’d never had. being the youngest child had given sunoo a softness that showed in everything he did—the way he laughed too loudly, the way he clapped his hands when he was excited, the way he instinctively reached for your hand when he wanted to share a joke. it was clear that love had been poured into him without question, without the burden of responsibility or guilt.

the warmth of that realisation grew inside you as dinner was served. sunoo’s father sat at the head of the table, telling stories that made everyone chuckle, while his mother bustled around, her hands full of serving spoons and platters. the room was a symphony of family, love, and shared history. it made you long for that kind of life, for that kind of belonging.

just as you were helping pass a dish of mashed potatoes, the doorbell chimed. sunoo, who had been sitting next to you, turned to look at you with a smile. “can you get that, y/n?”

you nodded, a little confused, and stood up, making your way to the front door. when you opened it, your eyes widened in surprise. there, standing in the cool night air with a basket of homemade goodies balanced in her arms, was your mom.

“mom?” you said, voice catching. she looked as surprised to see you as you were to see her, eyes wide and a little uncertain. but then she took a deep breath, stepping into the house with an air of resolve.

“hello, y/n,” she said, offering a soft smile that reached her eyes. she turned to the room beyond, where sunoo’s family was looking at her with curiosity. “merry christmas, everyone,” she said warmly, her voice more steady than you’d expected.

sunoo’s mother, surprised at the unexpected guest, beamed as she ushered her in. “merry christmas! we’re so glad you came.”

you stood there, feeling a flutter of hope. your mom walked past you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment as if to say, can we talk? you nodded, your heart pounding as she led you away from the bustling room.

she took you to a corner by the window, where the soft light from outside fell on both of you, mingling with the glow of the christmas tree. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you heard the sounds of laughter in the other room—the clinking of glasses, sunoo’s voice as he said something that made everyone laugh.

finally, your mom broke the silence. “y/n, i’ve been thinking a lot about us, and how i’ve let you down. when your dad left, i was lost, and i leaned on you for strength when you were just a kid yourself. i didn’t see how it affected you; i only saw my own pain. i’m so sorry for making you feel like you had to carry everything alone.”

her voice cracked, and she reached out, pulling you into a hug. you let yourself melt into her embrace, the weight of years of resentment and unspoken words finally falling away. a tear escaped, then another, as you let yourself feel everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to before—the hurt, the longing, and the relief.

“i’m sorry too, mom,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “i didn’t know how to say it, but i needed you to know i was scared. i was so scared of turning out like… like everything i didn’t want.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glistening. “you’re not like that, y/n. you’re everything i could have hoped for, and more. i love you.”

“i love you too,” you said, your voice finally steady, the words feeling right and true. the basket of treats she’d brought had slipped from her grasp, forgotten as you both shared this moment that seemed to heal everything at once.

there was a noise from behind you—a soft cough. sunoo stood at the end of the hallway, a warm smile on his face. his eyes met yours and then shifted to your mom, who was still holding you close.

“everything okay?” he asked, voice soft.

you nodded, a tiny smile breaking through your tears. “yeah, everything’s perfect.”

sunoo stepped forward, pulling you into a hug that felt like the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. it felt like everything was right, and the past had been forgiven, making way for something better.

as the sound of laughter swelled behind you, you knew that this was a new beginning. and in that moment, you felt loved, not just by sunoo but by the family you had always dreamed of, and by the one that was learning to be there for you, piece by piece.

BONUS SCENE!

it’s christmas morning, and for once, the café is closed. you wake up to a rare, quiet morning, the kind that feels like it could stretch on forever. snow blankets the world outside, muffling every sound and adding a serene glow to the sky.

just as you’re about to head downstairs, you hear the faint sound of shuffling outside your front door. curiosity piqued, you open it to find a very familiar figure standing there, bundled up in a bright scarf and holding a giant thermos. sunoo grins up at you, cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“merry christmas!” he chirps, holding up the thermos. 

you stare at him, confused but already smiling. “sunoo, what are you doing here? shouldn’t you be with your family?”

he shrugs, his grin never faltering. “already had breakfast with them. besides, i wanted to see you.”

your heart does a little flip at his words, and before you can respond, he’s nudging past you, making his way into the living room like he’s lived here his whole life.

“wait,” you say, following him. “what’s in the thermos?”

“patience,” he says, wagging a finger at you. he sets the thermos down on the coffee table, pulling out two mugs he somehow managed to balance in his coat pocket. “sit.”

you reluctantly sink into the couch, watching as he pours steaming hot chocolate into both mugs. he even pulls out a tiny bag of marshmallows, which makes you laugh. “you’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“and you love it,” he retorts, passing you a mug before plopping down next to you, so close that your knees bump.

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping the hot chocolate as the snow falls outside. you catch yourself stealing glances at him—at the way his lashes frame his eyes, the way his nose scrunches up when he takes a particularly hot sip.

as you’re lost in thought, sunoo suddenly turns to you, catching you mid-stare. “what?” he asks, his tone playful but soft.

“nothing,” you say quickly, your cheeks warming.

he leans closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “were you admiring me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you say, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

sunoo laughs, setting his mug down before reaching out to tug the edge of the blanket draped over your shoulders. “come here,” he says, pulling you closer until you’re tucked against his side.

“you’re so bossy,” you mumble, but you don’t resist, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“only for you,” he replies, pressing a light kiss to your hair.

you look up at him, something warm and fluttery building in your chest. his gaze drops to your lips for just a second, and your breath catches. before you can overthink it, sunoo leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so sweet and gentle it feels like a snowflake melting on your skin.

when he pulls back, his eyes search yours, a soft smile spreading across his face. “merry christmas, y/n,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“merry christmas,” you reply, your voice shaky but your heart steady.

he grins and presses his forehead to yours, his fingers playing with the hem of the blanket. “so, do i get a thank you for the hot chocolate and the kiss, or…?”

you laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “don’t push your luck.”

but when he leans back and pulls you closer, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

hi!! could you maybe write for being the younger sibling of dipper and mabel? maybe the reader is like, 9/10 y.o i wonder what they're sibling relationships would be as well as they're relationship with stan and ford

They say a bond between twins is a bond unlike any other, but didn’t mean that dipper or Mabel cared about you any less then they did each other, you were their baby sibling and they were always going to have your back no matter what.

Dipper would be the protective older brother who’s sometimes come across as strict and would often forbid you from joining him and Mabel on monster hunts, stating that you were too young to be doing something as dangerous as hunting monsters.

You’d naturally respond with the fact that technically he and Mabel were also too young to be going head on into monster hunting too, so thereby making the statement redundant and him look like a hypocrite. To which Dipper would agree with you on but still would tell you it was too dangerous for you, he only wants to keep you safe but you had too much of a stubborn spirit to be easily swayed into staying put.

Mabel on the other hand was the chill sibling who’d let you join in the monster hunting any day because she didn’t want you feeling left out. After all it was kinda a family thing to hunt the unknown of gravity falls at this point, so she didn’t see why you shouldn’t come along with her and Dipper because as long as you had the journal with you, you were fine.

You tend to argue with dipper more than Mabel but that’s because dipper tended to take himself too seriously as your older brother while Mabel doesn’t take herself seriously enough. So whenever you and dipper did argue, Mabel tended to be the peace keeper between the two of you or use Waddles as a distraction from your arguing to come together.

Despite all this you, Dipper and Mabel were loyal and faithful to one another that there wasn’t anything any of you wouldn’t do for the other.

Dipper would give up everything to keep you and Mabel safe as he knew you and her would do the same and you did on multiple occasions, saving each other’s lives and so on. You all headed into the unknown together, never once thinking of leaving the other behind because if one of you were to go down, the other two would rush to your side and pick you back up.

You helped dipper decode stuff and listen to him drone on about Wendy from time to time while playing dungeons, dungeons and emore dungeons with him and Grunkle Ford.

You’d help Mabel bedazzle everything in sight and spend time with her, Candy and Grenda on the odd occasion of doing karaoke with her and grunkle Stan whenever the occasion calls for a bit of fun.

You were best friends with Dipper and Mabel as much as you were siblings and that was the best kind of relationship you had.

Also if Mabel had waddles then you have a pet raccoon or maybe an axolotl like Ford once did.

If dipper was similar to Ford

And if Mabel was similar to Stanley

Then you were the perfect balance of both of them. Stubborn and sometimes silly like Stan but curious and observant like Ford.

Stan and Ford could clearly see bits and pieces of themselves in you like they could with Dipper and Mabel, with the only difference being that you weren’t a twin nor had a twin but that didn’t stop either Grunkle from wanting to spend time with you.

They had to play rock, paper, scissors against one another to see who’d get to spend time with you first, only for Stan to come out the victor.

Stan would teach you how to box first and foremost so that if anyone tried anything with you, they’d get decked in the face from a vicious right hook. He just wants you to be able to protect yourself even if you were only 9/10 it didn’t make a difference to him really.

Teaches you on how to con people out of their money, lie effortlessly and make quick get aways or even how to get out of handcuffs without trying. Did he once give you a fishing hat with your name stitched on it for the soul purpose of taking you fishing with him when Dipper was with Ford and Mabel was with Candy and Grenda? Yes, he wanted something only you and him could do together that was just yours and his.

Cuz it was either that or commit arson and or property damage to other competitors.

Now with Ford he’ll probably have you be outside with him and documenting strange looking mushrooms and or flowers that you’d come across. It sounds boring but it’s quite fun if you came across fairies and the like, however the moment Ford sees that you were about to fall into a Fae trap, he’s picking you up and getting you as far away from it as he could.

Just like Stan, Ford wanted something that was just for you and him, sure he and Dipper go monster hunting, and he and Mabel dressed up as witches once, but he wanted something he could do with just you.

You’d bond over the fact that you both had/have a pet axolotl.

You and Ford probably took a break from your joint documenting to make flower crowns for one another while having a small picnic in the woods. It was peaceful and relaxing to you but Ford was keeping an eye out to make sure nothing would disturb your little picnic, while looking as menacingly as he could with a cute flower crown on his head.

If you both found a flower that was never seen before, you can bet your ass that Ford is naming it after you, no questions asked.

Stan and Ford are just as protective of you as they are the twins and they can and will step in between you and whoever is making you uncomfortable, all the while keeping you safely behind them as Stan whips out his brass knuckles and Ford shows off the gun on his hip in a silent threat.

Nobody messes with their family and they’ll make sure that message is loud and clear.

Bonus; Bill would probably try to manipulate you into thinking that neither dipper, Mabel, Stan or Ford cared about you cuz twins will look out for each other always but you were the spare sibling that gets forgotten, Insisting Stan and Ford’s brother as reason as to why but you knew your family better then a sentient one eyed triangle did and know that your family would always come through for you time and time again.

And they have and they always will no matter what.

[its-avalon-08]

HI! i know you are on brk, so do write this whenever you want, take all the rest you need carlos x norris!sister

age gap of about 3 years

angry lando, secret dating, angst then fluff

im backkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!! im so thankful for all of the adorable messages, thank sm for the support, without you i would not be able to do this! p.s get ready for post spams because your girl had too much ready!!!!

give me a chance (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x norris!sister!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The tension in the motorhome kitchen was thicker than the stale coffee Carlos was reheating. You, Lando's younger sister by three years, fiddled with your phone, stealing nervous glances at Carlos. He nursed his mug, a self-conscious hand brushing over the small, purple mark blossoming on his neck. It mirrored the one blooming on yours – a secret souvenir from a stolen kiss in Monaco the previous weekend.

"We should be more careful," you whispered, pushing the stray tendril of hair that kept escaping your ponytail back behind your ear.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, his voice low. "But seeing you in that dress..." He trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. The memory of you slipping into the tiny hotel balcony, the twinkling lights of Monte Carlo sprawling beneath you, still sent shivers down your spine. Just as Carlos leaned in for another kiss, the door swung open and Lando burst in, interrupting your stolen moment.

"There you two are! Let's go, debrief's about to start."

Relief washed over you, momentarily eclipsing the disappointment. Keeping your relationship with Carlos a secret had been stressful, but Lando finding out was your worst nightmare. He was fiercely protective of you, the age gap somehow making him feel more like a brother than a sibling. He'd never approve of you dating a teammate, especially someone older.

The following days were a tightrope walk. Stolen glances across the paddock, whispered jokes in between briefs, unsupervised moments – it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

Then came this morning. Lando had been glued to his phone all breakfast, oblivious to the way your hand instinctively brushed against Carlos's under the table. But just as your fingers intertwined, Lando looked up, his gaze landing right on your neck. His eyes widened, then flickered to Carlos, who was sporting a matching mark.

The silence stretched, thick with dawning realization.

"What the…" Lando finally sputtered, his voice a strangled whisper.

Then, a volcano erupted.

"Y/N! Carlos!" Lando slammed his phone on the table, the clatter echoing off the metal walls. "What is this?!"

"Lando, it's not what—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" His voice was laced with a fury you'd never heard before. "You two? Since when?"

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, but Lando wasn't done.

"I can't believe this! You, Carlos? You're supposed to be like family!"

"Lando, please," you pleaded, standing up. "We can explain."

"There's nothing to explain!" He threw his hands up in the air. "This is a disaster! You know I wouldn't have approved!"

"That's exactly why we didn't tell you," Carlos said, his voice surprisingly steady. "We were afraid of this reaction."

"Afraid? You should be ashamed!" Lando glared at both of you. "This is unprofessional. This makes things awkward. This messes with everything!"

And with that, he stormed out of the motorhome, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the entire vehicle.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You looked at Carlos, his expression mirroring your own – a mix of guilt, fear, and a stubborn determination to fight for what you had. You knew this wouldn't be easy, but one thing was clear – the secret was out. And the real race for your relationship had just begun.

The slam of the door echoed through the motorhome like a thunderclap, leaving behind a silence that vibrated with tension. You stared at the empty doorway, tears stinging your eyes. They spilled over unchecked, tracing a warm path down your cheeks.

Carlos reached out a hand, hovering hesitantly in the air before settling on your shoulder. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

You turned to face him, tears blurring your vision. "What have we done?" you choked out, the question a ragged whisper.

Carlos flinched. "We… we just tried to be happy," he defended, his voice strained.

"But look at what it's done," you sobbed, gesturing towards the doorway. "Lando's furious. This is exactly what we were afraid of."

"We can talk to him," Carlos insisted, his jaw set. "Explain things better."

"Explain what, Carlos?" you snapped, a spark of anger igniting through your despair. "That we broke his trust? That we jeopardized everything for a few stolen moments?"

The anger in your voice seemed to take Carlos aback. He recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes a fresh wound.

"That's not fair, Y/N," he said, his voice low. "We both knew the risks. We both wanted this."

"Maybe I shouldn't have," you mumbled, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Carlos's eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," you said, your voice cracking. "Maybe we should have just—"

You couldn't finish the sentence. The regret in your voice, the implication that you wished you'd never let things go this far, ripped through Carlos like a punch to the gut. He felt a lump form in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't say that."

But you were already shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. "I can't do this anymore, Carlos," you said, your voice breaking. "This is tearing everything apart."

Without another word, Carlos turned and walked away. His broad shoulders slumped, his steps heavy with unspoken hurt. He didn't look back at you, and as the door to his room slammed shut with a dull thud, you sank to the floor, the weight of your words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You had just broken his heart, and in that moment, you weren't sure if you had broken yours too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Regret, a bitter taste on your tongue, pushed you to find Lando. You found him on the balcony, overlooking the bustling racetrack, a world away from the storm brewing inside you. The sight of him, usually your confidant, now felt daunting.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him hesitantly. "Lando," you choked out, hating how shaky your voice sounded.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a guarded expression. "Y/N," he said simply, offering no invitation to sit.

You stood awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. "Lando, I…" The words stuck in your throat. "I messed up. Big time."

The anger you'd seen in him earlier had morphed into a wary curiosity. He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue.

Taking another deep breath, you launched into a monologue, your voice trembling. "It started with his eyes, Lando, the way they crinkle when he smiles. And his smile, oh God, his smile makes my heart skip a beat. And then there are his hugs… warm and safe, like a place I can always go home to. And his kisses," you whispered, the memory sending shivers down your spine, "like fireworks, Lando, exploding with a kind of magic I've never felt before."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I love him, Lando. I never knew I could love someone like I love Carlos."

As you spoke, a figure appeared in the doorway, frozen in place. It was Carlos, his face a mask of pain, each word a fresh blow to his heart. But he couldn't tear himself away. He needed to hear it all.

You continued, your voice thick with emotion. "I panicked, Lando. I thought this would ruin everything, for you, for the team. But all I see is broken trust and a pain I caused the man I…" Your voice broke, a sob escaping your lips.

Lando watched you silently, his initial anger replaced by a flicker of understanding. He took a slow step towards you, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your surprise, he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "It's okay. You love him, I get it."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Just… promise you'll take care of each other. And promise me you won't keep things from me again."

A choked laugh escaped your lips. "I promise, Lando. I promise everything."

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence behind you. A tear slipped down your cheek as you turned to see Carlos standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, a tear tracing a similar path down his own face.

He didn't say a word. He simply walked towards you and pulled you into his arms, his embrace a silent promise. You buried your face in his chest, tears streaming down as the weight of the last few hours lifted.

Lando stepped back, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched for a moment, his heart heavy but strangely at peace. "Alright, lovebirds," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's not turn this balcony into a waterfall."

You both pulled away slightly, but Carlos kept his arm wrapped around you, his touch a warm anchor. You looked up at him, his eyes glistening.

"Thank you, Lando," Carlos said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Just don't break her heart," Lando warned, a hint of his usual playful banter returning. "She's the only sister I've got."

Carlos nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on you. "I won't," he vowed, his voice a husky whisper.

And you, nestled in Carlos's embrace, knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn't face them alone. You had love, forgiveness, and a newfound understanding – a foundation strong enough to weather any storm.

[girlokwhatever]

based on a request where reader meets kate’s family!

⊹ ࣪ ˖✩°｡🦦*ੈ✩‧₊˚-‘๑ meet the martins,,

kate martin x fem!reader

you were beyond nervous. today was the fateful day where you were meeting kate’s parents for the first time. you knew they’d be welcoming considering how amazing their daughter was, but you didn’t know if you’d be able to impress them enough.

kate asked you to be her girlfriend six months ago. the almost unbearable time before that where you two would flirt until your heads spun was about three months long. you considered yourself the luckiest person in the world to have kate, and vice-versa.

you and kate were about to leave university to spend the weekend in her hometown, lugging your bags into the back of her car. as soon as everything was ready she started the car and drove off, deciding now would be a good time to drop a bomb on you.

“so.. babe,”

“kate..”

“i jus’ wanna let you know my siblings are gonna be there too..”

“okay.. okay. that’s nice. it’s good actually. just knock it all out at once..”

kate smiled over in your direction but you didn’t see it, facing the window as you let out a deep breath. she knows you’re unbelievably nervous because the only person you’ll know there is her, but she knows everyone will love you.

you spend the rest of the car ride trying to relax. you try meditation, deep breathing exercises, and even sleep. your girlfriend says nothing, trying to let you cope with your nerves.

when kate pulls into her childhood home’s driveway you’re sleeping, head and hair pressed gently against the side of the seat. she gently grasps your shoulder and leans in to press a kiss behind your ear, whispering that you’ve both arrived. you wake with a startled expression, disbelief written across your face.

“what?! kate! why didn’t you wake me up earlier, i’m probably a mess right now!”

you’re not mad, just panicking. you try to press your hair back down into place and smooth out your sundress but your frantic attempt doesn’t help you much.

“baby you look amazing, i swear.”

you look at her, slightly pouting at the situation. she seizes the moment, taking the opportunity to press and kiss to your lips. some of your worry slips away with her silent reassurance, feeling more confident and accepting that whatever happens, happens.

suddenly you remember the flowers you bought for her mom, pulling away from your girlfriend to grab them from the backseat. kate said these were her favorites so of course you had to buy some.

“are you ready?”

you nod, feeling some of your anxiety resurfacing. you’re not sure why it was so nerve wracking for you. there have been times in the past when you met your partner’s parents and it never made you feel this way. maybe because kate is the best thing is the best thing that ever happened to you and you never want to lose her.

as soon as kate knocks the door swings open, revealing both of her parents. her mom is smiling wide at you and her dad is too, beer in hand. you don’t miss the loud thudding of steps from her siblings either, both of them greeting you with similar smiles.

“okay guys, you don’t have to stand and stare like robots.” she’s joking, pulling her mom and dad in for a hug all at once. her sister kennedy pulls you inside as she introduces herself but you’ve heard so much about her from kate you feel like you’ve known her all your life.

“everyone, this is my wonderful girlfriend, please don’t suffocate her while i go get our stuff from the car.”

“oh kate, i can help you-”

her mother touches your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks in your pursuit to follow kate. “trevor can help kate, you stay here. you’re our guest!”

kate rubs her hand on your back before she departs. she’s giving you this ‘just relax’ look, so you really try. it’s not difficult to think that this is where kate grew up, baby pictures and her warm vanilla scent lingers everywhere.

once you snap back to reality, kate’s mom is looking at you so genuinely and with so much certainty you feel as though this is already your family. you feel bad watching trevor leave but he doesn’t seem to mind at all, helping ease your conscious. this house feels so familiar to you, almost as if kate embodies this space she grew up in. loving, accepting, cherishing, and sweet.

“oh! i bought these for you. kate said they were your favorite.”

you hold the flowers in her direction, watching her face light up as if she hadn’t noticed them until now. you all drift to the kitchen as she thanks you, getting out a vase to set them in. she’s bubbly, smile wide and cheeks a perfect shade of pink you recognize from kate.

they’re all so welcoming to you, patting you on the back and squeezing your shoulders every so often. their aura exudes love and positivity, spreading into your bones and helping you sink into the moment. all your worry is left behind, pure excitement taking over at the prospect of the rest of your weekend here.

a few hours later you’re all sitting outside on the back patio. you’re in kate’s arms laying on the couch, her parents sitting across you both, and trevor and kennedy in two lounge chairs.

kate places her chin on the top of your head, wanting to engulf your entire being. the sight of you laughing and making jokes with her closest family melts her heart. she admires every single second you spend just laughing at something someone said, feeling as though you were meant to be here in this moment.

you’re all mid laugh after kennedy recalls a high school basketball fail memory when her eyes widen, gasping loud and holding back a laugh.

“did kate tell you- oh my goodness. did kate tell you she used to have the most aggressive side part ever?!”

kate’s eyes widen at the exposure, face turning red when she tries covering your ears even though she already knows you’ve heard it already. your jaw goes slack because you had no idea, and think it’s absolutely hilarious.

“what?! no! i had no idea! she never said anything.”

“really kate? you’ve never shown her a high school photo?” her mom speaks through laughs, kate’s face and the reveal stuck in her mind.

“oh my god- was this a whole high school career thing?”

“yes! at least five years, i’m surprised it didn’t get stuck that way.”

everyone’s in on the conversation now and the inside joke begins to form. even with her embarrassment, kate doesn’t mind much because it’s you, joking with her family. she’d go through a million moments like this if it meant bringing you closer with the people she loves most.

through the hysteria, kate meets her mom’s eyes. the approving smile is present, a silent ‘you got a good one’ look that tells kate all she needs to know. of course she was certain her family would love you, but she didn’t know it’d be so easy, all the pieces falling into place. kate smiles back, trying to burn this memory into her mind forever.

after dark everyone’s drifting back inside and bidding trevor and kennedy goodbye. you hug them both, telling them how amazing you think they are and you’re really happy to have met them. they tell you the same, especially kennedy who sneaks in a joke about how you’re her ‘future sister.’ your heart stutters at that, the idea of being kate’s wife giving you butterflies in your stomach.

it’s when kate places her hand in yours and guides you to her bedroom that her mom really knows. with absolute confidence she knows how deeply in love her daughter is with you. she knows kate has found her soulmate from the way she’s always watching over you, making sure you’re alright. it’s mother’s intuition, she just knows.

kate hands you your towel, kissing your forehead as you exit the shower and she takes your place. you’re brushing your hair when she asks you how you feel about her family.

“i really love them kate. they’re all so sweet and funny. they really were so welcoming.”

“yeah, i can tell everyone really likes you.”

it makes you feel good to hear to say that, like it’s an official welcome into her family. and it means everything to you, knowing how much family means to kate. knowing she brought you here to see where she grew up and who she grew up with.

“i’ll be right back kate, i left my socks in your room.”

“okay! i love you!” her voice fades as you walk out, shouting out a quick ‘i love you’ back. because you really do love her, more than anything.

you’re searching through your bag when you hear a gentle knock on the open door, turning to see kate’s mom jill.

“hey! is everything okay?”

“oh yeah, everything great. i just wanted to tell you it was really amazing to meet you. you’re a wonderful girl, and i can tell kate really loves you,” her voices lowers a bit as she speaks again, “y’know, kate’s never really had a serious girlfriend, you’re the first girl she’s ever brought home. i know she’s happy with you, so thank you for being so good to her. and you’re welcomed here anytime.”

you’re at a loss for words, thankful for the praise and slightly shocked by the news that kate hasn’t ever brought a girl home. you and kate never discussed dating history in detail and it didn’t matter to you. it still doesn’t. your heart pounds and warms your body, flustered because of how well jill thinks of you.

“well, thank you for having me. i really appreciate how welcoming everyone was today, it means a lot. i really feel happy here and hopefully we’ll get to come back soon.”

her mom smiles and nods, kissing your cheek as she says goodnight to you. the whole interaction is almost surreal. your love for kate grows impossibly larger knowing that the love you two share is so easy to notice.

your girlfriend walks into her room and spots you, picking you up bridal-style before laying down in bed. you straddle her, eyes gleaming at her big silly grin. she reaches for you hands and kisses them repeatedly, closing her eyes and melting into the touch.

“i love you so much, never wanna be without you.”

“i never want to be without you either,” you’re leaning down, kissing her skin wherever you feel it. she’s warm and soft from the shower, skin smooth and perfect for leaning into.

“i want to marry you.”

“kate, don’t say those things.”

your heart pounds for what feels like the millionth time that day, not sure if she’s saying it just because of the heat of the moment. either way, you know with absolute certainty that you would want to marry her too and if she asked you’d say yes.

“why not? i mean it. i want to marry you.” and she’s not lying, she really does mean it. with the deepest parts of her soul she means it and knows it’s true. she thinks she’ll buy you and ring the second she gets back to iowa, feeling a sudden urgency to bond your love.

“i want to marry you too.”

you both stare at each other wordlessly, the only thing existing between you is the love you share. she kisses you again and again, feeling that if she doesn’t you’ll just disappear because you’re too good to be true. she holds you tighter because she fears you might vanish or realize you don’t actually want this.

but you do. you both do. you’ll always love kate even in death, wherever that may take you. you know that for certain, just as certain as kate is about her love and adoration for you.

“mrs. martin. i like that.”

“for you or me?”

“for us. i want to be with you forever, future mrs. martin.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

GUYS I REALLY LIKE THIS. i want to turn it into a little series of reader and kate’s future (wedding, kids, etc.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK

[radicalbilly]

From my Front Porch Looking In

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

summary: Billy never though that he could be a family man.

word count: 700

a/n: i NEEDED dad!billy so here’s a taste test of him

warnings: neil related memories

Billy had a vision of what his future would look like when he was older. Call it teenaged wanderlust, but he pictured himself in California, a terminal bachelor who had a revolving door of carnal escapades, someone who had the world falling at his feet.

Now by the ripe age of twenty-three, that vision had blown to bits and fell through his fingers. Neil had kicked him out the second he seemed healed enough to perform basic tasks. No job meant no money, and no money meant that Neil was able to rant and rave for hours before pulling out Billy’s dresser drawers and dumping the contents on the ground with a shrill “pack your shit and get out”.

Billy could still remember the ache in his chest and how his body protested at him for bending over to grab the clothes.

He found out that he actually had someone on his side that day. Max hadn’t cried at the fact that he was leaving, but she came shuffling into his room with trash bags, mumbling about Neil being an asshole. Billy had stiffly pulled her into his arms, both of them entirely rigid until Max’s shoulders softened under the weight of his arms. She gently raised her hand to place two gentle pats against back and that seemed to be enough for them.

Of course they weren’t inseparable best friends, but they felt more like siblings. Billy had never been a family man, but at that point, he’d started to consider that Max was the only family that he actually had at that point.

Billy had seen a lot of things since then too. He’d seen the kindness in people, as opposed to the selfishness. He’d seen other peoples’ struggles instead of just his own. And he had grown to see love. Real, honest, and true love. Somehow it had ended up right behind his front door.

Somehow it had taken the form of the girl with a giddy grin who was blowing her hair out of her face while holding the hands of your toddling child. A view he could see so perfectly from his spot in the opened doorway.

Billy could hear you cooing in a low singsong as you slowly guided the uneasy new steps and he felt a tightness in his chest. It had been so long since he’d seen a gentle kindness before you. He could barely comprehend how well things had worked out between the two of you. Everything had fallen into place, and he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that he quit waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A squeaky giggle pierced the air, a sound Billy never knew that he’d grow to cherish so much. He remembered being so petrified the first time he saw your baby, so tiny and sleeping so peacefully. His hands had shaken so much, he worried that he’d wake them when he took the cozy bundle in his arms.

Something in his heart changed that day, he knew that he’d do anything for the two of you. He vowed to never let his past haunt his future, he’d be the man that he you deserved and the father that your baby needed. And that’s what he’s done, dedicating his whole being to trying to give you the best lives possible, making sure that the two of you never needed for anything.

Billy could tell just by looking through the door that it was all worth it. His life was worth every bad moment that led up to the smiles on the faces of the loves of his life. He knew he’d do it all over again too, if it meant that this would always be the outcome.

Billy couldn’t express how happy he was, couldn’t be more grateful than he was right now. And he was never more glad that his plans fell through and never came true. Because now you were looking out at him, waving your baby’s hand in his direction and he knew that there was no better life than his. Absolutely nothing that he wanted more than this. And there was no better view than from his front porch looking in.

[rucksackmentality]

List of the truths shared in Nana Morri's Honesty trial (C3E79):

Imogen: I am genuinely scared to meet my mom again.

Laudna: Deep down inside, both Delilah and I want the shard...Fearne should have it, but I don't know anymore what's my opinion or desires or feelings, or hers.

Imogen: I love Laudna deeply but I'm disgusted at the thought of Delilah looking at us all the time.

Orym: I'm super lonely all the time, especially at night. It doesn’t matter if I'm bunking with one of you guys.

FCG: Sometimes I pity some of you because you have beating hearts and opportunities and you don’t do enough with them...Chetney, you have so much love to give and it doesn't seem like you're interested in anything other than wood! There's people out there who you could love and experiences you could share with someone else, but all you care about is wood!

Orym: I've always kind of laughed it off but I guess I do kind of wonder if Chetney is my dad.

Ashton: I am the reason that the Jiana Hexum robbery went fucking wrong, and the reason why I got thrown out of a fucking window.

Fearne: I feel like we’re very ill-equipped for this job and we're going to fail at saving the world. (Laudna: Honestly that's probably true, I'm right there with you.)

Chetney: While wood may be the superior material to metal, I do fear that, with the dwindling interest in it, that children will find my toys - and thereby myself - obsolete every year I grow older.

FCG: I think it's something buried deep down in my circuitry, but every time I hurt or kill something - it feels really good. It makes me sort of relax a little bit and some of my stress goes away.

Imogen: I know we're supposed to save the gods, but I've tried talking to them my whole life and none of them would ever respond. I think I'm tainted. I dont know if I want to save gods that don't love me.

Laudna: You know we could rip-cord out of [saving the world] at any moment...right? And sometimes I fantasize about it all the time.

Fearne: I sometimes do stuff to you guys while you're sleeping - not weird stuff, I just like to look at you closely...and maybe like, twiddle your hair or braid it. Nothing bad!

Ashton: Whenever it starts to get quiet, I start worrying that one of us - most of us - are going to end up killing another one of us accidentally...I have panicked thinking about when one you kills another one of us.

Orym: I have all the faith in the world in you guys...and I have also spent time thinking of how to neutralize each of you.

FCG: I kinda worry that I put all my eggs in the Changebringer basket and she might betray us all. I had a really weird conversation with her and I think she's just out for herself and she might not really care about me - but what if she does? And I'm saying horrible things?

Imogen: Fearne, I was really disappointed in you for running away from your power. You should take the shard!

Orym: I really miss Dorian, and sometimes I think that's okay, and sometimes I think it isn't.

Ashton: I feel fucking worse that I just fucked up Fearne's life way more than mine and I should've died instead of that happening.

Chetney: I grew up in the Bramblewood outside of Westruun, and when I was a kid, I came back from learning how to make toys and found that my whole family had left. All they left behind were toys. They ran when Errevon the Rimelord was running across the plains, and so I'm kind of afraid of dragons. And I had five siblings - Alabaster, Pepper, Sugarplum, Hermey, and Chad - and I was so mad that they left I never looked for any of them, and now I'm pretty sure they're dead. So I think any family I have is just gonna look for a reason to leave me. That's why I don't get attached to anybody.

[leclucklerc]

Something Immortal CL16 - 02. Bad Idea

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wayne!reader

Summary: Y/n Wayne knows that this is a bad idea. But well, going against the law is something that runs in the Wayne Family.

Word Count: 4.4K

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“Is B really going to buy an F1 team?”

Y/n looked up from the plate of dessert in front of her towards where Jason was sitting. The both of them are in the VIP lounge of the Monaco GP, waiting for the race to start before being ushered towards the Ferrari garage.

“What makes you say that?”

Jason gave her a pointed look. “I’m not dumb,” he said. “I can see a business talk even if it’s miles away.” At this, he pointed towards the paddock that could be seen from the windows in front of them.

They could see a glimpse of Bruce, laughing and talking with people with different team kits. Y/n recognized most of them as the team principals or even the management team from different F1 teams.

“Y/n, seriously, I don’t have time to become a driver,” said Jason. “And I’ll probably suck at it, most of these guys had been racing since they were in diapers.”

“Still,” defended the woman, fully aware that Jason’s argument was fairly logical. “You don’t have to be a driver, but I think being around Formula One, something that you’re passionate about, can help you, Jason.”

He doesn’t have to be a driver if he doesn’t want to. Hell, truthfully, if Jason really puts his foot down and strictly declares that no, buying a whole Formula One team is not going to help him, then y/n and Bruce will stop. The both of them will leave this silly idea behind and never look back once more.

But she had seen him. How his eyes followed every garage that they passed in rapid attention. How he attentively listened to what John had said about Ferrari’s Formula One team, how he had watched the free practice and qualifying alone the days before.

It’s been a while. Maybe the last time she saw him being this passionate about something was before his death. To see Jason looking forward to something, to see his brother actually enjoy doing something outside of his crime-fighting activities.

“I-“

“Jay,” she said again, reaching out to hold the older man’s hand. “I- I know we’re not the best family. B is not the best father and the rest of us have not been the best siblings but still I-“ she stopped at that, eyes searching for Jason’s own. 

Years of guilt appeared inside of her. Years of missing memories between the two of them. Years full of regret and anger that had soured their relationship beyond words. 

Y/n, only wants what is best for her brother. “I still want you to be happy,” she said, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting hers. “I want to see you laughing again, be integrated into society, and live your dream-!”

Jason looks lost and y/n is really glad that this section of the VIP lounge was reserved for them.

Because the man in front of her looks so fucking vulnerable. 

She still remembers that time when Jason just returned to Gotham. All Lazarus green eyes and rage oozing out of his form. How he had practically attacked Tim, taunting the rest of them, and begged their father to choose him over that clown.

Y/n also remembers the emptiness that appeared in his eyes when they informed him that the Joker was dead.

It was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Because Jason had it made his mission to kill that clown. To avenge the fallen Robin that had remained unavenged. To finally end the reign of terror that the prince of clowns had put upon Gotham City.

To know that he’s dead?

Well.

There are just so so many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too much pain and history that had happened between the two of them. To see, Jason who had always raged and raged looking this lost is-

“I’ve been wondering-“ said Jason, leaning forward. “Ever since that clown died, I’ve been wondering what the fuck I should do with my life-“

It’s a familiar conversation. Something that Jason had told her months ago under the darkness of the night. When there are only the two of them on top of his safehouse rooftop, sharing a stick of cigarettes to fight off the cold.

Y/n leaned forward, touching their shoulder together. It’s something that they often did before Ethiopia all those years ago. When Jason was nothing but a short and skinny kid that’s not too far off y/n own size. 

It’s been years since Ethiopia and a lot of things have changed.

“Have you decided, Jay?” she asked, eyes closing and head leaning towards his shoulder. “Whatever you want, you know that we will support you.”

Jason was silent for a bit.

The female too, sat there in silence, giving the older male a chance to think it through.

“I still want to be Red Hood,” he whispered, far too low for anyone to hear except y/n. “I still want to make Crime Alley a better place for people to live in.”

Y/n has to fight off a smile at that. Such a typical answer for a bat. Such a typical answer for the son of Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah?” she said. 

Jason hummed. “But I also want to live my life.”

A smile appeared on y/n face. She can feel the excited thrumming of her heart as she continues to listen.

“Oh?” she asked. “And that is?”

“Going to university, getting an English degree,” at this, he stopped. “And living the dream F1 fan life ‘cause my family owned a fucking team here.”

Y/n laughed at that; happiness clear on her face.

Bruce got the honor to wave the checkered flag that marks the end of the Monaco GP.

Her dad looks pleased, but she also knows that inside of that large smile and laugh, her dad simply doesn’t care. This business trip to Monaco had been a risky move after all, if it’s not for Jason’s happiness, y/n doesn’t think her dad would even consider going on this business trip.

In the end, when her dad was handed the checkered flag, the man put the flag into Jason’s hand.

“Do you want to do it, Jay?”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“Waving the flag,” answered her dad, letting out a smile. “Instead of me, my son can do it, right?” asked Bruce, turning his head towards where the president of FIA and the chairman of Ferrari stood.

“Of course, of course!” Said Ben, the president of FIA. “It would be an honor for us!”

“But they literally asked for you” answered Jason.

Her dad merely laughed at that. “They said you can do it, son.”

Jason may look like as if he wants to protest, but y/n knows that the man is far too excited at the prospect of waving the checkered flag at the Monaco GP. He may grumble and curse her dad a few times, but he really can’t hide the happiness that’s shining through his eyes at the mere thought of it.

The older man too, seemed to notice his son’s excitement as he let out an indulgent smile as he watched her brother being escorted to his position.

“Jason looks happy,” she said. “It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

“I know,” murmured her dad. There was silence between the two of them before her dad leaned forward towards her a bit. “I saw you earlier.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “What?”

“I saw you flirting with one of the drivers,” replied her dad. “The Ferrari one.”

Ah, she thought. He was referring to Charles. “It was an act, Dad,” she simply said. “You know, like your Brucie Wayne persona? I just think that it will do us some good if we’re on a friendly term with the paddock.”

Her dad stared at her. “There are better ways to do that, like chatting with the FIA president, for instance,” replied the man as he turned his gaze toward where Ben and John were talking with Jason near the track. “I don’t think flirting with a driver will really help our cause.”

Y/n shrugged, “He’s cute, what can I say?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she hissed out. “I have to watch you flirt with Selina the entirety of my life, let me flirt with cute boys for a change!”

“You know it’s different,” pointed out her dad, leaning closer towards her. “Don’t associate with anyone outside of the masked community.”

The woman rolled her eyes at that.

She knows that the older man has a point. She knows that he’s doing this in order to protect all of them. Not only his hidden identity, but the rest of the family and possibly the rest of the Justice League. Bruce has always put a tight leash on all of his children regarding the interaction and the social circle that they all kept. Most of the time, the man didn’t have to worry considering most of his children worked inside the masked community, resulting in most of their friends being another superhero.

But y/n?

Despite her close association and frequent presence in their nightly activity, she sometimes thinks that her dad forgets that she’s not a vigilante or a hero. Yes, she knows all of their secret identity, yes, she often assisted her brothers on their not-so-legal work.

Outside of all of that, y/n is a civilian. She’s just a normal doctor who’s not saving the world during her past time. She’s a normal woman that’s working in a perfectly legal job.

Friends are hard to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world. Friends are harder to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world who is also hiding the fact that he’s the dark knight himself.

“I know,” she hissed out. “It’s a persona dad, I doubt we’ll talk again.”

Her dad gave her a look as if he didn’t believe in that.

And well.

Um.

Charles won the Monaco GP. The first Monegasque driver to do so in the last 93 years. Jason had failed to hide his excitement as he waved the checkered flag.

Her family was there, right in front of the podium as they watched the Ferrari drivers and the McLaren driver celebrating the win that they acquired. Y/n was standing there, smiling politely as she watched the champagne shower that was happening in front of them.

It was also then, that their eyes met.

She was not sure if Charles was looking at her or at someone near her, but the man’s already wide smile had gotten wider as he locked his eyes with her. And it was also then, that Charles sent her a wink.

Huh.

Okay.

Oookay.

I’ll meet you later, he seems to mouth off, a bit quickly, before he continues the champagne shower with the rest of the drivers.

So much for not talking with him anymore.

“Hi, stranger.”

Y/n can’t help the quirk of her mouth at that greeting.

The woman turned her gaze towards the source of the voice, eyes immediately falling towards where Charles Leclerc stood next to her. There’s a smile on his lips, hair tousled and green eyes twinkling.

“Hello,” she greeted back, raising her glass of champagne. “Drink?”

Charles chuckled. “I had enough champagne for the day,” replied the male as he took a seat next to her.

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I mean, you won today,” answered the female, putting down the glass of champagne on top of the table in front of them. “How does it feel to be a Monaco GP race winner? And did you actually drink the champagne that’s being sprayed earlier?” Being sprayed with a bottle of champagne sure is an experience, it seems. 

“Amazing,” he breathed out, inching closer to her. “I guess a change of mindset is the only thing needed to break the curse.”

“I told you,” said the female, amusement dripping on her tone. “Guess I did become a really lucky girl today.”

“I hope so,” answered Charles. “I did remember your words throughout the race.”

“Oh? You did?” teased y/n. “Seeing Charles Leclerc win the Monaco GP live and being constantly on his mind? What a lucky girl I am.”

Charles let out a laugh at that.

The dinner party around them is buzzing with blaring music and drunken chatter. The event itself was hosted by WE and the FIA. A collaboration work between the two entity that marks the beginning of WE’s involvement in the motorsport industry. It was the reason why her dad – a reclusive who hardly leaves Gotham if he can help it – needed to do a business trip in Monaco.

And of course, for the simple reason of buying Jason an F1 team. 

Not that y/n is complaining. She had wanted to visit Monaco forever and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. Watching a Formula 1 race live is a bonus that she will never miss out on.

The dinner party that they hosted was the formal event that they made for the winners of the race. Though, it seems most of the drivers are in attendance. No doubt advised by each of their respective team to gain the elusive Wayne sponsorship.

She knows that the news of Bruce Wayne wanting to buy an F1 team or become a major sponsor had already made its rounds. Even the bigger teams who don’t really need more money came in order to make some kind of connection with Wayne Enterprise.

Truthfully, this dinner party made her nervous a bit. After all, it’s not like she attended a party outside of Gotham.

But still, Charles’s sudden presence helped ease up her nervousness for a bit.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Charles, eyes flickering around the room.

“Ah, Jason is not feeling well,” replied the female. “He decided to stay in our hotel.” Which is a blatant lie. Y/n knows that Jason brought his Red Hood gear all the way here. He’s probably prowling the streets of Monaco, searching for that gang boss who made him join this business trip to Monaco initially.

Charles hummed at that, taking a seat next to her.

“I heard you helped orchestrate this whole dinner party,” started the man.

Y/n laughed at that. “Orchestrating is a big word, considering me and my family just throw some money at the event organizer.”

“Still, I really like the red accents, it was as if you already know that Ferrari is going to win today’s race,” said the male as he gestured towards the red flower as well as the red napkins on top of the tables.

The woman grinned cheekily at that. “Who said I don’t? Maybe I have the power to see the future?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at that, amusement clear in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted out, leaning forward. “Can you see my future then?”

Y/n hummed, mouth closing in a wide smile as she too, leaned forward. Both of their face are really close to each other. “Hm…” she let out. “I think… You’re going to be really drunk tonight.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s given,” he said, grinning.

“Really?” she said, sounding amused. “Do you want me to see further into your future?”

“You can?” asked Charles, with a tilt of his head, mouth still grinning. “What a fearsome power that you have.”

The female giggled. “I think I can see…” she whispered. “A future world champion here.”

Now, Charles is full-blown laughing, the glass of champagne that he had been holding now forgotten as he lets the amusement to envelop his very being. 

“Seriously,” he said the first part in French before he switched back to English, “You really know how to appease someone.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “You better be careful, or I’ll think that you’ve been flirting with me.”

It’s a bold thing to say, especially to Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

She knows that she’s one of the most desirable women in the marriage market, considering her looks and her family. Many people had attempted to flirt with her, to trap her with their honeyed words and kind gestures. 

But still, it’s been a while since there’s someone this bold.

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you,” replied y/n instead. “It would be embarrassing if you thought otherwise.”

Yeah, the moment she uttered those words, she knew that this was a bad choice to make.

Because at that moment, she could see the sparkle of interest in Charles’s eyes. The light that suddenly shone behind those green orbs as the man leaned forward toward her. Y/n could faintly smell the cologne that he wore, a masculine one that reminded her of her dad for a bit.

“Oh?” he said, mouth quirking up and eyes crinkling. “I’ve been flirting with you too, if you haven’t noticed.”

Okay, this isn't good. She needs to stop this before they go further and ignite her dad’s anger. 

“I see,” answered y/n with a smile. “Anyway Mr. Future World Champion, I think your team principal is looking for you-“

It was the perfect excuse because she really did have seen Fred wandering around the room in search of his driver. However, whatever she was going to say stopped immediately when a hand reached out to grab her wrist. She immediately looked down, staring at Charles’ palm.

“Hey,” said the male, grinning. “Wanna go somewhere fun?”

She should say no.

Y/n can already imagine her father’s disappointed sigh and the loud protest from her brothers. She can already see her doing the walk of shame tomorrow, with Jason silently judging her. It would be stupid of her to say yes because there are just so many consequences waiting for her if she took up that offer.

There’s literally no reason for her to say yes to someone that she barely knows.

But well-

Charles looked at her with those bright green eyes of his, the corner crinkling up from how wide his smile was. There’s something about his expression – so transparent, so genuine, something that she rarely saw in Gotham – that tickled her heart at the right place.

Maybe it’s the dimpled smile, maybe she was simply swept up by the moment.

But the next thing that she knew was-

“Yes,” she answered.

The smile that Charles let out can ignite the room.

The music is loud. Louder than what she used to.

There’s a huge misconception of her back in Gotham. Due to her father’s public persona, as well as her brother’s less-than-idle nature, the media had portrayed her as a party girl once upon a time.

But really, this is the first time for her to be in a club.

Clubs are not that common to start with in Gotham. Due to the high crime rate, and the many many dangers, clubs scarcely exist in the city. Galas though? Galas happens almost every week. Due to that, y/n only ever attended galas and galas.

So this, this is a new experience for her.

She could see the throngs of people around her, dancing and laughing, fully immersed in the music around them. There’s something about the air that just made everyone highly excited as if there’s no tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for her to be swept up by the atmosphere too.

 “So, how are you enjoying the night?” Yelled Charles as the two of them laughed and danced in the middle of the dance club. Y/n was glad that she had opted for a short dress because really, the ball gowns that she used to wear for galas will be sticking out like a sore thumb in this kind of scene.

 “It’s been fantastic!” answered the woman, amidst the loud music. Her mouth is a bit aching from how wide she’s been grinning but that really can’t dampen her mood. “It’s not my usual scene, but I guess a change of environment is not that bad.”

“Oh? Gotham doesn’t have a lot of parties?” laughed Charles, hand finding themselves around her wrist.

She stepped closer, face almost touching. “Mostly galas, or gatherings,” said y/n, letting out a shrug, before a grin overtook her face once again. “It’s not exactly safe to throw a wild party like this in a city like Gotham after all.” 

Something flickered in Charles’ eyes as he let out a hum.

“So,” started the woman, wanting to change the subject of the conversation. She leaned forward, cocking her head for a bit. “Is Monaco nightlife had always been this lively?”

“It is when it’s my party,” said the man, as they stepped out of the dance floor towards the bar.

Ordering for the both of them, Charles sidled close to her.

“You’re really trying to get drunk tonight?” teased the woman.

“Not too much,” replied the man. “I wanna remember you.”

She hummed. “Well, what’s stopping you?” she asked. “Don’t you think we should make more memories then?”

Charles turned to her, and the grip that he had around her waist tightened.

“Oh?” he said, voice lower. “Are you sure?”

The grin that she lets out must’ve been enough of confirmation because the next thing that she knew, they’re stumbling into Charles’ Ferrari, lips interlocked with each other in a desperate and sloppy make-out session.

She’s grateful that the parking space is located in a discreet place because her appearance right now is less dignified than what Bruce Wayne’s daughter should be. Though, she really can’t seem to care right now. All she knows is the taste of Charles’ lips on her and how his hand traveled all across her body, giving her a delicious tease of pleasure.

They fell into bed together.

That night had been a bit of a blur, to be honest. He remembers dancing with y/n, laughing, and touching her under the club lights. He remembers dragging her to the edge of the dance floor, head leaning forward.

“Can I?” he had muttered, head cocking sideways.

Y/n had let out a laugh at that, hands winding around his neck before she too, leaned forward.

He remembers the sweet taste of her mouth, how she had opened her mouth, letting their tongue meet in a wet mess. How his hands had wandered around, starting from her back before reaching downwards towards the edge of her short dress.

“Let’s take this somewhere,” muttered y/n back then, releasing his mouth with a string of droll still connecting them. “Somewhere more private,” the last part was whispered and he remembers the jolt of arousal that hit him at that very moment.

Charles doesn’t have a clear memory of how they managed to get into his apartment. All he remembers is how he pinned y/n by his front door, savoring her as they rutted against each other like a teenager. 

The night ended with them on his bed, rustling against each other and-

Charles cracked his eyes open, watching the sun filter into his room from the crack of his curtain.

He could feel the pounding headaches as the memories from last night rushed into him like a tsunami. Of him winning the Monaco GP, of him attending the formal dinner, of him and y/n stumbling into bed together-

His eyes widened as he immediately turned his gaze toward the other side of the bed.

Sitting there, still topless with a blanket covering her, is y/n Wayne, brow furrowed as she scrolled something on her phone. That sight immediately warmed something across his heart as he stared at the woman silently, not wanting to avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re awake?” asked y/n, turning her gaze towards him.

He let out a hum, shuffling closer towards her.

At that, y/n’s hand fell on top of his head, caressing his unruly mop of hair. It’s soothing, something that he really needs amidst the headache that’s been throbbing inside of his head. They stayed like that for a couple of moments, basking in each other presence.

The moment didn’t last long because y/n phone rang.

“Yeah?” asked the woman before she stared at him for a moment before she began talking in a language that he didn’t understand.

Charles faintly recognizes it as German. He knows a couple of words, but with the way y/n talking as if she’s a native speaker, well, it’s safe to say that he really doesn’t have a clue about what she’s talking about. The phone call didn’t last long. Only a couple of minutes at best. Though, at the end, y/n let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“Charles, listen,” stated the woman. “This is a bit awkward, but I gotta go.”

He ignores the disappointment that erupted inside his chest. The driver had been hoping that they could have breakfast together before taking a stroll around Monaco before he had to see her off.

“I really enjoyed last night but-“

Before she can even finish that sentence, Charles interrupts her again. “Can I see you again?”

Y/n blinked, staring at him. “Yes?”

“See you again,” said the driver, leaning closer. “I really enjoyed last night. More than simply enjoying it,” he continues. “I like to do it again.”

The woman is still staring at him.

“Of course, I mean not only fucking, but like, I would love to have a date with you,” he continue, tongue a bit tied at the sight of an angel in front of him. “If you give me the chance?”

Honestly, he was not expecting much. A woman like y/n must have had a lot of suitors or partners all her life. Charles will be the luckiest man on earth if y/n even gives him a chance for a single date, let alone dating her.

It was silent for a bit, as the both of them stared at each other with no words being exchanged.

The moment was broken when y/n let out a loud laugh.

It startled him a bit, Charles doesn’t really understand what’s funny about his declaration and yet, he doesn’t really mind it. After all, the sight of y/n letting out such a carefree laugh is something that he will integrate into his memory forever.

“Yeah,” said the woman, finally. “Let’s see each other again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” grinned the woman. “But next time, bring me to a proper date, okay?”

Charles laughed at that, giving her a single kiss.

taglist!

@piceous21 @myloveforfandom-blog @barnestatic @ilivbullyingjeongin @fangirl-dot-com @halleest @a-beaverhausen @sagestack @redcellghost @mac-daddy-210 @kellysthilaire

[cvnt4him]

Do you think Deku is big on family?? He just SCREAMS dilf energy yk

Yes yes yes nonnie/nonnette. I think he is HUGE on family. Izuku js screams girl dad to me personally like I feel like he has 2 daughters idk how to explain it. Lemme js write ts for you..

Also this is x black reader.. I'm sorry💋

Reader n zuku are in their late 30's/ early 40's

Day 1 of izuku week!!

You and izuku had been together since highschool, you were quite literally highschool sweethearts. When he asked you to marry him at your highschool graduation you were literally sobbing. Just letting out tears and more tears.

When he told you he wanted to have kids you were a bit afraid. The thought of having to push a human body out of your literal birth canal terrified you. But he promised you he'd be there every step of the way. With him by your side you felt as if there was nothing you couldn't do.

That's how you ended up with the most beautiful girls in the world, izumi and zora. Those weren't the names you personally agreed upon but he made it his mission to have his daughters with names exactly like his. There was something so satisfying and gratifying to him about the fact there were his daughters. You had his kids. It was only fair he got to name them.

Izumi was izukus splitting image, she had curly green locs and big wide green eyes, she didn't have freckles however. Zora looked like you, a dingy greenish brown painting her hair and her deep hazel brown eyes not being as wide as izumis, her hair was more coily and voluminous than izumis.

Izuku loves both of his girls unconditionally, he loves when they have him play weird and wacky games like hospital or restaurant. Izumi is more of a loud and carefree kid, she loves singing and dancing and just being a kid. Zora is a bit too responsible for her age izuku thinks, shes very intelligent for the younger sibling and is very intuitive with things around her.

Izukus daughters are two different people but he can't help but love them all the more. Izuku sometimes loves watching you do zoras hair, putting cute little barrettes in her coily hair. He loves to watch the way you smile and do her hair, she winces slightly moving around from the discomfort. It was always easiest to do izumis hair in your opinion, not that you had a problem doing either of your daughters hair.

They were both huge Daddy's girls. He loved spoiling them absolutely rotten. They could just bat their eyelashes to him and he'd give them whatever they wanted. You hated how because he couldn't never dent them you were always seen as the bad guy.

Izuku would sit by the girls shared room door frame and watch you read to them, they'd say goodnight as you'd kiss both of their heads before leaving their room to your surprise you see your big husband with a soft grin on his matured face, his eyes soft and full of love.

Izuku was in love with you, the way your body had changed from giving birth, the stretch marks, the dimples and just everything about you. He loved you so much, you gave him a family, you gave him hope and reason to love, a home to come back to. The house wasn't his home, it was you and his daughters.

He would pound you from behind deep into your shared bed, whispering sweet things into your ears like how you were made for him and made to fit him. How you were so perfect and the reason he goes on. And so many more sweet things that made you gush and tighten around him.

Izuku midoriya was your big strong strapping husband who loved you so<33

AN: this was more of headcanons than a fic and i really enjoyed making this, lemme know if you want a little day in the midoriya girls' life!! I would enjoy making it!!!!

[girasollake]

everything i wanted

ꨄpairing: neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader / jake sully x reader(platonic)

ꨄrequested: no

ꨄtype: mostly angst, some fluff

ꨄsummary: you always wanted to feel appreciated, neteyam always wanted to be the best warrior; in short: u seek validation in older men cause you dont have family and because you are the best warrior, neteyam is jealous of you, the whole fic roughly follows the plot of atwow!!! ummmm kinda enemies to lovers?????

ꨄwarnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, DONT READ IF U HAVENT SEEN ATWOW, mentions of being shot, angst, my bad writing cause i havent written anything since september, reader is a year older than neteyam

ꨄa/n: i feel like this is so bad i am sorry

ꨄword count: 3,402

‘How could you both be so stupid?’ You threw your hands in the air and shot a glare at Neteyam. ‘You could’ve died! Does that mean nothing to you? Your father explicitly told you to observe, not engage! You are like a child Neteyam, both you and Lo’ak!’

‘I wanted to stop him, he’s just too disobedient.’ He avoided your eyes.

‘And you had to take the blame again? He’s never going to learn if you keep doing that.’ You shook your head and sighed.

‘Can you stop? I’m the oldest and I need to protect my siblings.’

‘No. No, Neteyam. I am the oldest. I may not be your sibling but I am the oldest and, believe it or not, I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to them.’

Especially you.

‘You can protect them, be a big brother, but don’t take credit for every stupid thing they do!’ You moved closer to him and snapped your fingers in front of his face to get his attention. ‘I know you want to prove your father you can be a warrior, but it doesn’t mean that you have to put your life at risk when Lo’ak does something stupid.’ You huffed. ‘Just be careful next time.’

Neteyam felt jealous of you, of the way his father trusted you enough to put you in risky missions because he knew you would survive, of the way he praised your fighting skills and of the way he put you on a pedestal. You were born during the first war with the sky people and both of your parents had died fighting. The clan surrounded you with love when you were growing up, but you had never had anyone to call a mother or a father. You were just an orphan trying to find a place alongside everyone that you crossed paths with. So, when Neteyam was jealous of you having his father approval and trust, you were jealous of him for having a real family. When you were younger you would hide behind the trees and watch them cuddle underneath the night sky, your little heart breaking and longing for this kind of comfort and love. Even though you were Omatikaya by blood you still sometimes felt like an outsider. You occupied your time with training, flying, shooting arrows and that’s why Jake was impressed, that’s why you were one of his favorite warriors and he knew he could trust you. He even got you your own gun, which Neteyam and Lo’ak were especially jealous of.

Deep down you knew what this was about. Jake cared about you, but not like he cared about his own children. That was the real reason you were sent on those missions, the reason he took you everywhere with him on fights. He just didn’t want to risk his sons life's. You knew that and you still took part in everything because those were the moments when you felt like you belong.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

‘Can we talk?’ Jake asked from behind you.

‘Of course, sir.’ You nodded your head and stopped sharpening the spears.

He sat down next to you and sighed.

‘We are leaving tomorrow.’ He said firmly. ‘This is not a safe place for my family anymore.’

‘Oh, I see.’ You whispered, a wave of sadness ran through your whole body.

‘I want you to come with us.’ Your ear twitched and you looked up at him with hopeful eyes. ‘And I want you to promise me you will protect my children when I won’t be able to do it myself.’

‘I promise.’ You answered quickly. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

He smiled at you and stood up, ‘Tomorrow after the ceremony. Be ready.’ He shot you one last glance and walked away.

The next day you were waiting for the Sully family by the ikrans, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud shriek of Tuk.

‘Are you coming with us (Y/n)?’ She asked after she ran up to you.

‘I am.’ You smiled at her and after giving you a hug she ran back to her mom in order to get on an ikran with her.

While you were checking your bags attached to your own animal, you felt someone intensely staring at the back of your head. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was Neteyam. You never knew why he gave you those weird glances, a part of you wished they weren’t that hateful. At first you tried being friends with him, but after a while his behavior towards you had changed. While you were getting along with his younger siblings, he was always staying away from you, watching your every move. The relationship between you felt like some sort of rivalry, but there was always this warm feeling you couldn’t shake off when you knew he was nearby.

After a long, tiring flight to the Metkayina clan you were exhausted, the thought of laying down was the only one in your head. You made the appropriate gesture towards the Tsahik and the Olo’eyktan when they arrived and you suddenly felt really small under Ronal’s gaze. She started walking around you all, examining your tails and postures.

‘Is this also your child, Jakesully?’ She asked, you could feel her judging eyes on you.

‘No. She’s not my child, but she is the best warrior in our clan and she is important to my family.’

‘Is that true?’ She moved to look into your eyes.

‘Yes, Tsahik Ronal.’ You gave her a long nod and felt the warm feeling spreading in your heart after hearing that you were important to the Sully’s.

She whispered something to herself and went back to her husband who a moment later agreed that all of you could stay with them. You smiled to yourself when you were walking through the village following Tsireya, everything felt so fresh and untouched by war, those people didn’t live in fear unlike your clan. You dropped your belongings on the floor and went over to Neytiri to help her.

‘It’s okay, you can go with others and learn the Metkayina ways, I can handle the unpacking.’ She told you and put her hand on your arm.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, go.’ She smiled sweetly and playfully pushed you towards the exit of your new home.

You ran towards the shore and started looking for your friends. When you finally spotted them you quickly jumped into the water and swam quickly in their direction.

‘Can I join?’ You asked Tsireya when you emerged from the water.

‘Of course!’ She gave you a smile. ‘Follow us everyone.’

After swimming for a while she took all of you to meet the ilu’s and learn how to ride them. You were scared of failure, especially after seeing how fast Lo’ak let go of his ilu. Tsireya helped you get on the animal and told you that you’re gonna be okay, you just have to hold it tight.

‘How could she not be fine? She’s the best warrior after all.’ Neteyam muttered with annoyance.

‘Stop it.’ Kiri smacked his arm.

‘What? She shouldn’t be here, her place is with the clan. I don’t even get why she’s here with us in the first place.’

‘It’s not my fault your dad values my skills more than he does yours.’ You replied harshly and then without a second thought told your ilu in your mind to go forward.

You felt angry at Neteyam, rage was filling your body. You were the best for a reason and you would prove that to him. You tightened your grip on the handle attached to the animal’s body and took the biggest breath in your life before diving into the depths of the ocean. The speed was horrible and you felt your hand slowly relaxing.

No. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

You tightened your fist and held the handle even harder than before. After readjusting your position and squeezing your thighs to feel more steady you felt the oxygen slowly leaving your lungs. You shut your eyes and rode upwards, soon emerging from the water and jumping with your ilu only to dive again. You rode over to your friends and smiled at Tsireya. Everyone was impressed, because this was your first try and it definitely required special skills to get it this perfect. Annoyance was written on Neteyam’s face, he scoffed and started swimming away. You sighed and got off the ilu.

‘Neteyam, wait!’ You screamed and swam towards him.

He didn’t even look back and you reached him after you both got out of the water.

‘Neteyam, what happened?’ You touched his arm and he immediately turned around to face you.

‘You happened.’ He scoffed. ‘I am tired of you taking my place all the time. I try so hard to meet my dad’s standards and it’s never appreciated because of you!’

‘It’s not my fau-‘

‘It is. It is your fault.’ He interrupted your sentence and walked away quickly.

And there it was again. The feeling of loneliness consumed you once again, when the boy you adored walked away feeling only hatred towards you. Sure, you were often picking fights with him, replying to his comments with the same energy, but maybe this time you really did take it too far?

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

You were helping Tsireya with some of the duties one day and Neteyam was far from you, but still in your sight. You were stealing quick glances at him so that your friend wouldn’t see it, when suddenly he quickly swam away and you couldn’t see him anymore. You excused yourself and left Tsireya by herself to go and see what had happened that made him go that fast. The closer you got to the direction he swam towards, the better you heard voices screaming and sounds of fighting. You came over to Kiri, she was softly laughing at the pile of boys in front of her. You had to admit it was funny, but at the same time you were all supposed to be on your best behavior. Because of that, you walked over to them and hissed loudly, their heads turning to face you.

‘Enough.’ You spat and looked over at Lo’ak and Neteyam. ‘Both of you.’

They stood up and walked towards Kiri, you hissed at the Metkayina boys once again and turned around to join the Sully’s.

‘It was going well, you didn’t have to-‘

‘Was it, Lo’ak?’ You stopped and looked at him. ‘You were supposed to be on your best behavior, what were you thinking?’ You turned to the older boy.

He didn’t reply to you, he just took his brother by his arm and walked away.

‘You are both unbelievable.’ Kiri whispered making you turn your head in her direction.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just tell him you like him already.’ She whined.

‘You know I can’t.’ A sigh escaped your lips. ‘He hates me, Kiri. He sees me as a rival, he despises me.’

‘He doesn’t.’

‘He does.’ You said louder. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore, let’s go.’

‘Lo’ak was the one that started that fight, he was just helping him.’

‘I know.’ You replied and looked down, soon arriving at your home.

‘And you? Why weren’t you keeping an eye on them?’ Jake turned to you when you entered the shack.

‘I’m sorry, I was helping Tsireya.’ You avoided his gaze. ‘Next time I won’t let anything happen to them.’

And you were right.

You jumped down from your ikran and landed on the sky people’s ship. Neteyam found his way to his siblings and Tsireya as fast as you, jumping onto the deck from his ilu. You shot your arrows towards some sky people coming towards you.

‘Cut the handcuffs!’ You told him when he reached you.

‘Come on, bro. Hurry up!’ Lo’ak screamed at his brother.

You turned around and saw Tsireya and Tuk jumping into the water, ‘Go! Both of you!’ You yelled at the brothers.

Neteyam started dragging the boy away, ‘They have Spider! We have to help him!’ Lo’ak tugged on his brother’s arm.

You locked your eyes with Neteyam, ‘Shit!’ He hissed. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

‘No, you are not going anywhere.’ You stopped both of them. ‘Go back to your father, right now.’

‘We have to help Spider, please (Y/n).’ Lo’ak looked at you with terrified eyes.

‘UGH!’ You shook your head and hang your bow on your body. ‘Just stay close.’ You told them and ran towards the inside of the ship.

You were quietly moving on the big pipe on the ceiling when some people started walking your way, Spider was surrounded by them in a circle. All three of you jumped down at the people and freed your friend, but then a pure moment of joy was interrupted by gunshots firing your way.

‘Go! Go!’ You screamed and pushed the boys towards a wall that would hide all of you.

Neteyam snatched the gun from Lo’ak and started shooting at the enemies, you pulled out the gun Jake had gifted you and helped him.

‘I’ll tell you when to jump and you jump!’ You shouted and looked over at them, they were rapidly nodding their heads. You gave a few more shots towards the enemies and took a deep breath. ‘Now!’

Lo’ak and Spider jumped quickly into the water, you pushed Neteyam first and jumped as the last person. For a second you felt relief when you heard their happy screams, but it was washed away when you started struggling with keeping your head above the water. Adrenaline started coming down and you felt your lower abdomen on fire.

‘Yes! We did it bro!’ Lo’ak hugged his brother who was laughing softly.

‘Come on! We need to go!’ Neteyam yelled when Tsireya came up from the water riding her ilu.

‘Nete…Neteyam…’ You coughed.

His smile faded and he rapidly swam towards you.

‘I’m shot you skxawng.’

‘Shit! Shit!’ He cursed. ‘Just hold on a second!’ He held you tightly and sat you down on the ilu. ‘It’s okay, just hold on.’ His panicked voice echoed through your ears.

He saw his father standing on a rock and everyone started screaming for him. A worried expression came up on his face when he saw his son holding you tightly.

‘She’s shot, dad, help her!’ They started pulling you up to rest you on the wet rock.

Jake inspected your body only to see a big wound on your lower stomach which was quickly bleeding out.

‘Take her to the village, right now.’ He told Neteyam and helped put you on the animal again.

Neteyam held you in his arms as he tried to ride the animal as quickly as he could without causing more damage to you.

‘Hold on, okay? Don’t you dare die on me!’ He yelled to you.

‘But I am so sleepy, Nete..’ Your voice was weak, but he still heard you.

‘No, don’t sleep, we’re right there, just…Just hold on..’ He finally saw the village and hope filled him up. ‘We’re here, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.’ He looked down at you to check if your eyes were still open and he saw you slowly blinking. ‘HELP! I NEED HELP!’ He screamed as loud as he could which caught the attention of some people by the coast, they quickly ran to get the Tsahik who was helping other wounded warriors.

‘Neteyam..’ You coughed.

‘We’re here, hold on for me.’ He looked down at you again.

‘I see…’ Your voice was getting weaker. ‘I see you, Neteyam.’ You whispered and closed your eyes.

‘No. No, no, no. Help! I need the Tsahik!’ He got off the ilu holding your limp body in his arms.

Ronal emerged from behind the people and told him to put you in one of the shacks. The Tsahik pushed him outside and covered the entrance with a curtain made out of big leaves and seaweed. Neteyam finally felt the tears on his face which previously were washed away by the splashing water. He didn’t know what to do, fear, sadness and adrenaline were running through his body. He waited for what felt like hours and when he felt Tuk’s arms around him all of a sudden he felt safe. His whole family was okay and when he came eye to eye with his father, he broke down crying again. Jake hugged his son and caressed his hair with his hand. A sudden rustle made Neteyam break the comforting hug. Everyone turned towards the sound, Ronal was standing in front of the shack, her expression was unreadable. She locked eyes with Neteyam.

‘She’s alive. Barely.’ She stated.

‘Thank you, Great Mother.’ Kiri whispered and hugged her brother from the side.

‘She needs a lot of rest and I am not certain if she will survive the night.’ Ronal said and started walking away. ‘Do not bother her. Now it is all up to Eywa.’

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Your nostrils were filled with a disgusting smell which made you slowly open your eyes. You saw Ronal putting some type of paste on your wound and you hissed.

‘I guess this means I’m not dead.’ You whispered, your voice hoarse.

‘No, but it was close.’ She replied and wrapped some bandages around your stomach. ‘Rest, my child.’ She whispered and walked out, leaving you alone once again.

After a while the silence was interrupted by Jake, ‘Hi.’ He said as he sat down next to you.

‘I told you I’d keep them safe.’ You weakly smiled at him and he let out a soft laugh.

‘Yeah, I knew you would.’ His smile quickly faded. ‘I.. I wanted to thank you. For protecting them. And I’m sorry for using you so much, on all of those fights… I forget that you are still young, god… You’re only a year older than Neteyam and I’ve never thought something like this would happen to you…’ He paused. ‘You have a whole life in front of you, I’m sorry for trying to take that away and not protecting you.’

‘It’s okay.’ You whispered. ‘I know you only wanted to keep your family safe.’

He nodded and stood up, a tear fell down his cheek. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but nothing came out, he gave you one last smile and walked outside. After a while you closed your eyes because the light started bothering you, but you immediately opened them when you felt someone put their hand in yours. You looked at the way your fingers were intertwined with Neteyam’s and gave him a soft smile.

‘I’m so sorry.’ He whispered.

‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’ You coughed out.

‘I have. I am sorry for getting angry at you, for getting jealous about my father and for..’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ You whispered and stroked his hand with your thumb. ‘And I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t be taking your place by your dad’s side.’

He nodded and squeezed your hand, ‘It’s okay, I know you just wanted someone to be proud of you. Kiri told me how… How you feel like an outsider all the time, because you don’t have…’

‘Parents?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked down at the floor.

‘After all these years I got used to having no one, but when your dad and other warriors from the clan were so proud of me… I just felt this hapiness that I finally belong somewhere, that’s why I always wanted to be the best…I’m sorry again, Neteyam.’

‘I forgive you.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t believe you were ready to die for me.’ He softly laughed and you reciprocated the smile.

‘I can.’ You whispered. ‘And I forgive you too, for being so mean to me.’ Your smile grew wider. ‘But you were cute when you were angry.’

‘Is that so?’ You gave him a long nod. ‘And now I’m not?’

‘No.’

‘Liar.’

Your giggles filled up the space around you and you didn’t even notice when he got so close to your face. You felt his breath on your skin and he put his other hand on your cheek.

‘I always thought you hated me.’ You whispered into his lips.

‘Do you still think that?’

‘No.’ It left your lips more like a breath rather than a word.

He finally closed the gap between you and it all just felt right. His lips on yours felt so right. You finally felt like you were not alone.

‘I see you, (Y/n).’

likes and reblogs are appreciated<3

taglist: @neteyamsgirl @vviolaswrld

[dweeb-central]

yuu cooked too much ft. heartlabyul, floyd, malleus, & ruggie

guys i entered a fugue state & wrote angst?? hcs

mc is used to cooking for a big family & accidentally mistakes recipe proportions, leaving them w way too much food. scenarios of them asking diff twst boys if they'd want some, mentioning why. a bit downtrodden with no family to share it with...

trey, cater, riddle... are touched. trey & cater both have big families, & their eyes soften at the mention of yours. trey especially empathizes with you, before he began cooking and baking for the majority of his dorm he cooked & baked for his family. he identifies with the habits of buying groceries in bulk & the need to keep the house stocked with anything five or more people could ever need (just in case). cater's interested to see what kinds of foods you'll cook. make him something from your heritage! he'll magicam it <3 or just save the memory in a photograph if you'd prefer. he'd love to listen to you talk about recipes & regional preferences & tastes. that goes for riddle too! his mom kept him on a strict diet for his childhood, but now that he's got the opportunity he'd love to learn about your heritage & culture! as he grows more outgoing he's learned more about the cultures of his peers & he'd probably be one of the most qualified (& excited) to answer any questions or point out any similarities with twisted wonderland cultures.

floyd... blinks his big wide eyes once, twice, & then launches himself towards you to wrap his arms tight & pick up straight up off the ground. "awwww, shrimpy misses their troupe! shrimpy's aaalways welcome to bring me dinner! we can play house!! i'll be the dad, you'll be the mom, azul will be our baby, and jade... he can be the dog and go play outside or something." ('- , -) you better stop him before he gets ahead of himself. least likely of octavinelle to bother you about selling the recipe to azul ((he'll give you a cut of the profits!)). still makes you cook in the mostro lounge kitchen, but only because he wants you to grow to feel more at home with him & in an environment he's used to... that way when he gets serious about his & shrimpy's relationship....

the adeuce duo... both go... quiet, at the mention of your past. it wasn't something you avoided talking about when you were reminded of something relevant, or things you enjoyed or saw, but... you don't talk much about your family. they don't ask much about your family. deuce feels a twinge of guilt—he doesn't shy away from talking about his mom, & he loves her too dearly to be ashamed or shy. he wonders if they make you feel as loved as his does. ace wonders if he should ask you about them more often. he's not exactly shy about his own family, but he doesn't exactly ever seek to bring them up in idle conversation. he wonders what your siblings are like. they give each other a resolved look above your head when you're not looking, & now they regularly (as much as they can) come over for dinners at ramshackle! if you're comfortable with it, they invite all the first years too. you hope they feel as familiar & familial to you as you feel for them. they hope you know they do.

malleus... feels a twinge in the back of his throat—maybe behind his eyes? his truest friend feels alone, something he recognizes deeply. he hasn't lost anyone close to him like that—at least, he doesn't feel like it. his lonely was a different sort, where he's never really known family like you have. but, he considers, maybe no one at this school has had to sacrifice more than his prefect. he wonders what dinners were like with that many, & you tell him. the bickering, the debates, the movie nights & commentaries, the nights spent making s'mores(?) over the fireplace. he wants dinners like that with you. you invite him to.

ruggie... might invite you to spend some time over with his family. not immediately, no way, but the thought lingered in his head long enough for his throat to burn with the words (& his cheeks to burn in embarassment). in reality, he grins a big wide grin & laughs his mischeivous little laugh. "i'll NEVER say no to free food. feel free to keep it coming! shehehe." he ends up coming over to help you cook a few times a month. it's a good excuse to spend time with you over a dinner he knows was cooked with love.

i had to google what a group of shrimp is called lol. could've actually been troupe OR run OR colony. i wonder if it's ooc that floyd knows this.... i mean, he is a fish man, so 🤷

[gudfornuthin]

Unexpected Comfort

Season 4!Diego x fem!reader, (past) Five x reader

! SPOILERS AHEAD !

! MINORS DNI !

Summary: after finding out the news about Lila and Five’s relationship, Y/N needs to get away from it all. Who knew she’d find comfort in the one other person broken too?

Word count: 2.65k words

A/N: ayooo. I wanna thank everyone for the support I received from my Five fanfic, it means the world to me that people read and enjoy my writing. I’m definitely thinking about ideas for a part 2, and I also have some requests I need to complete, but for now this lil thing popped into my head and I had to make it. My sweet Diego deserved so much more. There’s fluff, there’s angst, there’s a lil bit of smut (I’m trying to get better at writing that lol) so I hope you all enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Those were the words that came out of Five’s mouth before Y/N stormed out of the house, leaving behind the shocked faces of the Hargreeves siblings.

Five had cheated on her. With Lila. Diego’s wife, the mother of his children. She felt like throwing up. They’d created a life together, seeming to forget all about the life they had here, in the real world. Five tried explaining how a few hours to her had been years for him and Lila, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She couldn’t imagine giving up on a relationship she’d spent so long working on, like it meant nothing at all. At least they weren’t married with kids. She doesn’t want to think about how much this is killing Diego.

Having left the house, ignoring the calls from the family, Y/N continued walking for what seemed like hours. She wasn’t familiar with this side of town, and the dark streets all blended together. Had she already gone this way? Was there a bus stop she could seek shelter under for the time being? The night was getting colder and she was finding it hard to catch her breath, the tears still flowing. She knew she couldn’t continue on for much longer.

After walking a few more blocks, Y/N finally spots a bar/diner, the lights still on inside. Better than nothing, she thinks, as she slowly makes her way towards it, in desperate need of a drink.

The diner is quiet, only a few patrons scattered around, either drunk or on the verge of passing out. The bar tender nods in acknowledgment when Y/N sits on one of the bar stools, asking what she wants.

“I’ll just have a beer.”

The bar tender rolls his eyes. “What kinda beer?”

Y/N shrugs. “The cheapest one you’ve got.”

He wonders off to sort out her order, as she rests her head in the palms of her hands, closing her eyes and trying not to sob like a baby. The pain in her chest still lingers, as she can’t escape the images of Five and Lila, and the life they had made together. The life that should’ve been hers. With everything going on, she’d almost forgotten about the world ending, again. But that was surprisingly the least of her worries at the moment. She just wanted to scream, and punch and kick anything that got in her way. She needed a cigarette. And she doesn’t even smoke.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

A voice sounds off to the side of Y/N, as she slowly opens her eyes. A beer bottle stands in front of her, and she turns to her left, spotting Diego in the seat next to hers. He looks worse for wear. Red eyes, prominent frown lines, and a pouty lip.

“You look like a kicked puppy,” Y/N mumbles, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Diego replies in a gruff voice, grabbing for her beer and taking a swig.

The pair go quiet, listening to the soft tune playing through the overhead speakers, dwelling in their own thoughts. The two of them had never exactly been close. Since Y/N joined the family she’d always gravitated more towards Klaus and Alison. Frankly, she didn’t understand why Diego was here with her. Maybe because they were both dealing with the same situation, with both their partners being the main focal point. Or maybe he was just in desperate need for a drink too, as shown when he downs the rest of the bottle. Y/N alerts the bar tender, putting up two fingers to ask for a second round. Hopefully she can actually have some this time.

“Was I a bad husband?” Diego finally speaks up, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

Y/N glances his way, unsure of how to respond.

She clears her throat. “I dunno if I’m the right person to answer that,” she scratches at the label on the beer bottle. “But from what I saw, you were pretty good at it.”

He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “And you’re also a good dad. I can’t imagine how hard it was, going from one apocalypse to another, to just living a normal life. Pretending none of it ever happened. You didn’t let that get in the way of taking care of your kids. They know you’re a good dad.”

She notices the tears forming in Diego’s eyes and looks away, knowing he wouldn’t want others to see him cry. She sips her drink, the burning sensation hitting the back of her throat.

“For what it’s worth,” Diego starts, “you’re not a bad girlfriend.”

“I never thought I was,” Y/N bites back, her tone harsher than she wanted it to be. “But what are you supposed to think when the love of your life admits to having an affair?” She laughs bitterly. “With his fucking sister in law!”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here,” Diego says, rubbing incessantly at his eyes. “Just tryna make you feel better.”

“Well you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

They bask in silence again, both too stubborn to apologise for snapping at each other. They know neither of them are in the wrong. But the wounds are still fresh, and it doesn’t seem like they’ll heal anytime soon.

Almost an hour passes, along with 9 or 10 bottles of beer between them, when the bartender finally tells them it’s closing time. They both get out of their seats, leaving the bar and standing awkwardly outside in the cold, Y/N shivering having left the house without a coat.

“You cold?” Diego dumbly asks.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Well done, Sherlock.”

Diego looks as if he’s about to say something in retort, but chooses not to. Instead, he silently slips off his jacket, handing it over to her, insisting she takes it before she can refuse. She does so, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’. They continue standing outside the bar, watching the occasional car drive past, lighting them up every so often.

“I can’t go back there,” Y/N says. “Not yet anyways.”

It was a stupid thing to think that this could all be avoided. She’d eventually have to face Five properly, let him explain fully what happened during that time he was away. But she couldn’t. She doesn’t want an explanation, or an excuse. She just wants it erased from her memory. To forget about it all. To forget about Five.

Diego puts his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to figure out that shit show tonight.”

He pauses for a beat, then briefly glances at Y/N. “There’s a motel not too far from here. We can grab a couple of rooms, take the time to get some rest, and figure all this out tomorrow.”

She doesn’t say anything, simply nodding in agreement, and following Diego to their accommodation for the night.

***

The pair arrive at the dingy looking motel, booking two rooms next to each other, and muttering quick goodnights. Y/N can feel the exhaustion taking over, as she sits down on the bed, and yet the thought of falling asleep makes her anxious. She can’t remember the last time she went to bed alone. It was always Five right by her side, comforting her if she had any nightmares. Which had become more and more frequent the past few weeks.

She tries distracting herself by turning on the tv, flicking through empty channels and purposely avoiding the news. She takes a shower, scrubbing off the physical and metaphorical grime. It helps her feel slightly better, but still she’s wide awake. She walks laps around the room, which isn’t much considering the bed takes up most of the space. And yet she still can’t sleep.

Her mind wanders to the man in the room next to hers. Is Diego having the same issues as she is? Or has he completely worn himself out to the point of passing out for the next several hours. Is it too forward if she goes over there and asks to stay with him for the night? He could end up giving her a weird look and slamming the door in her face. Or he could see a woman, sad and distressed, and know she’s just in need of someone to comfort her. The risk is worth the reward.

Y/N leaves her room, stumbling slightly over her own feet, the alcohol starting to take effect. She steadies herself, standing in front of Diego’s door and knocking. It takes a moment, but he finally opens, shirtless and hair a mess.

“What’s up?” He says, his voice gruff.

Standing in front of him now, Y/N can’t help but feel stupid. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her problems right now, not when he’s still trying to figure out his own. The only thing on Diego’s mind is most likely Lila, and getting some much needed rest. This was a bad idea.

“Uh,” she shakes her head. “It’s nothing, no. I shouldn’t have disturbed you, I’m sorry.”

She begins to walk away, trying not to fall over, until Diego’s voice calls her name. She turns, seeing him standing half way out of his room, a sad expression on his face.

“Neither of us really wanna be alone right now,” he says, motioning slightly for her to follow him through the door.

She waits a second, unsure if this was the best idea. Now feeling as if they were both about to cross a barrier that neither of them could walk back through.

Taking the plunge, Y/N silently follows Diego into his room, closing the door behind her. She suddenly felt nervous, unsure as to why. Diego is already back in bed, getting comfortable under the covers, ready for a much needed sleep. Y/N looks at the bed, then towards the small couch, not knowing which one she’s welcome on.

“Diego…”

“It’s fine,” he rolls over, not looking at her. “You can build a pillow wall if it’ll make you feel better.”

Y/N nods, not wanting to admit how glad she was that she could sleep next to Diego tonight. She’d feel this way about anyone at the moment, right? It’s got nothing specifically to do with him. Her mind is racing, as she climbs into bed, hoping to fall into a deep slumber as quick as. She doesn’t build a pillow wall.

***

Barely an hour passes before Y/N is woken up suddenly by a sound. She sits up in bed, eyes bleary and watery, looking around the room with squinting eyes. The bathroom light is on, shining through the cracks, and Diego is no longer beside her.

She hears the sound again, a soft whimper, barely audible. It’s coming from the bathroom, and she can already guess who it is. She slowly scoots out of bed, tiptoeing on unsteady feet towards the door, knocking slightly. No answer. And the noise has stopped.

She knocks again, trying the door handle at the same time. It budges, as she gradually pulls it open. The sight was heartbreaking. Diego sits in a curled up ball in the corner, covering his face, and desperately trying to stop his heavy breathing. He doesn’t acknowledge Y/N’s presence, as she moves over to him, crouching down. She gently grabs his hands, pulling them away to see his red, tear stained face.

“I’ve lost everything,” he whispers, breaking Y/N’s heart more than it already was. “I feel like my life’s over.”

Y/N strokes his hands, trying her best to soothe him in anyway that might work.

“I have no purpose without her,” he continues. “I try saving the world, but I couldn’t save the one thing that matters the most to me. I’m useless.”

“That is not true,” Y/N finally replies, hating these thoughts running through Diego’s mind. “Her actions are not a reflection on you.”

Diego begins to protest, but Y/N quickly shuts him down. “I know how much you care. Sometimes I think you care a little too much. But that just proves how good of a husband and father you were. You did nothing wrong. It’s all on her. And Five.”

She chokes out the last part, almost forgetting about her own problems. They’re both going through this, together.

Y/N doesn’t even realise she’s now crying too, holding her hand up to her mouth to muffle the sound of her sobs. Diego reaches out, pulling her into a bone crushing hug, the pair needing comfort from each other more than anything.

She moves her head back slightly, kissing Diego on the forehead, then the cheek, then hesitating at his lips. Her mind feels fuzzy, as the alcohol in her system still lingers, jumping between the pros and cons of what she’s about to do. Diego makes the decision for her.

The kiss is soft at first, his moustache tickling her upper lip, the sensation of it weird but not unpleasant. She wraps her arms around his neck as he puts his hands on both sides of her face, deepening it into a full blown make out session. Y/N opens her mouth, allowing Diego to slip his tongue in, eliciting a quiet moan from her.

Their current position is uncomfortable, as Diego sits pressed up against the sink with Y/N crouched down in front of him. He pushes her back slightly, so they can both stand, never stopping the kiss. The room feels hot, as they walk out of the bathroom and aim for the bed, Diego sitting down on the edge with Y/N straddling his lap. She quickly removes her top and bra, drawing the man’s attention to her breasts. He moves away from her lips, traveling down until he’s eye level with her chest. He takes one in his mouth, sucking harshly, while his hand massages the other.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N sighs, throwing her head back.

She grabs his hair, pulling a fistful of it, forcing Diego to suck harder. She moves her hips back and forth on his crotch, desperately wanting to get out of the rest of her clothes.

As if reading her mind, Diego pulls back, moving them both higher up the bed, quickly removing his pants as Y/N does the same. Now completely nude, the pair become a sweaty mess of body and limbs, wrapping themselves around each other, and making sounds the other occupants in the motel can definitely hear.

Diego’s thrusts are meticulous, as he hooks one of his arms under her leg, pushing in and out, knowing all the right places to make Y/N scream out in ecstasy. He kisses her lips, her neck, her chest and her breasts, not wanting to leave out any part of her. He makes her feel wanted, admired, needed. Like he can’t breathe without her. It feels good. They carry on into the night, and early morning, for a moment all their problems don’t exist anymore.

***

Y/N wakes up first. Her head is pounding, her mouth is dry, and there’s a dull ache between her legs. She grumbles, the memories of last night rushing back to her in an instant. Some good, some bad, and some unforgettable. A small part of her is consumed with guilt, knowing what she did could be seen as hypocritical.

But as Diego’s strong arm wrapped around her waist pulls her closer to his chest, snuggling into her neck, that feeling washes away. In some selfish way, they both needed this. An eye for an eye, as most would say. It’s not going to end well, and she knows they’ll have to eventually deal with the consequences the same way Five and Lila did, but for now, the rest of the world can wait a while. Y/N turns around, moving impossibly closer to Diego, the man who made her feel wanted at a time where she didn’t think she was.