#they will never pass up the opportunity to mention the other smells like shit and ass

[cellgatinbo]

abueloier: smells like shit, right here. *sniffs* i smell huelo caca.

ghost: you smell LIKE SHIII- [vanishes]

abueloier: (startled) OH! oh, no, i'm hallucinating-

slime: (high-pitched) wow! you sure are hallucinating a lot, mister!

abueloier: yeah...

[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

[frenchkisstheabyss]

୨୧ tell me a secret ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: roommate!hyunjin x chubby!fem!reader x roommate!yeji

୨୧ Genre: fluff/smut

୨୧ Summary: Stuck in the house with nothing to do on a Friday night, you and your roommates decide to play a game called Tell Me A Secret. Similar to Truth or Dare, the rules are simple. Do the dare or spill your secrets. It's just an innocent, fun way to pass the time. Well, maybe not so innocent.

୨୧ Word Count: 2.3kish

୨୧ Warnings: ✨ first and foremost, if you don't wanna be with a girl I humbly thank you for stopping by but the exit is to your left ✨ fingering, oral sex (f receiving & you're the one giving), a lil nipple play, a lil roughness, finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mention of masturbation (m & f), hyunjin has listened to you masturbate btw, yeji's a lil jealous, threesome (obviously, babes), the hwangs share you but don't hook up w/ each other, spanking, pet names (pretty girl, baby), low key soft dom vibes, heavy make out sesh.

୨୧ A/N: I received this as a request from a darling anon so here we are. I think it's super sweet that I got this request because I never get them for girl groups so yas kween. Anyway, I hope you love it my sweet anon and everyone else too!

“Aaaah! No way! Ew! I can’t watch this!” Yeji shrieks, covering her eyes with the blanket.

Standing at the side of your bed, Hyunjin swishes a raw egg around in a glass. The three of you had every intention of going to a party tonight but an unexpected storm had other plans. So here you all are, lounging around in your pajamas daring each other to drink raw eggs. 

“You won’t do it!” you taunt, fiddling with the ears of the teddy bear in your lap, “Just tell us a secret.” Yeji stretches out across the bed, resting her head on your thigh. “Yeah, tell us. Did you actually hook up with that girl who works at the cafe?” she asks, scrunching her nose up, “The girl who smells like ketchup.” 

You seize the opportunity to double down on poor Hyunjin. It’s one of the many unspoken rules of the apartment. “She does smell like ketchup. They don’t even have ketchup there.” “Shut up!” Hyunjin huffs, placing a hand on his hip. He stares down at the raw egg, his stomach turning the longer he drags out the inevitable.

Tilting his head back, he brings the cup to his lips and—

“Shit, I can’t do it.” 

“I knew it” Yeji gloats, slyly moving her head further onto your lap. She turns to give you the cutest pouty face. The one that you just know means she wants you to play in her hair. You give in without thinking, that’s what you always do with Yeji. How could you ever say no to a girl like her?

Twirling her silken strands around your fingertips, you try to remind yourself that this is your best friend. Your roommate. Yes she’s been cozying up to you a lot more lately but it’s nothing. Just like the thumping in your chest whenever she takes your hand or kisses your cheek. It’s nothing. 

“Okay, so, uh, I didn’t hook up with the ketchup girl but…” Hyunjin sets the glass down on the dresser and pauses for dramatic effect, “Seungmin did. That’s a secret right?” You and Yeji gasp in unison, the shock of Hyunjin’s betrayal rocking you to your core.

“You did not just—you’re a terrible!” you laugh, shaking your head. “You should be ashamed” Yeji agrees, reveling in the regret on Hyunjin’s face. Hyunjin flips you the middle finger, “Fine then. Fuck you guys, I’m going to bed.” He isn’t really mad, both of you know it, and he isn’t really going anywhere but you entrain his tantrum anyway.

“Jinnie, come on. We were just joking. Stay” you beg, catching him by the wrist as he goes to grab his phone. Yeji’s pouty face may have the power to bring anyone to their knees but so does yours and Hyunjin’s nowhere near immune to it. He doesn’t want to be. 

He forces you to suffer for a few more seconds, a scowl fixed on his face, before giving in. “Fine but it’s your turn now” he says, hopping onto the bed, “Tell us a secret or do the dare.” “Well you have to tell me what the dare is first.” Yeji and Hyunjin turn to each other, striking up a silent conversation only they can understand.

As close as the three of you are, the connection they have is near telepathic and has meant trouble for you since the day you moved in. Yeji sits up, her strawberry gloss tinted lips mere inches from your face, “Kiss us.” 

Suddenly your internal temperature skyrockets, making the room unbearably hot. “K-kiss you?” you stutter, “On the cheek you mean?” Hyunjin cracks a devious smile, “Not quite.” You look to Yeji and back to Hyunjin. Back to Yeji. Back to Hyunjin. This is obviously a joke. “Right, ha ha ha. So funny. You got your joke in, Jinnie. I’m sorry I teased you, okay?”

“He’s not joking” Yeji persists, petting your cheek to bring your focus back to her, “We’ve all thought about it. Don’t lie and say you haven’t.” You could say you haven’t but she’s right, it’d be a lie. One of the biggest lies you’d ever tell in your life. The fantasies you’ve had of being with them, separately and together, are filthy enough to make a porn star blush.

How they look at you, it’s like they know how often you’ve wondered what it’d be like to feel their lips…hands…bodies…on yours. It dawns on you that maybe they can read your mind too. Shit.

“So,” Hyunjin hums, moving in close enough to pin you between the two of them, “What’s it gonna be then?” 

So, what’s it gonna be then?

The kiss.

The tiniest nervous peck on the lips. One for each of them. But you kissed Hyunjin for a split second longer than you did Yeji, she swears it. So one more for her, this one much deeper than the last, her arm coming around your waist to caress the softness of your hips. But Yeji’s gotten too greedy, the excitement of finally having you right where she wants you making it hard to let you go.

So one more for Hyunjin who doesn’t let you catch your breath for more than a moment before he captures you in another kiss, his hands slipping beneath your thin tank top to delight in the fullness of your figure. Yeji plants kisses down your shoulder, pulling your shorts aside just enough to get a peek at the lace panties beneath.

She remembers when you bought those. You were out shopping together and you asked which pair you should get to wear for some guy you were dating at the time. What a waste, she’d thought, that an asshole like that got to have you. You feel her smile as her hands dip into your shorts. It’s her turn to have you now. 

“You want more, baby?” Hyunjin asks, breathlessly, running his thumb across the hardened bud that pokes through the material of your bra. “Mmm, yes. More” you whine, your entire body reacting to his touch. He grins at how sensitive you are, closing two fingers around the bud to pinch it until he’s swallowing your needy moans.

He hears them when you think you’re home alone, the low hum of your vibrator audible through your bedroom door. Standing in that hallway, his cock throbbing in his hand, precum pooling in his palm, all he wanted was to taste those moans as they left your lips. Now that he has, he’s positive he’ll get addicted. They’re far more delicious than he ever imagined.

“Open up for me” Yeji whispers, tickling your inner thigh, “Let me feel how wet you are for us.” You do exactly as you’re told, spreading your legs to grant her fingers access to the juices soaking their way through your panties. “Aww, baby, you’re such a mess” she coos, tucking your panties to the side to stroke your slit, “Jinnie, come here. You’ve gotta feel this.”

With one hand still toying with your nipple, he brings the other between your legs. Yeji drags hers upward, coating your clit in your own arousal as Hyunjin sinks a finger into your warmth. Your back arches, lust coursing through your veins, and any remnants of your former shyness falls away. Your mouth is at Yeji’s again, your tongues sloppily entangled in one another's.

It’s almost rhythmic, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as your hand ventures under her shirt to caress her breasts. Yeji hates bras, she thinks they’re an old world torture device, and her refusal to wear them has always made you happy. Especially now. They’re so plush and tender, fitting perfectly into your palms as if they were meant to be there.

You reach back to trace the outline of the bulge forming in Hyunjin’s sweatpants. He groans when you apply pressure, your fingers wrapping around as much of him as you can. You descend into a sea of moans, ravenously reaching for any part of each other you can. Clothing’s shed between kisses, between glossy eyed cries of ecstasy, until the three of you are completely naked, bodies intertwined.

Yeji lays back on the bed, her head nestled comfortably on your pillow, and watches Hyunjin play with you. He has you positioned on your knees facing her as he kneels behind you, one arm tucked beneath your tits and the other around your waist. He holds you close to his chest, fingering you at a merciless pace. “Jinnie, oh, fuck. So good” you moan, rocking your hips to feel him deeper.

Hyunjin leans into your ear, his breath tickling the tiny hairs on your neck. “Is it good, baby? Hmm? I make you feel good?” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard, his need for you bringing out an aggression that has you clenching even tighter than you already were. Yeji licks her lips, catching a glimpse of the way your juices glisten on Hyunjin’s fingers.

“Can I taste?” she asks, parting her legs to run her expensively manicured fingers through her folds. What’s between her thighs is nothing short of a work of art. She has the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen and it’s dripping all over your sheets. You’ll never wash them again. Hyunjin eases his fingers out of your core, raising them to your lips. You take them into your mouth, sucking them clean before leaning down to kiss Yeji.

“Mmm, such a tasty little cunt” she hums, her knuckles bumping your clit as she rubs her own. Snatching her by the wrist, you bring her fingers to your lips and run your tongue over them. She tastes amazing. Good enough to eat. “I’m not the only one who’s tasty” you smile, this new side of you making her blush.

Hyunjin grabs you by the hips, pulling you towards him so that your ass rests in his lap and your face hovers just above Yeji’s core. He slaps your ass one cheek at a time, far too in love with the way it jiggles. “Hyunjin!” you giggle, jumping a bit at the sting of his slaps, “Cut it out. I’m trying to eat here.” He aligns himself with your entrance, stretching you with his thick tip before stopping to watch you squirm.

Yeji snakes her fingers through your hair, her clit twitching in anticipation. You waste no time plunging your tongue into her, your face buried between her legs. She tastes even better this way, walls fluttering around your tongue. Hyunjin thrusts into you and your knees almost give out. “No, no, no. None of that” he scolds, slapping your ass harder this time, “Stay up for me so I can fuck you the way you deserve.”

Another thrust and you’re squealing into Yeji’s pussy. The vibrations are heavenly, heightening the feeling of your tongue flicking at her g spot. Your bodies sync together effortlessly. Every snap of Hyunjin’s hips. Every light suck of Yeji’s clit. Every tug of your hair and moan she sends flowing through the air. Everything builds into the next, taking the three of you beyond your limits.

“Look at me” Yeji mewls, cupping your cheeks to lift your face up. She wishes she could take a picture of you like this, kitten licking her slit with those bright beautiful eyes of yours fixed on her. “I-I…cum…gonna—” You purse your lips around her clit, circling it with the tip of your tongue while you suck it harder the closer she gets.

Hyunjin kisses up your back, pressing so deep into you that you begin to tremble. Your gaze remains locked on Yeji and hers on you. You see her body tense, a fleeting look of shock washing over her face before her body’s spasming. She rides your face, eyes rolling back as she floods your tongue with her cum.

No matter which direction she twists in you try to follow her but it’s hell when every ridge of Hyunjin’s cock is flush against your walls. He throws his head back, finding it difficult to wrap his mind around how good you feel. It’s almost too much. The fullness in your lower stomach grows the deeper he strokes and you just know you can’t hold out any longer. Yeji knows too, holding your hands as she floats down from her high. 

“Cum for us pretty girl.”

“Fuck, yes, let me feel you.”

The sound of their voices melded together is sexier than it has any right being. In an instant you lose control of your limbs, your eyes falling shut as you’re overwhelmbed with pleasure. Hyunjin pulls back a little, sliding you up and down to see how completely coated in you he is. Watching himself disappear into you, your cream decorating his cock, pushes him over the edge.

Just as the fullness inside of you begins to calm down, he’s pumping more than enough cum into you to bring it back twice as strong as before. But you couldn’t handle another orgasm if you wanted to. You’re ready to collapse. Hyunjin rubs your back, comforting your weakened form before his own body gives out on him. You roll over onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief of what just happened.

What does this mean for your friendship? Will this change things between you? Or will you just wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened? As your collective gasps for air quiet, a sense of peace falls across the room. Yeji scoots in closer to you, throwing a leg across your waist and Hyunjin snuggles up to your belly.

“You know…” Hyunjin mumbles, his eyes barely open, “You never actually chose.” Filing through the haze in your brain, you realize that he’s right.

“Uh, hmm, I’ll tell you a secret then I guess.”

“Oh, sweetie” Yeji sighs, playfully pinching your cheek, “I think we already know.”

[viburnt]

Hiya, sweetpie! ♥ I've been thinking about being in a relationship with Alpha Dabi and Omega Shigaraki (hope you haven't explored this idea previously)

Hi, Douma! Thank you for requesting love <3 I'm very happy to see you here. I had never explored ABO before, so this was really fun!

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW, sex mentions. It's kinda implied that it's bit of a poly relationship since I wasn't sure if you wanted them separated or together at the same time.

Alpha Dabi and Omega Shigaraki with you

• Omega Shigaraki didn't quite had the opportunity to nest as a kid, which is bad considering all Omegas start nesting at a young age. He is not very sure of how to do it, nor if he is doing it right. Tenko likes to take your clothes from time to time, specially shirts and hoodies, to build his little safe space: pillowcases, sheets, blankets... he just takes what he can and tries to make it pass as a nest. It's endearing, really, specially when you find him curled up and sleeping after a long evening gaming. You keep a secret photo album of him sleeping.

• He is very sensitive to your scent, normally asking you not to wear perfumes because he likes how you smell. It bothers him that Dabi is an Alpha because his scent tends to compete with yours. Omega Tomura is also very whiny and needy when it comes to you, specially during his heats. He drags you to his nest and cuddles you to his heart's content, even if it's embarrassing for him (of course sometimes it'smore than cuddling).

• Talking about heats with Shigaraki, you'll be busy for a while. Dabi hates when Shigaraki gets his heat because his own hormones go bonkers, and Shiggy doesn't let Dabi near you until he's done. You spend a lot of silent nights making that man whine and cry while you satiate his need of uh- yeah.

• You have to clean the stuff of his nest with regularity after his heats because it just ends up being a nasty mess-

• Alpha Dabi also has his perks, specially when it comes to being protective of you. He is shameless whenever he talks about you, sending dirty smirks and making innuendos when a friend (or Shigaraki) ask where you are: "Oh, they're just sleeping in my bed. If you catch my drift..." "Last time I saw them they are between my legs, haven't seen them today-"

• Dabi doesn't understand Shigaraki's need of a nest but he tries to be nice about it since you insist. He often asks if you need a nest too (that, of course, depends on your type). If you happen to be an Alpha or a Beta, he'll just tease by saying "he'll build you a nest to fuck you nice and good"; if you're an Omega, he's more responsible and actually tries to make and effort with your nest (fails, but he tries).

• Touya is the kind of Alpha that is always rubbing on you, he doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. It doesn't matter that Shigaraki complains about his scent on your body, he will make sure everyone can smell him on you.

• His ruts are... intense. You need quite the endurance to stand his stamina, and he will not waste a second to take what's his by right. During this time, he doesn't allow Shigaraki to spend a lot of time with you, often leading to arguments that are solved with long steamy make-out sessions and too many hands on your body.

• Alpha Dabi likes to make you wear his jacket when other Alphas are around (specially if you happen to be an omega), he thinks you look ridiculously cute with it. Also the kind that gives you dumb nicknames thinking they are cool but they're lame and sappy.

• Being stuck in the middle with these two sometimes allows you to see some unique dynamics you never expected to see between the two. Alpha Dabi and Omega Shigaraki tend to act like brothers from time to time: they fight for your attention, one wants to shit on the other, they snitch when they make a mistake to be your favorite... "OK, who left the toilet seat up again?" "Dabi-" "YOU FUCKIN RAT-"

• When you're not around, they tend to annoy each other with the stupidest things. Curiously enough, they sometimes work together to do nice things for you (or mischief). It's also hard to keep the place tidy with two gremlins like them.

• Sex with them is also complex. It's a constant power battle between the three, even if it's not what you guys want. Dabi wants to top you, while Shigaraki wants to do it too, and if you ever want to top it's the latter who wants to be selfish with your ministrations. Omega Tomura is very... eager in terms of you domming him. He'll of course enjoy the power trip that mounting you gives him, but he prefers it when you make him cum until it's unbearable and some tears roll down his cheeks.

• Alpha Dabi teases Tomura a lot for this, but low-key enjoys having two bitches whining under him. He'll push that knot of his inside you until you're practically trying to push him away.

"Fuck, you're so tight-" Dabi groaned, shoving his dick inside you while his hand pressed your face into the mattress. He'd been fucking you senseless for a hot minute, his rut being unbearable without your inviting body. Shigaraki was watching the whole scene display as he palmed his own cock, whining and whimpering with every carnal sound that escaped your lips. "S-shiggy, look at me- Oh, God!- Look at me, baby." You panted, your voice cracking as Dabi's knot finally reached its rightful place. "Ha- You look so sexy filled with me. Can't wait to do it again." Dabi growled, biting your skin in a territorial way.

You didn't know if it was good or bad luck to have those two with their respective heat and rut at the same time.

The omega seemed happy with that arrangement though.

[btswrckd]

Secrets and Lies

Mafia member!Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Part of the War of Hearts universe! You've spent the last 10 years not really knowing just who your best and only friend actually is or just obsessed he is with you, but when an unexpected threat emerges from your mother's past, he's given an opportunity that he just can't pass up.

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of guns and other weapons, mention of death, mention of obsessive behavior, Namjoon's kind of a prick to an old one-night stand

A/N: Ta-da!! It's here!! I'm sure there's more warnings I missed and I'm sorry!! As you guys may know, I've been working on 3 separate fics for the War of Hearts verse and I'm still working on them, but I wasn't sure whose story I wanted to put out first. As I'm bouncing back and forth between the stories, I've finally figured out the order in which I want to put them out. Please enjoy guys!

“Are you going to tell me what, exactly, we’re doing here?” Hoseok yawns from the passenger seat of Namjoon’s sleek black Hyundai. Why Namjoon thought of such a car as “inconspicuous”, Hoseok will never know. Honestly, he was pretty pissed that Namjoon had dragged him out of the house at 4 o’clock in the morning to watch random people come and go from some 24 hour diner that sits just before entering city limits. But when the door opens for the hundredth time and a pile of messy hair sitting in a bun atop the head of a beautiful girl comes bouncing out, he rolls his eyes. Now he knows what the hell they were waiting around for. 

“Seriously, Namjoon,” Hoseok groans and burrows into the heated seat. “Can’t you stalk your girlfriend without me?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon hisses at him. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you are stalking her, correct?” 

“Hobi,” Namjoon warns again, “shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t hear whatever it is that Hoseok mumbles under his breath, simply shaking his head and turning his attention back to the waitress who’d just finished a 12 hour shift. Without the top of a messy bun flouncing about, he’d have lost you in the mass of cars you were weaving through. You look tired, he notes, exhausted as you slump against the driver door of the beat up old car that you’d been saving up for. He never liked when you took the bus; too many strange men would look your way far too long for his liking. But he didn’t think a car like that would suffice either, even though it meant tracking you was a little easier. 

Your head thumps against the steel door of the small car you’d salvaged from a junkyard. “Still,” you remind yourself, “a junker car is better than no car at all. Definitely smells better than the bus.” It was the third 12 hour shift you’ve worked in a row and still had another 3 to go. To say you were exhausted would be putting it lightly. You’re worn out, both physically and mentally, but you have to keep going. Have to keep making money. Have to pay off the medical bills that only seem to keep racking up. The sound of an obnoxious ringtone blares in the dark parking lot and you jump in place as you recognize it as your own. 

“Shit,” you hiss, fumbling for your cell phone only to find the caller I.D. belonging to none other than your ex-boyfriend. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for him taking on the task of being your mother’s caretaker, it’s that you wish he’d stop trying to use her dwindling health as an excuse to try and get back together. “Minseok,” you answer, vexed. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Minseok snaps back, taking a deep breath to steady himself. After all, catching an attitude with you when he’s trying so hard to get you back is not going to earn him any brownie points. “Hey, so, you just got off work right? Why don’t you stop by and we can have breakfast? Your mom’s been asking to see you.”

“In time,” is all you can say. It’s all you’ve been saying since you were a teenager. Your mother is all you have left and to keep blowing off chances to visit her breaks your heart a little more each time. You love her so much, but the thought of seeing the frail body in place of what once was a strong and healthy woman makes you want to cry. You don’t know how long she has left or why you keep avoiding her, knowing damn well that she’ll be gone soon. You only know that distracting yourself with work doesn’t make you feel as helpless as sitting at home waiting for the inevitable phone call. Minseok is babbling about something, but you don’t catch what it is when the sound of approaching footsteps has you reaching for the pepper spray attached to your key ring. 

Namjoon is amused when you whirl around, pepper spray at the ready even if it is with a shaking grip. He laughs as your shocked face morphs to one of anger and embarrassment. Clearly, you hadn’t expected to be snuck up on in the middle of the parking lot of your job, and that makes him uneasy. You should always be aware of your surroundings. “What are you doing with that, you nut case?”

“Shut the hell up, Joon!” You kick at the loose rocks on the pavement, sending them flying in his direction. “You scared the crap out of me, asshole. What are you doing lurking around a dark parking lot anyways?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He tilts his head playfully, though there’s no hint of amusement in his tone anymore. You should have gotten in your car and left a long time ago, yet something or someone, namely Minseok, kept you from doing so. He recognized the look on your face when you’d looked at the phone screen. Even from across the lot, he knew who was stupid enough to bother you after a long week of working. With a roll of his eyes, he takes the phone from your hand and ignores your protests.

“Minseok,” he says into the phone, skillfully dodging your attempts to pry it away from him. “How are you?”

“I’m uh,” Minseok sputters, “good. I’m good, I guess. What are you um, what are you doing with Y/N?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really. Just came to pick her up from work. Yeah, she finally scrapped that heap of junk and decided to ride in style. With me. Goodbye, Minseok.” Namjoon ends the call, carelessly tossing the phone back into your waiting hands. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nods down at you. “Heading home?”

“Trying to.” You prop a hand on your hip and he groans because he knows exactly what’s about to come. “You know I hate it when you do that. Getting under Minseok’s skin does absolutely nothing for you, so why do you do it? And you know he’s the primary caretaker for my mom. Stop trying to piss him off.”

“You never get after him when he pisses me off,” he points out. It was never a secret how much he despised Minseok, especially when you dated that little prick. Nothing makes Namjoon’s blood boil more than the image of Minseok taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing your skin, touching you wherever he pleased and you allowed. “Anyways, I wasn’t trying to get under his skin. If he feels threatened by me then it’s not really my fault. And what the hell is he still doing taking care of your mom? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Not everyone at the rehab center knows we dated,” you explain, missing the flash of anger in his eyes. “He’s the only one that mom trusts.”

“You know I can take care of her too.” He braces his large palms against the car door, trapping you between the metal and his body. “I’ve offered a thousand times, Y/N, you always say no.”

“I’ve burdened you enough.” 

Namjoon sees the brief downward tilt of your lips, a frown you try so hard to hide from him. He won’t have it. Tucking his finger beneath your chin, he tilts it up to look you in the eye. “You’re not a burden. Neither is your mother. I’ve told you before that all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

“I just want her to be better,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the floor as they flood with tears. There’s no doubt in your mind that if you were to ask Namjoon for private care, he would gladly take care of it without expecting anything in return. That’s how it’s always been with him though. Always giving but never taking. According to his close friend, Hoseok, that’s how Namjoon’s grown up. You’re not entirely sure what his home life was like when he was a child, but his parents seemed to have done a wonderful job raising him. You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met anyone like him in all your 28 years of life. 

Namjoon’s finger becomes firm in making your eyes meet his once more. His mouth tightens into a thin line and you know he’s trying to hold back his frustration. When he met you in the hallway at the hospital nearly 10 years ago, you’d just learned of your mother’s diagnosis. To say you were distraught would be sugarcoating it. You were absolutely devastated. He remembers how 18-year-old you had slid down the wall with body wracking sobs, but you’d tried to hide it as your mother was just a few feet behind a closed door. You had wailed into your knees after drawing them as close to your body as possible. He had just rounded the corner of the hall, hissing into his phone about the absolute fucking disaster that was Hoseok’s assignment, when he’d seen you and he felt like time had slowed. Something about you, about the heart wrenching way your body curled up that made him feel…protective. It was his job to protect Taehyung, sure, but you were an entirely different story. You had nothing to offer him. No kind of incentive for his comfort. And yet, when he’d walked over and reached out his hand, you’d taken it. Taken it so damn easily and allowed yourself to be comforted by a complete stranger. It was always a mystery to him, how you’d melted into his body without noticing the blood staining his white dress shirt.

“Joon?” your voice cuts through the hazy fog that was his trip down memory lane. Blinking back your tears, you cup his face to bring him back to reality. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that when Namjoon spaced out, it took a great deal to bring him back. But not with you. Never with you. Because, somehow, your voice and touch, and yours alone could bring him back in a matter of seconds. When his brown eyes finally clear, you smile softly at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, taking your wrists in his large hands and running his thumbs along the veins of them. A smirk plays on his lips when he notices you shiver. Not from the cold, but from him. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you. Not the other way around. What was it that Minseok wanted anyway?”

“To have dinner. Or breakfast. Or, I don’t really know, but I know it had to do with eating in the same vicinity as each other,” you sigh and slump against the cool metal of your car. “I’m not exactly up for it, but I guess I should go. He says mom’s been asking for me, but I–.”

“What an asshole,” comes a familiar voice. One you aren’t exactly expecting, so when you jump, Hoseok’s deep chuckle cuts through the parking lot. You always wondered how he managed to stalk around without making a single noise. You feel Namjoon tense and tighten his hold on your wrists. 

The taller man turns to his friend with a snarl on his face. “A little warning next time, jackass.” 

Hoseok shrugs and purses his lips in an innocent way that makes you giggle. A grin splits his face as Namjoon scowls at him for being able to make you laugh when he himself couldn’t. “It’s late. Or early. Or fucking…whatever. Can we just go now? We kind of have someplace to be, you know.” 

And by someplace, Hoseok means waiting outside of Choi Hyunwoo’s apartment to grab his ass and get back to Taehyung. He quirks his brow up at Namjoon, rolling his eyes when Namjoon ignores him to face you. He turns his back to give you guys some privacy, but fuck if he’ll stand there all day watching Namjoon make goo goo eyes at you. 

“Don’t let Minseok guilt you into seeing him,” Namjoon says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I understand that you feel it over not seeing your mother as often as you think you should. It’s why I’m more than happy to set her up with private home care. That way you can also cut down on your part time jobs. They’re wearing you down.”

“Real charming, Joon,” you snort and shove him away. “But you know I can’t take you up on that offer. It wouldn’t feel right if I couldn’t at least help you pay for her care.”

“Then, for the time being,” he says through grit teeth, “at least let me stave off Minseok.” He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and haul your chest to his. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle and you blush. “Hobi, do me a favor. Take a picture of this.”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he was talking about because he winds his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up, and pretends to slants his lips against yours. You inhale sharply at the contact, fingers digging into his jacket in a death grip, and oddly, found it far too easy to lean into his faux kiss. Your eyes meet the intensity of his brown orbs, bouncing back and forth as if searching for something. Reason, perhaps? Or signs of insanity. Because why the hell else would Namjoon go to such lengths just to get Minseok off your back? 

Namjoon’s gaze deepens, his pupils dilating from the proximity. He can’t seem to remember that it was meant to be fake. He was meant to look like he was kissing you, not actually doing it. But he’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t want to know what your chapstick tastes like. If it’s the usual, nauseating taste. Or if this is one of the rare times you’d reached for the strawberry flavored lip balm. He almost chuckles as he imagines you rummaging through your bedside drawer and plucking your least favorite flavor in your haste to get to work on time. He always tells you to toss the hated flavor in the trash, but you, for whatever reason, never do. Apparently, you only keep it in “just in case” situations. Situations such as running late for work and not having the time to turn your apartment upside down in search of the usual, worn down tube of chapstick. 

Distantly, you recognize the faint sound of a cell phone camera going off, but when Namjoon sweeps the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, your thighs clench together as the feel of the roughly callused finger sets your body on fire. It’s such a simple gesture and yet, you find yourself unable to catch your breath. When he pulls on your lip as he traces a path down to grip your chin, you rise to the tips of your toes in anticipation. You’re far too ready to kiss him, and a part of you panics when a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. You flush, embarrassed to have been caught leaning into his touch so shamelessly. You consider punching him as you usually do when he manages to fluster you, but then he presses in further, his own plump lips skimming across your mouth in an almost kiss that has you panting with need. Your eyelids become heavy and they close as pure, unadulterated desire pounds deep in your bones and your fingers card through his soft hair. You feel him shiver against the feel of your nails gently scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Namjoon knows he has to gain control of the situation soon. It was spiraling, and quickly, and he was more than willing to allow it to happen. But he doesn’t want the first of many kisses to come, be one that stems from him trying to piss off your ex-boyfriend. Because there will be more to come. He will taste you properly and he will continue to do so until you say otherwise. You, and only you, have the kind of control over him that no one ever has. Not even Taehyung. 

“Namjoon,” you whisper and you swear an actual groan leaves his mouth because your lips bump against his as you speak. “Please,” you beg even though you’re sure this is an entirely bad idea. Heat pools in your lower belly as you press up against him, his thigh slotting between the apex of your legs, a noise of excitement leaving your throat as he leans in.

“I’m only going to stand here for so long to watch you guys pretend to swap spit,” Hoseok comments in irritation. “It’s hot, sure, but we’ve got more important things to do, Namjoon.”

When Namjoon parts from you, the both of you are panting, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand moves from the nape of your neck to slide down along the line of your jaw. His thumb sweeps across your cheek softly and he takes his time to look over your flushed face and heaving chest. Your eyes are still closed, making his chest swell with pride when one shift of his body makes your fingers tighten in his hair. 

You don’t even notice you’ve done it, not until you finally open your eyes to find that you are the one keeping him in place. Quickly, you release him and try to create some distance, but you only bump into your car door. You want to be angry with him. You want to question what the hell he was thinking. But most of all, you want to understand why it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. You’d known him since you were 18 and never once had it crossed your mind that he’d ever find you attractive. The same couldn’t be said for you, though, because you’d always harbored a small crush on him. You’d thought dating Minseok would quell that ache for Namjoon’s attention, but it really didn’t and you kind of felt bad when a small part of you wondered what Namjoon’s hand would feel like in place of Minseok’s on your skin. 

“Send this to him,” Namjoon’s deep voice startles you while he holds out Hoseok’s phone. He watches, amused, as you stare at the picture on the phone. He can see your mind working in overtime as you process the seemingly loving embrace Hoseok managed to capture. “Minseok’s always thought you and I were together at some point, or even hooked up, so it’s not that odd to see us like this.”

“No, you can’t!” you squeak and try to snatch the phone from his hand. That attempt fails as he easily maneuvers out of reach. “Don’t send that, Namjoon!”

Hoseok snatches the phone from Namjoon’s hand and stalks off back to the car. He’s mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make sense of and slams the car door once he’s inside. Sinking down into the seat, he leans his head against the window to rest comfortably in hopes of getting some sleep. 

“I have to go.” Namjoon sounds reluctant to leave as he steps away. He knows Hoseok already sent the picture to Minseok so there was no backing out now. In fact, Minseok should be calling you any second and he wishes he could stick around for that conversation, but Hoseok was right. If he didn’t leave now, then they’d miss Hyunwoo and the last thing they need is Taehyung tearing into them for screwing up. “Minseok will be calling soon. Ignore it, go home, get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

“But, I–.” you try to protest as he walks off and right on cue, your phone rings with irritating familiarity. “Damn it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you fucking with your own feelings just to piss off Minseok?” Hoseok questions Namjoon on the ride back home. He pays no mind to the muffled groaning coming from Hyunwoo lying on the floor of the van they’d swapped into later that morning. “It’s only going to get worse from here now. You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles from the driver seat. He can’t say Hoseok’s wrong, he hardly ever is, but Namjoon isn’t willing to admit that. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as the memory of your lips and your touch, it all comes to the forefront of his mind and makes his chest tight. He had hoped that you did as he said and went home to get some sleep, but one quick peek at your Snapchat story revealed a breakfast plate filled with eggs and toast smothered in strawberry jam. Your mother’s favorite.

“You’re still pissed off that she went to breakfast with Minseok?”

“She didn’t go with Minseok. She went to see her mom.”

“Right,” Hoseok hums delightedly, “her mother. Who is currently being taken care of by who, again? Oh, right. Minseok.”

Namjoon uses the rearview mirror to glance back at his friend with a scowl. He knew he should have left his dumb ass back at home with Yoongi after he helped them pull the van from one of his family’s many junk yards. “You can join Hyunwoo in his misery, or you can shut the fuck up.”

Hoseok tosses his head back in howling laughter as Namjoon pulls through the security gates of Taehyung’s home. Pulling up to the front of the house, he gets out of the car to meet Taehyung and Yoongi at the passenger side door. He draws open the side door to reveal Hyunwoo bound, gagged, and covered in bruises. “Hoseok went a little…overboard.”

Yoongi’s low toned whistle makes him wince because he knows that Yoongi knows his lie was complete bullshit. “Damn, RM, you really did a number on this guy.”

“He tried to run,” Namjoon says as if it’s that simple of an explanation. When Yoongi shoots him a knowing look, he rolls his eyes towards the sky. That was, in fact, not what had happened and he had used it as a not so believable excuse to beat the shit out of Hyunwoo. It was a means to vent his frustration and Hoseok had let it happen without complaint. Then again, Hoseok never really complained about any  kind of violence. Save for the few domestic ones he’d seen over the years. Oh, he’d always let his knife or gun do the talking then. 

Taehyung climbs into the passenger seat and taps on the window as a sign for them to hurry the hell up before his wife comes storming outside. His phone rings while Yoongi jumps in the back with Hoseok and Hyunwoo. He answers it with a smirk on his face while Namjoon reclaims his seat behind the wheel. 

Namjoon isn’t entirely sure what the conversation is about but it was pretty amusing to watch Hyunwoo lose his shit. When Taehyung throws out an innuendo that clearly has his wife panicking, he tries to hide his smile as Taehyung pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it.

“She hung up on me,” Taehyung comments in disbelief. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Nabi would hang up on him after his little quip, or the fact that she hadn’t entirely forgiven him for their fight last night. But if there’s one thing Namjoon’s come to learn in the decades of friendship with his six brothers, it’s that they’re all the smartest people he knows…and the dumbest. It’s a good balance of brains and stupidity, it keeps things fresh. 

“I’m shocked she didn’t do more than yell at you last night,” Namjoon laughs. “Or that you didn’t kill Yoongi for being an instigator.”

“What good would it do me to be rid of him?” Taehyung catches Yoongi’s eye in the mirror. “But he is lucky I didn’t at least shoot him for it.”

“Jimin was the one who made it worse by giving you the spare key to your guys’ room,” Yoongi defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “Did it not get worse after you opened that door and Nabi nearly tore your head off?”

“Jimin’s not out of the woods either.” Taehyung scrolls through his phone, swiping through picture after picture that Hoseok had sent him earlier. Each of them include Hyunwoo stalking down various streets in his attempt to follow one of Nabi’s best friends. He thumbs through each one until…

“Is this a picture of you kissing Y/N, Namjoon?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot so far up that they nearly disappear into his hairline. 

“Hoseok!” Namjoon barks back at his friend. “I said send it to Minseok, not broadcast it to everyone we know.”

Hoseok shrugs from his spot in the back. “As I recall, I said I wasn’t going to stand around all day while you guys made out. But you made me wait anyway. So, that’s on you.”

“My god, Namjoon, you really didn’t hold back, did you?” Yoongi is too busy peeking over Taehyung’s shoulder to notice Namjoon holding up his middle finger. 

“Clearly, she didn’t either,” Taehyung notes, turning slightly so Yoongi can get a better look. 

“Stop it,” Namjoon hisses, reaching out to take the phone from Taehyung. “You guys are like fucking children. It’s a wonder how Nabi can stand the two of you.”

“You’re awfully angry for someone who kissed the girl he’s been pining after for 10 years,” comes Yoongi’s voice.

“I didn’t really kiss her,” Namjoon growls low in his throat and contemplates shoving Yoongi out of the moving van. “And I haven’t been fucking pining, you prick.”

“Someone’s pretty fucking testy this morning,” his senior hisses back, having had enough of Namjoon’s pissy attitude. 

“He’s just pissed that she spent the morning with Minsoek,” Hoseok not so helpfully supplies. “Apparently the picture didn’t do much to deter the poor bastard from asking her out again. Remind me why it ended between them again?”

Namjoon grips the wheel so tight that his arm shakes with barely restrained anger. Your relationship with Minseok ended on a relatively civil note. Something that always bothered Namjoon because it would have been easier for you to let go of him, or for Minseok to let go of you if things had just ended badly. But that hadn’t been the case. At least not from what you’d told him. You’d called him one night and, in an eerily calm voice, explained that Minseok had broken up with you. All of the time spent apart because of your part time jobs and having to tend to your mother had finally made him snap. You’d gone on to say that you weren’t really sure why you’d been so surprised. After all, Namjoon had been hinting at it for months but you’d never taken it seriously. It hadn’t bothered you that Minseok chose to part ways, maybe that’s why it angered Minseok when you didn’t want to reconcile. Maybe a part of him thought and still thinks that you didn’t care for him as much as he was led to believe. 

Good, Namjoon thinks to himself. Good, because fuck Minseok and fuck his selfishness for leaving you at your most vulnerable, and then turning around and hoping to get back together. Namjoon will be damned before that ever happens.

He tunes back into the conversation when it steers to Nabi’s best friend, Soyoung, whom Hyunwoo had been tailing. They inform him that Soyoung can be just as cruel as Nabi if not more, and Hyunwoo seems caught off guard. Namjoon finds it easy to fall into the cruel amusement his boss and friends have at Hyunwoo’s expense. That is, until Yoongi brings up the subject of what you and Minseok could have possibly been up to if you weren’t answering Namjoon’s calls or texts. Namjoon quickly shuts down once more, sneering at Yoongi’s reflection in the mirror.

“Damn,” Hoseok sighs and pockets his switchblade as they come up on Taehyung’s father’s building. “Now you guys have done it. He’ll be pissy the rest of the day now.”

“Us?” Yoongi hisses, pushing Hoseok’s shoulder roughly as they scramble out of the van. “You’re the one who brought it up first, dumbass.”

“You didn’t have to mention that she hasn’t responded, dipshit.”

“Enough,” Taehyung hushes them as they walk through the back doors of his father’s building. He doesn’t often use them, but given how they’re still holding Hyunwoo hostage, he doesn’t really have a choice now. “We’ll talk about this later,” he addresses Namjoon after stepping into the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------

Namjoon thanks whatever higher power that keeps Taehyung occupied with the Seong brothers at lunch so he can thumb through his phone once more. He’s been waiting all fucking day for you to answer his call, which is yet to happen. He knows he said you needed to get sleep, but damn it, he wishes he could go and check on you. That, and the fact that he and Taehyung are still reeling from their earlier argument is on his mind. Taehyung’s plan to put Nabi and Hyunwoo in the same room as each other while giving Hyunwoo the freedom to move about honestly scares Namjoon. It’s clear that Nabi is capable of handling herself against any normal person, but Hyunwoo has grown up in the center of the mafia, being spoiled and coddled so much by his father that he believed he was entitled to anything he wanted. This included Nabi. It makes Namjoon’s stomach turn sour at the thought of putting Nabi in a situation that could potentially destroy her strong mindset. But Taehyung has all the faith in the world in his wife and Namjoon can’t blame him. Nabi is the furthest thing from timid and weak.   

Thunder crashes in the sky above and lightning follows, leaving their entire party to rush inside the cafe Nabi’s chosen to eat at. As they filter inside, Yoongi is hissing underneath his breath about getting caught in the rain while he shucks his jacket off to lay across an empty table. Jungkook and Jimin don’t miss the opportunity to piss him off further by shaking their hair about and spraying water everywhere. 

“Damn it,” Hoseok seethes at the two youngest, resisting the urge to slap one or both of them upside the head. “Can you two be any less civilized?”

“Jungkook!” Namjoon slaps his shoulder after the youngest wrings out his jacket over top of Hoseok’s head. As if Hoseok wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in the city. “Behave.”

Jungkook snorts in response and sets his jacket flat over the same table Yoongi has his splayed about. He’s the only one of them to not notice Taehyung drag Nabi off towards the bathrooms and Namjoon’s eye twitches when the Seong brothers do notice and 4 out of the 5 men move to stop them from following Taehyung and Nabi. It would be alot easier if Jungkook would pull his head out of his ass and get it together. 

“You can’t really expect us to stand here and do nothing?” Joongki, the oldest Seong brother and Nabi’s cousin, tries to shove past Namjoon.

“Unless you want to walk in on a very intimate moment,” Hoseok warns him while wrangling Jeonghan, Nabi’s other cousin, to an empty booth. “I suggest you sit the hell down and leave them be.”

“Nabi will be embarrassed enough without the two of you storming in there.” Yoongi grips Joongki’s shoulder and helps Namjoon shove him into the other side of the booth. “Know and understand this, Taehyung cherishes your cousin more than any of us here. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could stop him from giving her anything and everything she wants and needs. He will not hurt her, he will not coerce her into what’s happening, and he for damn sure will absolutely not touch her without her express permission.”

“Joongki,” Namjoon catches his attention, “I know you’re smarter than this. I know you would not have let Taehyung put Nabi under our roof if you thought we couldn’t keep her safe. None of us would let Taehyung hurt her. Jungkook nearly got himself killed multiple times just for stepping in between their arguments. Don’t lose your cool because you can’t handle that Nabi’s a grown woman.”

Finally, the Seong brothers seem to accept the words Yoongi and Namjoon speak, and Namjoon sighs in relief now that he can check his phone again. Still, nothing from you and it makes his blood boil. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, dialing your phone number and pressing it to his ear. “I swear to God, if you don’t fucking pick up…”

“Yeah?” Your breathless voice hits his ears like a symphony and all of the blood rushes to his groin. You’re met with absolute silence and pull the phone back to check if Namjoon had hung up. “Joon? You there?”

He coughs as his throat dries up and attempts to clear it in hopes of not sounding so gruff when he answers, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Just a little,” you huff out another breathless laugh. “It’s okay though. I had to get up and get some grocery shopping done before my shift at the diner tonight.”

“You should have done that after your breakfast with Minseok,” he growls, letting his temper get the best of him. “Then you could have slept longer.”

“I slept long enough.” You know he can practically hear your eye roll. “Joon, I didn’t have breakfast with Minseok. I went to visit my mother and he was there. He does happen to work there, you know.”

“Didn’t seeing my tongue down your throat scare him off?” he snaps back in response. “Didn’t it piss him off the way it pisses me off that he really thinks he has a chance after I sent you to him wet and ready for me?”

“Namjoon!” you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you had earlier that morning. What had gotten into him? He’s never spoken to you this way and while it did get you a little hot and bothered, it also reminds you of the almost kiss you’d shared. Something that most definitely should not have happened. It left you wanting much more and knowing you can’t have it. It’s a line you swore you’d never cross with Namjoon, not when he was your oldest and only friend. It would complicate things and you couldn’t handle losing him if it tore the friendship apart.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, making your heartbeat skyrocket. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, that wasn’t okay for me to say. I’m just—.”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever explanation he has for momentarily forgetting you were his best friend, not one of the usual girls he sleeps with. “Look, Namjoon, I have to go. It’s going to get late and I won’t be able to get everything done that I need to.”

“Y/N, wait. I—.”

“And don’t stop by the diner tonight.” You’re adamant in this because a few of your co-workers had spotted him this morning and texted you to ask if you’d been dating again. You don’t need them to think you’re attached to anyone, especially not Namjoon of all people. It would only make things awkward when he inevitably got a long time girlfriend and you were stuck having to explain everything. 

“Why the fuck not?” Namjoon tries his best to keep his voice down, but he’s not doing a very good job as Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s heads whip his way. “The area around the diner is dangerous, Y/N, I’ll be damned if anything happens to you.” He’s seething and it shows in his voice after hearing his full name from your lips. He’d learned long ago that if he made you angry enough, you would forgo his nickname in favor of his full name, and he never realized how much he hated hearing you say it until right this moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“People will talk, Namjoon,” you mumble, scooting to the edge of your bed in search of your pajama shorts. Your air conditioner has been on the fritz lately and it picks and chooses when to work. Today, it decided it did not want to work. Though it was still nice and cool outside, your apartment was like a damn furnace since the window latch had been broken. Admittedly, you don’t live in the greatest building with the greatest landlord. Or the greatest part of town. But it’s a roof over your head, so you can’t really complain. Namjoon had lost his shit time and time again when it came to your apartment so you decided to stop telling him all of its issues entirely. 

“So, let them talk,” he growls, turning away from Yoongi’s questioning gaze. His stare, in turn, had the rest of the guys and Taehyung’s parents staring as well. It makes Namjoon tense up when they notice he’s losing this argument. “Don’t take that chance just because I pissed you off, Y/N. Don’t push me away and shut me out because I’m being an asshole. That’s my fault and I’m sorry. But don’t…” he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear the rustling of your sheets as you move about your bed. His throat bobs at the thought of what the hell you could be doing to make that much noise. “Just don’t, baby, please.”

Baby.

He called you baby and a part of you softens at the pet name. The other part of you gets angry that he would try to manipulate you by saying it. You’ve watched him charm girl after girl when he got bored enough and every single time, they fell for it. You hated it. Hated how they got to see a part of him he would never show you because of your friendship. Hated that he was using those same tactics now to manipulate you into forgiving him. Your chest feels tight and there’s a hitch in your breath when you tell him, “I don’t want people to think we’re together. It’s bad enough Minseok bought into the picture Hobi sent him. I don’t need my coworkers thinking I’m ready to date again. Especially not you.”

He takes offense to that. So much so that his knuckles curl into a fist, one that’s two seconds away from meeting the wall in front of him until Jimin taps his shoulder. It’s enough to make him look up and find that everyone was ready to go after the rain finally settled. Poor Nabi looks ready to combust, her entire face as red as a tomato, and Taehyung looks too fucking smug for Namjoon’s liking. He hangs up without bidding you goodbye because if he opens his mouth to say anything at all, it’ll only upset you even more. Especially not him? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

His life was never meant for someone permanent or special to be invited into. Not with the constant danger lurking around every corner, or the men he regularly spends time around because of Taehyung and his own family ties into the mafia. While his father treats his mother like a goddess, and Taehyung does the same with Nabi, Namjoon couldn’t see himself treating anyone with that kind of respect while you were around. You occupy too many of his thoughts. He’s aware that all of this falls on him. His unyielding thought process of never fully committing to someone because of you, is entirely his own fucking fault, and he knows it. His parents would be ashamed of him if he were to ever marry and be unfaithful. Then again, who would he be unfaithful with if not you? You’d never allow it. You have too much self respect to ever be the other woman. It’s one of the things Namjoon respects the most about you. Some women didn’t care if they were some man’s side piece in the mob. It meant expensive gifts, expensive trips, hell, some men even bought their mistresses homes in order to keep them happy. It wasn’t odd for it to happen, but Namjoon had taken great care to surround himself with people fully devoted to treating women as more than just play things. He never thought he’d ever actually find friends like that, until he’d met Taehyung, and then Yoongi, and Hoseok, and so on. 

He’s never told you what he does for “work” and you’ve never really asked. He can never truly tell you the truth unless he was willing to drag you into his life completely. Obviously, he really is ready, but you’d never plunge into this life head first without thinking of the consequences. It’s a dangerous line to toe and he knows he shouldn’t push, but clearly Minseok had said something to make you doubt him. Minseok had always made you second guess the things Namjoon did and said, and you’d cave under the guilty weight of taking Namjoon’s side over your boyfriends. Minseok had been able to weasel his way into your life and shove Namjoon out to the brink of Namjoon nearly storming to Minseok’s house with Hoseok and Jimin in tow. 

Damn. He has to get you away from Minseok. And soon. Because if he wormed his way underneath your skin, Namjoon would well and truly kill him this time.

Parting ways with Mrs. Kim’s car filled with Nabi, her cousins, Jimin, and Jungkook, Namjoon plopped into the driver's side of the van they’d arrived in. Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok follow suit, all silently climbing into the car in a much more gingerly manner than Namjoon himself had. Taehyung, while still sexed out of his mind, still had the decency to ask if his friend was alright.

“Sounded pretty intense,” Hoseok said from the back seat, eyeing Namjoon’s rigid form. “What did Y/N say to piss you off so much? Because the last time I saw that look in your eye, we nearly wiped out the entire Lee family. They still haven’t forgiven us, by the way. Mr. Kim’s got them nearly beating down his door to get to you, Namjoon.”

The tall man pretends not to hear a word Hoseok says because of course he remembers. He’d gotten into a fight with you then too. He vividly remembers how you’d questioned his lengthy absence when you never had before. You’d always figured his business was his alone and you shouldn’t butt in. But that time, Minseok had managed to convince you that Namjoon simply didn’t want to be around because of Minseok’s presence. While that rang true, Namjoon couldn’t exactly tell you that he’d been sent on an assignment to the Maldives with Hoseok to deal with a shipment the Lee family was in control of. He’d been gone for almost an entire month when you finally called, only to ask if he’d tired of you. He could remember the sound of your voice cracking as you tried to hold back tears. He had tried to explain, tried to tell you that it was for work, but he could hear Minseok’s mousy fucking voice in the background, taunting you in a sickeningly sweet way that only he could. You’d said your goodbyes to Namjoon, almost sounding final, and Namjoon. Had. Gone. Feral. Absolutely apeshit and cut down a good portion of the Lee men because he’d been pissed. Later, he’d told Taehyung that the family was indeed skimming some of the product, which was why he’d been sent to the Maldives in the first place. He’d silently cursed Taehyung back then, well and truly hated the man that had become his brother, and for what? A stupid argument that Minseok had incited? 

Taehyung clocks Namjoon’s grip on the wheel and winces at how his friend is about to lose all self control and possibly kill what little is left of the Choi family. For Namjoon to completely lose himself again, means that whatever is bothering him has to do with you. Taehyung almost feels bad for him, and he would offer some advice if he didn’t have bigger problems at hand. What he can do is try to free up some time for Namjoon to work things out however he needs to. Though, if this is anything like the situation with the Lee family, Taehyung can’t imagine the hell Namjoon will rain down on the poor sucker stupid enough to even so much as slightly push the wrong button. It would be a bloodbath of epic proportions and Taehyung runs a hand down his face at the thought. They can’t afford for Namjoon to be distracted right now, but it was inevitable. Every so often, Namjoon loses focus and becomes completely and utterly consumed by you. Even if you don’t know it. 

Yoongi watches Hyunwoo raise a curious brow at Namjoon’s behavior and the tense silence compared to the friendly banter earlier. When he turns to meet Yoongi’s stare, Yoongi sneers at him so viciously that it makes Hyunwoo visibly recoil. He smirks and looks out the front windshield, watching the buildings pass by in a blur. He can see the cogs in the machine that is Namjoon’s genius brain turn and turn. Something had to have gone completely wrong with you if it’s gotten this bad again. He can see Namjoon’s pupils dilate with the rush of adrenaline he’s sure to unleash on Hyunwoo if he makes one wrong move. He’s quite sure that Namjoon almost hopes the Choi family fucks up so it’ll give him a reason to go nuts. Namjoon lives on fear and chaos, it’s one of the things that made him so frightening and dangerous. It’s one of the many things Taehyung had sought him out for as teenagers. By that age, Namjoon had quite the body count and truthfully, if he and Hoseok had to go toe to toe, everyone knows it would be pretty damn close. What makes him even more scary is that no one would ever be able to tell how much blood stains his hands because of his cool and calm demeanor. 

Hoseok almost pays no mind to Namjoon’s disheveled state as he plays with his switchblade, every so often leaning over to knick Hyunwoo’s skin. It was almost torture and Hoseok knows if anyone could appreciate it, it’s Namjoon. However, with Namjoon’s lack of self awareness, Hoseok finds that he must enjoy this by himself. Really, he’s worried that Namjoon’s going to go on a rampage again. It took them forever to clean up the mess in the Maldives. Not to mention the complete shitshow that followed and Mr. Kim had to sort out enough for there to be some sense of civility. Goddamn it, he really doesn’t need another disaster on his hands. The Choi family better pray for themselves because God only knows what Namjoon is cooking up in his head. 

Namjoon’s phone rings in the silence and actually makes Taehyung jump a little. He glances down to find the name “Hana” in bold letters taking up the screen. Namjoon lets it go to voicemail because Taehyung’s sure that it isn’t exactly the name he wants to pop up on his phone right now. He doesn’t know who the girl is, but if you catch wind of it, then it won’t be good. The phone rings again and Namjoon picks it up with some bite in his tone.

“What?” Namjoon snaps.

“Oh, hey,” Hana purrs back, giggling even though she can tell how mad he is. “Are you busy? I’m kind of bored and thought—.”

“We fucked once, Hana,” he sneers, “and it wasn’t exactly memorable for me, so find a different dick to suck.”

“Fuck you, Namjoon!” she screeches at his audacity. “You know, I don’t exactly remember you complaining when I sucked your dick, you asshole! Here’s a tip, Namjoon, maybe don’t be a complete prick the next time a woman reaches out to satisfy you. There won’t be many left if you continue on like that.”

“You’re a placeholder, Hana.” Namjoon smirks and the guys in the van inwardly groan because now some poor girl is about to get the brunt of his wrath. “I don’t want anyone else, just one girl, and she’s not you. Maybe some small, pathetic part of you had hoped you were special but you’re really not. I was drunk and bored and you were willing to spread your legs for me, so fuck off.”

Taehyung winces as Namjoon slams his phone back on the center console. Jesus fucking Christ, that was brutal. Namjoon’s not exactly a saint but he’s very rarely crude to a girl. Whatever you’d argued about must have messed him up good if he was speaking that way to someone. They reach the house just after Nabi’s car gets there and Taehyung basically leaps out of the van to usher his wife from the car. 

Namjoon locks eyes with Nabi for a second before he turns his glare to Taehyung because not only does he have to deal with the Choi family, he’s still steaming from his conversation with you. He doesn’t see Nabi frown, only concentrating on getting Hyunwoo into the house without her seeing. He shoves Hyunwoo harder than necessary when Yoongi has to prod him forward with a gun. God, he can only hope this was enough to release some of the tension simmering beneath his skin.

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You’re almost halfway through grocery shopping when a sense of dread settles in your chest. You don’t know what it is or how it was even brought on, but you know there’s something not right. You round the corner of the canned food aisle, determined to get away from whatever it was when you bump into a firm chest. Strong hands reach out to steady you while your breath catches. You look up to find a handsome stranger with the oddest smile on his face. It’s not menacing but it certainly isn’t friendly either. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back to create some much needed distance. 

He only smiles wider, raking a hand through his dark hair and waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all. It’s my fault, actually. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” You blink up at him, unsure of whether or not you should even keep talking to him. Namjoon always hated the way you’d become friendly with anyone, especially strangers. You’d called him out on it once, insisting that he was just being paranoid, but he didn’t budge. He always says no one can be trusted, but then you wonder what exactly makes him so trustworthy, or why he trusts you at all. The thought of your best friend sends a pang through your heart and you frown. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so harsh with him earlier. He was only trying to help, but you let your insecurities shine through and lashed out at him. 

“Kang Chunghee,” he says, offering his hand in greeting. He can see the apprehension on your face even as you take his hand in yours and shake it. Taking a step too close, he towers over you in a way that almost makes you cower away. His eyes roam down your body from head to toe, but you’re so busy looking everywhere but him that you don’t notice. Your hair, he notes, and face look so much like your mother’s that it’s a wonder why you hadn’t been spotted before now. Then again, his father wasn’t exactly looking to make trouble with the Kim family, but he’d found out about your mother’s illness and insisted on seeking you out. His hand tightens briefly, making you wince, as the memories of his own mother begging his father to leave “that woman” be and come back home to her. He never did, of course, and soon sent Chunghee’s mother spiraling into a world of drugs and alcohol. Both of which killed her not long after your birth. 

“Cho Y/N,” you reply with a hiss, trying to pull your hand from his. It takes a moment for him to realize he’d been holding on too tight and quickly drops your hand. You take this chance to scan his face and realize he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t quite place it anywhere. He could just be one of the many patrons that have come and gone from the diner. You meet so many people at your job that it’s not entirely out of the ordinary to run into someone while out and about. As if on cue, your phone rings and you scramble for it in hopes that it’s Namjoon and you can apologize, but you’re disappointed to find that it’s your manager instead. You give Chunghee a polite smile before stepping away to answer the call. She only asks if you can come in a bit early as one of the other waitresses has called in sick. You sigh and check your watch to ask for some extra time to go home and get ready. Throughout the entire conversation, you notice that Chunghee hasn’t left your side at all, and you tense up when he steps closer once more after ending your phone call. 

“Ah, I have to apologize,” he says and takes a step back to give you some space. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Um.” You shift on the balls of your feet, clutching your phone tight in your hand and contemplating calling Namjoon. You shake your head. No. His paranoia is simply rubbing off on you and this guy hasn’t really done anything to offend or scare you other than being a little too interested. You remind yourself that at one point, Minseok had been the same way before he finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date. “I really should get going.”

“Oh, of course.” Chunghee gestures for you to go ahead and walk on, bidding you goodbye with a simple wave. Once you round the corner to the registers, his smile slowly fades into a grimace. If your mother is as beautiful as you are, then he can see why his father was tempted by her. His chest grows tight and bile rises in his throat that he has to swallow down. As a child he’d always wondered why his father could so easily cast him and his mother aside. Looking at you now, he sees exactly why. He’s only ever seen photos of your mother and none of you, but his father had told him it’s because he didn’t even know you existed. Not until your mother had grown sick and you’d somehow gotten tangled up in one of the notorious Kim family’s webs. Fool, he thinks of you. If only you had never come up on the Kim family’s radar then you never would have come up on his father’s. Or, he supposes, he’s your father as well. 

He gives you all of 2 minutes to get ahead of him before he stalks out of the grocery store to see you climb into a junker car that he can’t even fathom why it would even still exist. He slips into his own car, a much nicer one, and peels out of the parking lot just a little after you do. He takes turn after turn and a muscle in his jaw ticks when it dawns on him that you don’t even notice you’re being followed, and even worse, his eye visibly twitches after parking down the street from a rundown building that you seem to be living in. “For fuck’s sake,” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face. He’s meant to hate you, to loathe your mother for stealing away his father’s attention and causing his mother to lose her damn mind. But a twinge of guilt eats away at him. His father was never the greatest man, but Chunghee’s certainly lived a much more lavish life than you have. His father may have laid his hands on him quite a few times during his childhood, but you’re so carefree that he’s actually envious, and even still, he feels bad that you’ve had to go nights hungry while he was gifted with so much food that he didn’t know what to do with it. He was 28 when he’d learned of your existence and by then you were already 18, living paycheck to paycheck and working yourself to the bone to afford your mother’s medical costs. Until that point, he and his father had always wondered where your mother had disappeared to. According to his father, she’d up and left one day, leaving behind most of her belongings for the obvious reason that she never wanted to be found again. She’d even changed her name and lived 18 blissful long years in the shadows. 

Chunghee can only wonder how she’d never figured out who his father was until it was too late. If he’s correct in his math, she’d already been pregnant with you when she skipped town. Which means she had to have found out that his father was both married and a dangerous man. He can commend her for wanting to protect you, which was far more than his father was willing to do for him. If you weren’t somehow tied to the Kim family, then Kang Himchan would have swooped in and stolen you away long ago. But with Kim Namjoon hovering around so often, the older Kang could only grit his teeth and turn a blind eye if he didn’t want to overstep and start problems. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you emerge from the building, basically running, and jump in your car to speed off. He looks at the clock on his dashboard, guessing that you took far longer than you thought you would to get ready. He gives you a few extra miles before he starts down the same road you’d gone, following along until he reaches the diner just before exiting the city. It’s far, he realizes as another glance at the clock shows that it took almost an hour to get there. He’d paid no mind to the time when he’d scouted out the diner last night. He’d come out on a whim, wondering if you were well and truly under the Kim family protection, and snorted when you’d gone the entire night without so much as a hint of the Kims around. When you’d left for the night, he’d gotten out of his car to confront you, but then Namjoon had shown up, and Chunghee had frozen in place. He’d been wrong because not only had the Kims been hidden in the literal dark, Jung Hoseok had been lying in wait as well. Anyone in this line of work knows who Hoseok is, and if he’s hovering around you, then this is going to be far more complicated than he first thought. He’s tempted to go sit in the diner, but after the disaster that was the interaction in the grocery store, he doesn’t want to give you a reason to contact Namjoon. So he waits. For hours. 14, to be exact, and he finds himself shifting in his seat every 10 minutes. Why the hell he feels so inclined to sit around for your entire shift, he doesn’t know, but you have to be tired out by now. How the hell would it look if he’s the one that’s exhausted when you’re the one who’s been running around on your feet all day?

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You can feel it. You don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from, but you know you’re being watched. It’s unnerving, and while you’re trying your best to get through your shift, you also want to find out who could be watching. Not wanting to let them know you’re on to them, you keep plowing through orders and customers, running hot plates from the kitchen, cleaning off tables and kitchen utensils, and itching to reach for your phone to text Namjoon. But he hasn’t reached out to you either, making a small part of you actually want to cry because you’ve upset him. It’s not often that he gets angry with you, but when he does, it never takes very long for you to apologize or for him to check on you even if he is mad. So for him to go the entire day without contacting you is terrifying. Especially when you know something is wrong. When your shift is finally over, you say your goodbyes to your coworkers and check your phone as you head to your car. Your shoulders deflate with disappointment, thoughts swirling in your head, so much so that they drown out the sound of approaching feet. Fingers tap on your shoulder, and you whirl around with an ear piercing scream, only to have someone slap their hand over your mouth.

Hoseok looks at you with a raised brow, a little concerned with your pale face and the sweat beading down by your temples. You’re scared and he doesn’t like that. He removes his hand from your mouth, watching as your bottom lip wobbles in an attempt to hold back a sob. He grips your arms tighter than he means to. “What happened?”

You heave out a sigh of relief, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Oh, Hobi. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream like that.”

“You obviously had a reason to, so help me out here, and tell me what could have scared you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise even though you know you shouldn’t lie. Hoseok’s always been good at telling when someone’s lying and you’re not entirely sure why you even tried. You watch him scan the dark parking lot anyways, fingers nearly bruising your skin with the force of his grip. You wince out loud, regaining his attention and he lets go of you. 

“I’m sorry.” He frowns, reaching up to pat down your messy hair. “I came to check on you. Namjoon’s been out of it all day and I know you guys fought.”

“It was stupid,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the ground in shame. Hoseok showing up on Namjoon’s behalf means that your best friend isn’t anywhere near ready to speak to you again. You really screwed up this time if he sent Hoseok all the way out here when he could have just called you himself. You feel awful that Hoseok even drove all the way out here in person just because you’re having a difficult time processing everything from the day before. The way Namjoon held you and looked at you, it was far better than you ever imagined, and you let your insecurities get the best of you. You’re doing what you’ve always done when someone gets too close. You’re pushing him away like you used to when you were dating Minseok. The two of you had fought more than usual while you were with Minseok, and this fight reminds you of those times. 

“It can’t be that stupid if you guys are this messed up over it.” Hoseok keeps petting your hair with affection, but he’s not fooled. Something else is going on here and you’re not being honest with him. He’s scared you before, albeit playfully, but even when he’d done it in earnest, you’ve never reacted that way. He’ll have to bring it up with Namjoon and hopefully it’ll be enough to pull his head out of his ass. After the disastrous confrontation between Nabi, the Choi family, and Taehyung, Namjoon had been even more on edge and left the house. Hoseok had assumed he’d come to tail you, but he wasn’t picking up his phone, so Hoseok drove out here to check. He’d grown worried when he got to the diner and didn’t see Namjoon’s car anywhere, so he’d gotten out to come ask you when his phone pinged with a message from Namjoon. He’d told Hoseok that he just needed air to clear his head and he was on his way back to the house. Hoseok was ready to leave it alone and go back himself, but his instincts had kicked in, and rightfully so. He considers memorizing the license plates currently in the parking lot to have Yoongi run when he gets back, but decides against it when he hears your car door open. 

“It is,” you remind him. “It’s a stupid fight over a stupid thing and Namjoon wouldn’t get it, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just want some space, Hobi, is that too much?”

“Yes,” he growls, holding out the car door for you to climb in. “It’s too much for Namjoon and you know that, Y/N. He doesn’t like space when it comes to you and this fight is affecting all of us. We’re his friends too, Y/N, and it’s out of the ordinary for us to see him this way.”

“Then space is exactly what we need.” You slam the door shut, leaving Hoseok pleasantly surprised by your outburst. You’ve never taken that much attitude with him and he’s a little amused by it. You’re careful not to run over his feet as you back out of the parking space, giving him a small wave before driving away. Peering in the rearview mirror, you watch him fade into the background and miss the way his body locks up.

Hoseok turns slightly, meeting the eyes of someone he’s not quite familiar with, before the person rolls up their car window. There, he thinks. That’s what, or rather who, was bothering you. He glares at his reflection in the window as the car drives away, pulling his phone from his pocket to dial Namjoon’s number.

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Namjoon sits in one of the lounge chairs in his small library at the house, his hair sticking up in every direction after running his hands through it. After the confrontation earlier with Nabi and the Choi family, he’d gone out for a long drive. He was tempted to drive up to your apartment, or even stake out the diner, but he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you without forcing a conversation. The last thing he wants is to disrespect your boundaries, but his skin prickles at the thought of not checking up on you. He could never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. A light knock on the doorframe gets his attention and he looks up to find Nabi leaning against it. 

She gives him a soft smile when he gestures to the empty chair across from him, striding across the room to sit. “Are you alright?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he snorts in response, pinching the bridge of his nose as the tension in his neck travels up to the base of his skull. “It was a hard day for you.”

She nods slightly. “Namjoon, can I…” she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs anxiously but he doesn’t push, only giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts. “What I did today, with Hyunwoo, and the gun. How did it look to you guys?”

“What do you mean?” He’s obviously confused because she can’t really mean to think his opinion of her has changed to a bad one. 

“Did it look like I was hiding something from you guys?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Nabi, Hoseok told us that he suspected you weren’t exactly timid a long time ago. None of us really thought you were to begin with. Taehyung didn’t scare you, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t scare you. Hell, even Hoseok couldn’t scare you off even when you know the kinds of things we do.”

She inhales sharply, taking his hand when he offers it in support. “Growing up in this life definitely hardens a person, but sometimes I think I take it too far.”

“We’ve all had to do some unforgivable things to survive this life.” Namjoon’s thumb skims across her knuckles. “I think the way you kept that part of yourself closed off was just a way to protect yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that, even if Taehyung was angry about it. I’m glad you opened up, Nabi, it means you trust us enough to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable enough to ask what’s going on with you,” Nabi quickly changes the subject, jumping right into what she came to the library for in the first place. 

“It’s Y/N,” he sighs, dropping her hand and sinking back into the chair. “I may have had Hoseok send a picture to her ex that made us look like more than friends, and she got angry with me. She said she didn’t want me hanging around the diner for awhile to avoid her coworkers asking questions. For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them to think she’s in a relationship with anyone, but before we could really get into it, I had to focus on the situation here and I haven’t called her since.”           

“Namjoon,” Nabi admonishes him, slapping his arm lightly. “First of all, as much help as you think the picture was, I can promise you, it wasn’t. Secondly, how do you think she’ll feel if you start showing up around her coworkers and she has to explain that you’re just friends even though they’ve seen more? Honestly, Kim Namjoon, did you even fully think of the consequences that picture could bring?”

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue when his phone starts to ring and Nabi takes that as her victory before slinking out of the room. He shakes his head, amused but doesn’t want to admit it, before answering Hoseok’s call. “What is it?”

“Y/N’s being followed,” Hoseok wastes no time getting to the point. He’s already in his car, speeding after you and your stalker, but he was too far behind to begin with. His palms begin to sweat with what he can only describe as fear when he has to slam on the brakes at a nearby intersection. “Fuck!” he curses, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, losing sight of your car. “I lost them.” “Where?” Namjoon is up and in the garage, car keys in his shaking hands as dread fills his entire body. 

“Not far. If you leave now, you should meet her just as she’s getting home.”

Shit, Namjoon seethes to himself. His hands tighten on the wheel as he speeds down street after street. Shit, shit, shit! He tries calling you, but you don’t answer, and he doesn’t want to panic. You’ve just worked another double, he reasons, you always forget to take a phone charger with you so your phone had to have died. That has to be it. For the sake of whoever is stupid enough to follow you, that had better be what happened. The automatic voice echoes in the car as he gets your voicemail one more time. “Baby,” he says after the beep, “I know you’re angry with me, but I need you to pick up the phone.”

Three more unanswered calls later, his body is wound tight as he pulls up to your apartment building, not seeing your car anywhere in sight. He jumps out the driver’s seat and bolts up the stairs to your apartment, pounding on the door, but he’s met with more silence. He has to call his father, has to get their men out there in search of you, he has to. Has to. Has to. Has to.

“Joon?” your voice reaches his ears, but you’re not sure he actually hears you. You take in his heaving shoulders and chest, the shaking of his hands, and lay your palm on his shoulder to get his attention. You gasp in pain when he rounds on you, shoving your back into the wall with his long fingers wrapped around your neck. Your hand wraps around his wrist to try and pry it away, looking into his eyes to find them nearly black with rage. “Joon! Namjoon, it’s me!”

Namjoon’s eyes finally clear, blood still roaring in his ears as he seems to recognize you. He glances down to find his hand around your throat, quickly releasing you. “Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He holds on to your shoulders as you cough violently, trying to take in all the air you’ve lost, sliding down the wall as if to ground yourself. He falls to his knees in order to maintain eye contact, spearing his fingers through your hair to keep it out of your face, touching his forehead to yours. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

The hold you have on his wrists never loosened, and you use it now in support as the spots in your vision begin to disappear. You’re gasping as you brace your free hand against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away yet. “Jesus fuck, Namjoon. What the hell?” 

“I’m sorry! I thought…”

“What could you possibly have thought?” You finally shove him away and stand up, fishing the apartment keys out of your pocket. You shove them in the keyhole, unlock the door, and throw it open as Namjoon follows you inside. Reaching up to your neck, your hand shakes as it feels around your sore throat. “As if Hoseok popping up wasn’t scary enough.”

“Hoseok scared you?” Namjoon’s body grows tense all over again, turning to close the apartment door.

“He didn’t mean to.” You shake your head, shucking off your jacket and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. “I was just a little off tonight, that’s all. Hoseok snuck up on me after work.” Making your way to the cabinets overhead, you pluck out a cup to fill with water. You stand facing away from him to gulp down the water. All day you’ve been wondering what you could say to him, but now that he’s here in front of you, all words are lost. It’s not just because you’re angry with what just happened, it’s that you don’t know how to even process it. 

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?” His chest presses to your back, the deep rumbling of his voice vibrates against it, your treacherous body leaning into him. He braces his hands on the counter, trapping you in place, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I put it on silent,” you whisper, turning your head so your lips skim his ear. The tips of his ears turn red even though you didn’t mean to be directly in his ear, you smile. “I forgot to put the ringer back on after Hobi scared me in the parking lot.”

He hums in reply, one arm sliding across your belly to hook around your waist completely, pulling you against him. The sun peeks through the window, having risen in the time he’s spent in your apartment. “Another late shift, then?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a nod of your head. You meet his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. You glance down at his lips, tipping your head back just slightly and you swear he groans as he lowers his mouth to yours.

There’s nothing stopping him from kissing you this time. Not a damn thing stands in his way. That is, until there’s a knock on your door that has you jumping out of his embrace before he can actually do anything. He curses whoever is at the door, taking the cup you set on the counter to take a sip of water. His ears pick up the grating sound of Minseok’s voice, and he’s slamming the glass down on the counter before he can stop himself from getting even more pissed off. Striding to the front door, he reaches it just in time to watch you crumble to your knees, but he’s quick to stop you from hitting the floor. “Y/N?! What happened? What’s wrong?”

“She’s go–,” you sob out, tears streaming down your face endlessly. “She’s gone, Joon. She’s gone!” you shriek, gripping onto his forearms as your wails fill the apartment. Your throat is raw from screaming but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You knew it was coming, had always known, but you were never actually prepared for it.

Namjoon’s heart breaks with every body wracking sob you let out, and it hits him then just why Minseok was there. He holds you close, rocks you back and forth in hopes of soothing you, but it isn’t working. From the corner of his eye, he sees Minseok’s fingers twitch, trying to keep himself from reaching out to you, but Namjoon pulls you closer, refusing to allow Minseok to touch you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes you think the skies know when to be gloomy. The gray clouds that loom over the funeral procession feel as though they’re mocking you. Your mother loved rainy days, something you couldn’t come to enjoy as you grew older. You thought they were depressing, always lending a hand in her dwindling health, but she flourished in the rain. She came alive when the downpour would drench her to the bone, and as a child, you would giggle and dance in the rain with her. You remember kicking up puddles, getting your feet dirty and clothes wet, and it was everything to her. Growing older, though, you found that with the rain came runny noses, horrid coughs, sore throats, and missed days of school. You came to detest them until she got sick, and it was all she’d ask for; to see the rain. 

People, mostly Namjoon’s parents and friends, and some of your coworkers, gathered around you in comfort. They only want to help, you know this, but they’re not. Most people welcome the condolences and the sympathy, but you can’t seem to. You feel overcrowded, lost in a sea of people that you don’t want to see you break down. So you hold it in. Sometimes your breathing grows ragged as you try to hold back, but you manage to compose yourself before they can gather what’s happening. Namjoon is by your side the entire time, along with his parents, and they’re the only comfort you can find. The only ones you can stand to be around right now. They truly are your only family. Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Nabi take their turns to cradle you close. They aren’t just Namjoon’s friends, they’re yours too even though Hoseok was really the only one you’d spent an extensive amount of time with. Recently though, they’ve been coming around to the apartment when Namjoon was busy, all of them doing their best to keep you distracted. 

You’re sat in front of your mother’s picture with your head resting on Namjoon’s shoulder while everyone else is lined up against the wall, giving you and Namjoon the space you didn’t have to ask for, they just know you need it. Namjoon grips your hand tight, linking your fingers together and bringing up your joined hands to kiss the back of your knuckles. You peek up at him through tear filled lashes, breathing easily when he drops his forehead to your own, but that serenity doesn’t last long. A commotion breaks out at the entrance of the funeral hall, people whispering and darting about in a hurry. Namjoon’s father grits his teeth and demands to know what could be going on, when your breath hitches at the next person who steps foot in the room.

Chunghee has the decency to look apologetic as he catches your eye, taking a moment to dip his chin in greeting before stepping aside to reveal his father, Kang Himchan. He sees Namjoon tense, standing to his full height immediately to back his own father. Chunghee steps towards them in hopes of gaining control of the situation, but Kim Taehyung is quick to meet him. “Taehyung,” he simply says as if this were at all normal. 

“Kang,” Taehyung says through clenched teeth, tipping his head in your direction. Jungkook and Jimin are the first to reach you, followed by Seokjin and Nabi. Hoseok and Yoongi take their place on either side of Taehyung. 

“What the hell is this?” Namjoon’s father levels Himchan with a look that would send most men running. “How dare you come here and disturb this girl’s grieving. Have you no sense of decorum, Kang?”

“I am here to offer my condolences, obviously,” Himchan keeps his voice steady. Your mother was unknowingly his mistress, but he had loved her dearly, and wants nothing more than to know and understand you. His eyes search the room, finally landing on you, and they soften. You are the spitting image of your mother and it makes him breathless for a moment. He forgets who you’re surrounded by, taking a step in your direction, only to be met by Namjoon’s hard glare. His hackles raise, face turning red with anger. “You dare keep me from my own daughter, Kim?”

All of the air rushes out of your lungs as you struggle to breathe. Your body begins to tremble, view being blocked by Jungkook’s body, but you catch his hand sliding into the back waistband of his pants. A gun, you realize, and look around to find that he’s not the only person hiding one. Hoseok’s hand rests on his hip, the holster becoming visible as his suit jacket moves with him. Jimin and Yoongi exchange a knowing look before they too reach for their hidden weapons. 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to her,” Namjoon snaps back at Himchan, causing the older man to step toe-to-toe with him. He smirks at the older Kang. “That’s not a smart move.”

Before anyone can blink, weapons are drawn, all aimed at different people around the room as more men come barreling in behind Himchan. They surround their boss, standing in front of raised guns without a second thought. You scramble back towards the wall, as if pressing against it enough will make you invisible. Nabi is at your side, shushing you and squeezing your hand tight. 

“Enough,” Namjoon’s father bellows, throwing his hand up to stop anyone from actually firing. Putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, he pulls Namjoon back. “This isn’t the time or place, Namjoon. Go to Y/N. We’ve frightened her on an already stressful day.”

“Y/N,” Himchan repeats as though unused to saying your name, a smile playing on his lips at the sound. It was so like your mother to have picked something equally as beautiful as you are. His smile fades as he straightens himself up to look Namjoon’s father in the eye once more. “I’m well aware of her ties to you, Kim, but that is no more. She is my kin. My flesh and blood. It’s time she lives as such.”

“I don’t know you,” your voice cuts through the room, shaky and trembling. “I don’t know what the hell is even going on right now.”

“Y/N,” Chunghee finally pipes up. If he had known this would turn out to be such a shit show, he’d have never told his father about your mother’s passing. Ah hell, he knew it was going to be bad, he just didn’t really want to believe it. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“She doesn’t have to do a damn thing,” Namjoon roars and his friends tense, unsure of what he may do next. “You come here, Kang, declare her your daughter, and expect her to up and accept it? You’re out of your fucking mind. Even if we did believe this bullshit, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere with you.”

“You?” Himchan sneers. “You think you get any say in this? She’s my daughter, Kim. I’ve bit my tongue and kept my distance long enough, but now she needs us. Her mother is gone, her family is nowhere to be found, she is alone. But not with us.”

“She’s mine.” 

You let out a small gasp at Namjoon’s tone. You’d only ever heard him use it against Minseok when he was mad enough. You’re not sure what the outcome of this entire standoff will be, but you know you wouldn’t be able to stomach it if anyone got hurt. You’re able to wrestle out of Nabi’s hold enough to slowly approach Namjoon’s side, tangling your fingers with his. “Joon, let’s not do this, okay? Not here and not today. Please?”

Himchan’s surprise is visible on his face when Namjoon heeds your words, backing down almost instantly. He knew you were close to the Kim family and, up until recently, he was under the impression that you and Namjoon were just friends. Everyone else in the room seems to be used to this, and so he has to wonder when the change came about. Hope blooms in his chest as the gears in his mind begin to whirl. 

“We should go home for now,” Taehyung suggests, though as Nabi stands at his side, he’s pretty sure everyone knows it’s not his idea, but hers. He tries to hold in a sigh when Namjoon shoots him a glare. “Y/N will come home with us, Namjoon, don’t worry.”

“But I—,” you try to object, unable to accept anything more Taehyung has to offer. Not when he’d already done so much for you as is. 

“Hoseok and the guys will move your things in,” Namjoon interrupts, leaving no room for argument. He tugs on your hand and leads you out of the funeral hall, bumping his shoulder against one of Himchan’s goons. He can feel the reluctant pull of your arm, but he refuses to let go, not until the two of you reach his car where he buckles you in safely before sliding into the driver’s seat. 

The ride home is tense, the car filled with nothing but silence and what you suspect is grumbling coming from Namjoon even though he thinks you can’t hear it. He’s angry. More like pissed. This isn’t something any of them were prepared for. Hell, it wasn’t something any of them would have ever thought possible. Of all the people on this planet to be related to, the Kangs were the last ones anyone would have figured were your relatives. Not only that, but Himchan had forced Namjoon to show his hand, to show you a world he never should have dragged you into. He never thought he could come to regret befriending you in that hall so many years ago, but now he does. If only because he doesn’t really believe he could protect you from the power the Kang family holds. His own family is rather powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but if anyone could hold a candle to them, it’s the Kangs. 

“Namjoon,” you try to get his attention, “you’re angry.”

“I’m worried, baby, it’s different.”

“Because you think it’s true?”

“Because if it is true, then I don’t know if I can protect you,” he begrudgingly admits. 

You’re confused as you take in his words. What could you possibly need protection from? Even as you question it, the memory of everyone in there, guns drawn, comes to the forefront of your mind, and you know. You know Namjoon is hiding something. You’ve always known, but you could never have guessed it was to this extent. “Tell me,” you demand quietly and he strains to hear you. “Tell me, Namjoon, what all of that was about. What you’re hiding from me and what you’re afraid of because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that if you’re scared, then I have to be too. So, please, tell me.”

So he does. Namjoon tells you everything, from beginning to end. What his life was like growing up in the mafia, what he’d had to learn in order to protect himself and those closest to him, and more importantly, why he had to distance himself during the 10 years of your friendship. The only thing he left out was how utterly obsessed with you he’d become. He sounded crazy enough as is, no need to tack on that he basically stalked you from the day you met him. You’re quiet after he’s finished, spending the rest of the ride home staring out of the window. Even as he pulls into the driveway, you only stare up at the giant house Taehyung had built for Nabi a few years ago. Once in the garage, you unbuckle yourself at an alarmingly normal speed, as if you hadn’t just been told that your best friend was in the goddamn mafia of all things. What’s more, all of his friends and family are part of it too, and he’s afraid you might fear Hoseok now, but when you step into the house and Hoseok is the first to sweep you up into his arms, you cling to him as you always have.  

“You’re not part of them,” Hoseok insists, mainly because from what little of his childhood he remembers, the Kangs were the driving force behind him becoming an orphan. “Even if you were, blood doesn’t make them family, Y/N. Himchan is wrong. We’re your family.”

“Do I have to go with them?” you ask honestly, pulling back to look up at Hoseok. He may not have been truthful with you, but he never lied or coddled you either. “If they come for me, Hobi, do I have to go?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” comes Namjoon’s deep voice and you gasp at the stark difference. How you were never able to differentiate his tones before is beyond you. Then again, you think you may have purposefully ignored the signs, wanting to believe he could do no harm. He snatches you out of Hoseok’s arms, pulling your chest flush against his own and raking a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing on this planet that can take you from me, Y/N, not even Kang Himchan or his son.”

“Chunghee,” you hum. Despite all of the commotion, the only thing he’d had to say was that you had to believe what his father had been saying. You could hear the plea in his voice, wondering why he hadn’t brought any of this up the day he’d run into you at the store. Then it hits you, the realization that he’d done it on purpose. Was he why Namjoon had been so scared that day after your fight? Did Chunghee threaten you somehow? 

“Speaking of the Kangs,” Taehyung says as he strides into the living room, dropping himself on the couch while Nabi gives him a stern look. “Princess, I’m tired, and I can bet everyone else here is too. Can I just sit for a second?”

Nabi rolls her eyes, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink at the pet name he’s given her since they’ve been married. She lets out a small squeal when he pulls her onto his lap. “You’re an idiot, Tae. But you’re right.” Turning to face you and Namjoon, she explains, “The Kangs are well known in our circle. Even my grandfather made a deal or two with them, and while they’d given us no reason to not trust them, they’ve made it clear that they’re not out to make friends. They’ve built themselves a solid reputation starting all the way down from Himchan’s great grandfather. They’re a prestigious family, Namjoon, not easy to break through, not like the Choi’s. If you want to fight them, it’ll have to be with some heavy artillery. I can ask my cousins for their support and they’ll grant it, but it’ll take more than that.”

“That’s hot,” Taehyung attempts to whisper in his wife’s ear but everyone still hears it and Jungkook audibly gags. He’s always loved how smart his wife is and he’s not ashamed to show it.

“Stop it.” Nabi swats at his hand, climbing off his lap to walk up to you. “Y/N, you have to understand what could happen if we go to war with Kang Himchan. I don’t want to scare you, but it’ll get bloody and it’ll get deadly, but you have to believe that if anyone can protect you from them, it’s Namjoon. I’m not saying you have to go with the Kangs if they come to collect you, but” –She raises her hand to stop Namjoon from butting in–, “you also don’t have to stay here. If you want to get to know your father and brother, that’s your decision. We won’t stop you from doing it and we most certainly won’t isolate you for their actions and wrongdoings.”

“War?” is all you can say. It’s the only thing that had really caught your attention. That and the blood and death. 

“War,” Namjoon confirms, tightening his hold on your waist. “The Kangs won’t let you go so easily, but neither will I. Give Hoseok your apartment keys. He’s taking Jimin and Jungkook to get your things. I don’t trust that they’ll pull some shit if they know you live alone.”

“I can’t just take up a room here, Joon,” you insist even as you hand off your keys to Hoseok.

“Oh, you’re not taking up a room,” Hoseok chuckles, taking the keys from your outstretched hand. “You’re sharing Namjoon’s room.”

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“This isn’t happening.” You gawk at Jungkook and Jimin moving your things about Namjoon’s room a few hours later. They lug in a suitcase with a good portion of your clothes, most of which is jeans, t-shirts, and a bunch of pajama pants and shorts. Nabi had insisted on going with them to rifle through your clothes, throwing out the tattered pieces you’d shoved to the back of your closet and forgotten about. You turn to Namjoon lounging on his bed, looking as though a bomb hadn’t just been dropped on both of you. “You can’t be serious about this, Joon. I mean, this is your personal space, you can’t be happy about me invading it. The house is practically on full lock down, I’m sure there’s a spare room I can use.”

“No,” is all he says, reaching out to grab your arm and tugging you into the space next to him. “Taehyung’s taken every precaution to protect Nabi and I’ll do the same for you.” He looks as though he wants to say more but decides against it, getting up from the bed to slap Jungkook upside the head when he notices the younger man mocking him. 

“Nabi said Taheyung didn’t allow her out unless Jungkook and Jimin were with her.” 

Namjoon freezes at your words. Of course you’d ask Nabi what it was like living here, and of course Nabi wouldn’t spare any details. Jimin and Jungkook stare at him, waiting to take his lead and willing to downplay their roles as Nabi’s guards if necessary. He sighs and figures he’s done enough lying to you. He turns to see you with crossed arms and a look that says you already knew what to expect. “The same rules apply to you, Y/N. Until this situation is settled, you can’t go anywhere unless Hoseok and Jimin are with you, or I’m with you, or all three of us are escorting you somewhere. I’m not going to lie to you and say you’ll have everything you need here, but you’ll never be bored. I was going to have Seokjin or Yoongi assigned to you, but Jin’s helping Yoongi with something important and it’s taking all of their focus. Also,” he hesitates as you raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You can’t contact Minseok.” It’s entirely selfish of him to forbid any contact with Minseok, but it’s an opportunity he’ll take. 

With a roll of your eyes, you sink further into the bed, leaning back into his pillows. “Not that I want to talk to Minseok, but he did take care of my mom, Namjoon. I at least owe him a thank you.”

“Not right now,” he seethes, curling his hand into a fist, and Jungkook and Jimin take that as their cue to leave. Storming up to the bed, he grips your ankles and pulls you down to the edge. He smirks when you squeal in surprise, slotting himself between your thighs. When your squeal turns into a gasp, he knows it’s because you can feel how hard he’s gotten since you’ve been in the room. He plants his palms against the mattress, watching your eyes dart to the veins in his forearms, sliding forward until he’s nose to nose with you. “You can thank Minseok another time, sweetheart, but right now it’s best to keep your distance. If Kang thinks he can use Minseok to get to you, he’ll do it.”

Your brows draw together, regret settling in the pit of your stomach as you play with the collar of his black dress shirt. “My very existence is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” One of his hands comes up to brush the stray hairs from your face. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t even know who your father was until now.”

A light knock on his bedroom door lets him know that it’s Nabi and she’s going to give him about 10 seconds to be ready. He scrambles away from you just as she plows through the door, smiling sweetly before breaking the news. “Taehyung has accepted Kang’s request to meet with you, Y/N. I know we should have talked to you first, but I don’t want your decision to be based on emotion rather than rationale. Is that okay?”

You nod, grateful that she’s on your side and to have her as a friend. Sitting up as she approaches the bed, you note that she fusses over you like a mother would, righting your clothes and smoothing your hair down. You want to laugh, but then you remember that when you were little, your mother would have to step in to make you presentable when you’d been too rough on the playground. Your smile fades. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“Goddamn it,” Namjoon hisses, barreling for the door. “You could have given us a bigger heads up, Nabi.”

“That wasn’t my decision,” she barks back at him, and you blink at her in surprise. It’s not very often people can talk back to Namjoon and he’ll just let it happen. “Taehyung surprised me too when he said Kang would be here soon.”

“Let’s just go,” you sigh, getting up from the bed to follow Namjoon to the living room, Nabi not far behind. Your nerves shoot sky high as you get closer and closer to the deep voices of who you now know is your father speaking to Namjoon’s father. Two weeks ago, you’d been wiping down tables at one of your part time jobs, living off ramen noodles and sandwiches, and one more speed bump away from possibly losing the bumper to your junker car, but it had been worth it. You’d do all of it over again to take care of the most precious person to you. How your life got turned so ass backwards, you don’t know, and you’re not entirely sure you want to figure it out. 

“She hasn’t had to live up to traditions and customs,” Namjoon’s father sounds as if he’s on the verge of losing his temper. “You cannot throw this on her after she’s just learned of you!”

“That's why she should be moved under my roof!” Himchan snaps back at Mr. Kim and you pause at the entryway of the living room, neither of them even see you yet. “She can learn of those customs and traditions.”

“So you can pawn her off to some low life thug undeserving of her?” Mr. Kim scoffs. “I don’t think so. Y/N is as much a part of our family as she is of yours. Even more so since we’re the ones who have been there for her.”

“I didn’t even know she existed until Harin got sick,” Himchan mumbles, dragging his hand down his face as you finally come into view.

You sit next to Mr. Kim while Namjoon stands beside the couch and Hoseok parks himself behind it. You’re not sure where to begin or what you can even say given his position. If he’s as high up on the chain of command as Mr. Kim, then you’re pretty sure telling him to go fuck himself is off the table. You look around as if searching for something or someone, only to realize he isn’t there. “Where’s Chunghee?”

Himchan sits up straight as you finally address him, offering a polite smile in response. “Chunghee had some business to attend to overseas. As time goes on, I’m hoping your relationship will become less strained.” He frowns when you grow stiff, having misunderstood, though he’s sure the truth won’t be any better. “When I met your mother, Y/N, I fell in love with her at first sight. She didn’t know who I was or even that I was…married. My marriage had been arranged by my father, as his marriage was, and his father before him. In our life, it is rare to find and marry someone we’re in love with. We’re paired with someone we believe can carry a strong bloodline. Your brother is a product of a marriage neither I nor his mother had a true say in. He was only 10 when you were born, even younger when I started an affair with your mother. She didn’t know what kind of life I had and one day she was just gone. Somehow, she’d found out, and left town without telling me she was pregnant.”

“So, Chunghee hates me,” you gather from everything he’s said. “Because of you.”

“Yes,” Himchan admits, shame burning his throat.

Namjoon steps in front of you protectively, effectively cutting off any more access Himchan had. “Are you saying your own son is a threat? You want me to give her to you when your own son could hurt her?”

“I would never allow that,” Himchan insists, but it lands on deaf ears as Namjoon turns to take your hand, ready to drag you back to his room. “I only want a good life for her, Namjoon. I’ve only recently learned of her struggles, ones that you’ve allowed her to go through.”

“Allowed?” you question at the sheer audacity both of them have to treat you like an object rather than a person.

“I didn’t allow a fucking thing,” Namjoon interrupts and Nabi rubs at her temples in exasperation. “She wouldn’t let me help. She’s stubborn that way, but it’s what makes her so strong, Kang. Don’t think for a second I don’t know why you really want her under your roof. You already have someone lined up for her to marry, but that’s not fucking happening.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Nabi throws her hands in the air, stalking to the middle of the living room and commanding attention in a way that makes you envious. “Unless we’re all forgetting that Y/N’s here, I think maybe we should ask her what she wants. Mr. Kang, I understand tradition better than anyone here, but given that she hasn’t grown up in your care or home, you can’t implement traditional values without her knowledge of it. That’s dangerous and you know it.”

“Who is it?” your voice cuts through the room, stepping around Namjoon to face your father. 

Namjoon looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head, mouth gaping open in shock. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“I don’t know what else to even do, Namjoon!” You throw your arms up in frustration, turning away from him with tears in your eyes. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with all of this.”

“Not by entertaining this stupid bullshit.” Namjoon’s hands curl into fists and Hoseok quickly takes up the space at your side in case his friend’s temper gets the best of him. 

“That’s what I was hoping to talk to Mr. Kim about today.” Himchan faces Namjoon’s father again, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I learned about my daughter 10 years ago, Kim, when she was 18 and forced into working job after job until her fingers bled, and through all of it, your son was there. From my understanding, my father and yours had meant to work together quite some time ago and those plans fell through.”

Namjoon inhales sharply. Is Kang suggesting what Namjoon thinks he is? Could he really be handed everything he’s ever wanted right here, right now? Would you even be okay with that?

“I want him to vet Han Youngjae in exchange for discussing a new business venture that could benefit us both,” Himchan continues, sending Namjoon’s world crashing down. “You know as well as I do that the Han family has been around far longer than either of our families. Youngjae seems to be a good man, but I trust your son’s judgment, especially when it comes to Y/N. I’ve worked with the Han family for awhile now and the arrangement for my son to marry their eldest daughter is being finalized soon.”

“Then why the fuck do you need more ties into that family?” Namjoon’s tone has gone dangerously low, sending a chill down your spine, but rather than fear it’s bordering on something else entirely. “You come into her life, our lives, after she loses her mother and you want to marry her off to a family like the Hans?”

“I want to give her time to adjust to the idea,” Himchan clarifies, searching for some kind of hope that you’ll just think about it. “I truly believe—.”

“I will not entertain this idea,” Namjoon’s father stops Himchan before he can explain any further. “Besides the fact that it’s entirely absurd, Y/N has already been promised to my son.”

“I’m so fucking confused,” you say aloud without meaning to, and Nabi giggles while looping her arm through yours. 

Himchan winces at your colorful language, sighing in disappointment. “Y/N, truly, you shouldn’t speak with such foul language, it’s unbecoming.”

“How my fiancée chooses to speak is none of your business,” Namjoon defends you, quickly growing used to the idea of calling you his fiancée. It makes his chest warm and body hum with need. 

You startle, bumping against Nabi’s embrace. Namjoon’s casual use of the word “fiancee” makes your throat dry. You rather like the way it sounds, but you have to remind yourself that it’s just to get your father off your back. But then, if that were true, what was all of that back in his room? Namjoon’s been acting rather odd lately, invading your space, holding your hand, kissing your cheek. It’s enough to convince even you that he might actually have feelings for you. You let out a heavy sigh while shaking the thoughts from your head. No, Namjoon was well aware of how much you cherished your mother. He was simply helping you through the grieving process, and now with the looming threat of your father, he’s doing what’s necessary to keep you safe. 

“It’s been quite the day,” Nabi’s smooth and commanding voice cuts through the men’s argument, effectively silencing them as they all turn to stare at her. “It’s late Mr. Kang, and while we understand your concerns for tradition and the need to keep up with them, we’ve taken your proposal into consideration and have deemed it unnecessary. As Mr. Kim has already stated, Namjoon and Y/N have been promised to each other. There is no need for her to marry into the Han family.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Kang says through gritted teeth. “Custom states that the engagement requires my approval, which I’m yet to give.”

“You’ve kept tabs on us all this time,” Namjoon reminds him with a wicked smile. “Surely you’re not so naive as to misunderstand just what we’ve been up to in the night’s I’ve stayed at her home.”

“Namjoon,” you hiss, cheeks flushing at his implication. True as it may be that Namjoon has spent a considerable amount of nights at your apartment, he really only slept on the couch and the one time he nearly slept in your bed, he’d conceded and left the room. “Stop it.”

“I’m stating facts, sweetheart, nothing more.” Namjoon turns to wrap his fingers around your free arm and tug you close to his chest. His arm snakes around your waist to keep you trapped against him. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle low and deep, making you shiver as he skims his lips across your cheek. 

Kang curls his fingers into fists at the display. While yes, he was well aware of Namjoon’s overnight stays, he’d never seen any open displays of affection. He’s not sure if it’s because Namjoon is truly a private person, or if this entire charade is a lie. Either way, he cannot allow the opportunity to tie more of his lineage to the Han family to pass him by. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly to calm himself. “Fine,” he says while straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I will let this rest for now, Kim. But be warned, should I find anything false about this ‘engagement’ of yours, Y/N will live under my roof and she will marry Han.”

“You can’t—,” you begin to argue, but Taehyung beats you to it by instructing Jungkook and Jimin to escort Kang to his waiting vehicle. 

“Understand this, Kang,” Taehyung seethes while he still has Kang’s attention, “I will not tolerate your persistence of taking Y/N from underneath my roof. If, and only if, she chooses to part ways with Namjoon, I will make sure she gets far away from us and you. Trust when I say this is not a war you want with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it as you wish,” Taehyung stands tall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as if to show your father that Kang isn’t nearly as in control as he believes. “But, much like Namjoon, I’m only stating facts. However, I will take into consideration another meeting with you and your son.”

“What?” Namjoon snaps, and becomes pissed when Taehyung holds his hand up to stop him from speaking further.

“I know that customs and tradition are being called into question, and while I don’t agree to forcing a marriage between the Han family and Y/N, it is my duty to consider it should any arrangements between her and Namjoon fall apart.” Taehyung frowns in your direction, knowing that all he can truly do is help Namjoon keep up appearances until this entire mess is sorted out. He can’t step in and completely dissolve whatever deal Kang has made with the Han family, but he can delay it until Namjoon can talk you into a real marriage. He hates it, and is well aware that keeping you from the Han family by forcing you into Namjoon’s family instead is rather hypocritical. He turns back to Kang and sighs in defeat, “I swear to you that I will consider it seriously. In the meantime, don’t hold your breath, Kang.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor with the way Taehyung dismissed your father like a child, and the fact that your father actually leaves after being waved away is even more shocking. You look to Nabi for some guidance, but she only shakes your head with a reassuring smile, leaving you to believe that things might actually turn out okay in the end.  

[seasaltandcopper]

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc) for your vamp series!

-Lonesome

Set years before the start of the series, during Mal’s first week with the hunters. This swerved a bit off prompt, but I had fun lol

hopefully this is the series you meant. it's the one i mentioned in the tags when i reblogged the prompts, but I know I inconveniently have like three vamp-centric ones, so apologies if it's not

Vampire Hunter AU

Edit: this prompt now has a continuation here

Rating: mature

Warnings: torture, captivity, dehumanization, non-sexual nudity, stress positions, profanity, burns, implied (future) whipping, vampire whumpee, multiple whumpers

They strung Mal up by his wrists in the middle of the room, which was, if nothing else, a change of scenery. After spending who knew how long cramped in a pitch-black cell with nothing but his own thoughts keeping him company, this almost felt like an improvement.

Almost.

Mal tried to think positive. Instead of kneeling, bent double on a brick floor until his legs screamed in agony and the muscles in his neck and back cramped and seized, he got to hang, balancing on his toes so he didn’t dislocate his fucking shoulders, and enjoy a whole different set of muscles cramping up instead.

Variety—the spice of life.

Mal shifted restlessly, fighting a losing battle to ease some of the strain on his shoulders. An ache built in the joints, fiery knots that ratcheted tighter and tighter each time he let his arms take his full weight. A muscle in the back of his calf twinged.

Mal breathed. In and out, bare chest rising and falling, pale skin ashy under the stark fluorescents. Being so…exposed in front of a crowd also stirred up a nervous, squirming kind of shame Mal unsuccessfully tried to ignore.

Realistically, he knew a few flimsy scraps of cloth wouldn’t protect him from this; being tortured would suck whether he was naked or not. It was just one more attempt to humiliate him, to reinforce his “place” as something subhuman, that quickly chipped away at his remaining pride.

Across the room, one of the hunters grinned, tapped his buddy on the arm, and nodded Mal’s direction.

Great.

For the first ten minutes or so after hanging Mal up like a piñata, they’d just watched, joking crudely and laughing amongst themselves. Too many sets of eyes sizing Mal up, like a piece of meat.

Or sharks smelling blood in the water.

Now, it looked like they were finally ready to play.

Slowly, the hunter prowled closer. He pulled a small, folding knife from his pocket. As far as blades went, it was pretty tame. Something meant for trimming twine or nails—only a couple inches long.

Smirking, he held it up for Mal to see. Waved it slowly back forth so dramatically that Mal finally rolled his eyes at the display.

The hunter stopped and arched his brow, taunting, “Think that’s funny, leech?”

“Of course not,” Mal said, dryly. “You and that nail file are terrifying. Really.”

Egging them on was stupid; Mal knew it was stupid. And for the most part he’d bitten back the snark and profanity and played it smart. He watched. Listened. Looked for opportunities, openings, any weakness he could exploit.

But every now and then Mal’s mouth still got the better of him.

The hunter snorted. Glanced at the pocket knife and made a show of looking it over before shrugging and folding it closed.

“Yeah,” he conceded, mildly. “Never was a big fan of knives, anyhow. Not for this shit.” The man waved a dismissive hand, and turned back to the gaggle of hunters. “Hey, Niall, pass me the No. 3 Braided?”

A couple of the hunters laughed. One of the women whistled. Another scoffed, the sound almost lost to a louder protest of, “What happened to starting small?”, that kicked off another round of jeers and abrasive laughter.

Unease prickled like sweat on the nape of Mal’s neck. He swallowed, fidgeting and letting his gaze drift from the hunter to the crowd behind him. The other man, Niall, strolled forward a moment later, a length of something heavy and black coiled in his hand.

A whip. That was a fucking whip.

Niall passed it over and retreated back to the sidelines to watch. Tension settled over the room. Anticipation.

Given the floor again, the hunter hefted the tool, then tilted it to give Mal a better look. Against his better judgment, Mal did. Something in the pit of his stomach tied itself in queasy knots.

“This here is one of my favorite correctional tools in our kit. Sleek, got a bit of weight to it, feels real good in your hand.” He unlooped a single coil, letting the tip dangle. “Comparable to your standard bullwhip—little shorter, because we’re not driving cattle with it. But the craftsmanship is what really sets this thing apart. You got your standard woven leather cording, but then see that there…?”

He dragged a finger down the length, angling the whip again so it caught the overhead light. Dull shine Mal first mistook for well-oiled leather came into terrifying clarity, all at once.

Oh, god…

“Silver thread,” the hunter confirmed, enjoying the dawning horror settling over his captive audience. “All braided in with the leather, can barely even see them. But when it hits one of your kind—” Casually, the hunter pressed the whip to Mal’s stomach, just above his navel. “It adds a little extra zing to your swing.”

The reaction was immediate.

Pain sizzled across Mal’s skin as the interwoven silver burned on contact. He hissed through his teeth, and tried unsuccessfully to flinch away. Bare feet skimmed the concrete, yanking hard against the shackles anchoring his legs to the floor, a precaution to keep him from kicking.

Smart. Because without it, the asshole in front of him would’ve already been dead.

Grinning, the hunter held the silver-braided loop there for a few more seconds, watching his captive squirm. When he finally relented, a bright red line of blistered flesh marred Mal’s belly, like he’d carelessly leaned against a hot stove.

Shit.

Mal was breathing hard, now. Shaking, from more than just the strain of the position. Fear—real fear—danced around the edges of his consciousness.

Anger, too. Bone-deep, stubborn defiance Mal sometimes swore he’d been born with. It’d kept him going this long. Helped him weather things that were, theoretically, scarier than a ragtag group of human bullies.

In reality, he’d never faced anything like this before.

Ears ringing, Mal stared the hunter down, fangs bared in a snarl.

Face darkened with cruel glee, the hunter leaned in close. Just shy of Mal’s biting range, but enough the heat of his breath puffed against Mal’s skin, like he was sharing a secret between the two of them.

“Most of them scream by three.” The muffled thwick of leather hitting the floor echoed in Mal’s ears. “But I bet you’ll make it to five.”

Tag list: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Heaven or New Vegas

PART TWO: UNMASKED

Part One

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Courier!Fem!Reader

WC: 4.7k

Summary: Crossover fic (Fallout tv show and Fallout New Vegas), a rewrite based on the “Beyond the Beef” side quest in the game. — You and Cooper head in for a meeting that the dead private investigator was supposed to attend, and you uncover the truth of what's going on behind the scenes.

Warnings: canon typical violence (some graphic depictions), some canon divergence (with canon NPC dialogue/actions), mentions of cannibalism, mentions of death, small instances of discrimination against ghouls, pre-established relationship sort of (what they have is complicated okay), Cooper’s a companion (and a little shit), aaaand i think that’s it? But lmk if anything else.

--------------------------

You had never felt as on edge as you did when you passed by the lobby once more to get to the steam rooms. Mortimer was still at the reception desk, his smile sharp-edged, seeming more like a devilish sneer. You tried your best to smile as genuinely as you could, walking deliberately slow to make it seem like nothing was amiss. 

Cooper’s hostile energy was barely kept at bay, but the firm grip you had on his arm made him hold his tongue. Just to mess with Mortimer, though, he removed his hat and covered your faces as he bent down to give you a brief kiss. Not many were in favor of humans having romantic relationships with ghouls, and seeing the reactions on their faces was always priceless to him. 

You didn’t much care about other people’s opinions as long as they didn’t actively try to cross you, but you did have to admit it was amusing to see them so disgruntled. You just didn’t like it when Cooper was getting the short end of the stick, so you let him get payback however he wanted.

And as predicted, Mortimer had averted his gaze, scowling. The two of you snickered quietly amongst yourselves, taking the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

“You’re really something else,” you said with a slight shake of your head, but affection was still very much apparent in your voice.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he replied with a self satisfied grin. “We did a good job of cleaning ourselves up, I don’t think he noticed anything.”

“Well, not that he wanted to look at us for too long… All that wasted effort!” you bemoaned mockingly. 

He chuckled at your dramatics, and you glanced down at your Pipboy to check the time – ten minutes to go. You desperately wished you had your weapons, still on edge from earlier. You weren’t sure what kind of person you would find in the steam room, but you did not want to have to fight your way out again if you could help it. One could never be too careful, though. 

You entered the bathhouse and the first thing you found was a large pool, the glistening body parts of a couple of swimmers breaking through the surface.The atmosphere was warm and humid, and it smelled of chlorine. Both the floors and the walls were tiled with white mosaics, which looked damp and slippery. 

You made a point to slow down your steps just in case, holding onto Cooper for support. 

“Shame you didn’t bring a swimsuit…” he sighed. “You would’ve blended in quite nicely here.”

You clicked your tongue, chastising. “Behave, you! Keep your head in the game.”

You glanced over to the pool and considered it for a moment. A swim would be an incredibly rare luxury you couldn’t pass up so easily, but first you had to make sure you stayed alive to do it. 

You conceded a little, though. “But when all is said and done… maybe. If you’re lucky.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking. He was always especially handsome when his smiles were flirtatious, and you had the urge to kiss him again, but you had to suppress it for the time being.

The sauna wasn’t empty when you finally walked into it. Despite the cloying warmth, the dark skinned man who waited there wore a tuxedo, but just like Mortimer, he did not wear a mask. He seemed vaguely familiar, and you thought perhaps you had seen him somewhere near the bar when you’d first arrived.

“Who are you?” He asked warily. 

“You first,” Cooper countered.

“Oh, you don’t know?” His shoulders sagged slightly with relief. “That’s good. Guess they didn’t send you after me. Where’s the gentleman I was supposed to meet?”

“Dead,” you said. “We found a message in his matchbook telling him to come here.”

“My goodness!” He gasped. “They must have known he was talking to someone on the inside…”

“You mean the White Glove Society?”

“Yes, of course. They’ll be watching everyone closer now, I knew this was a mistake.”

You thought for a moment, watching as he dejectedly cradled his head in his hands. Cooper glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby and nodded for you to continue. 

“Is there… a particular reason why you’re afraid of them?” You ventured in a more sympathetic tone, unsure if you would get any more answers out of him. 

The man lifted his head and sighed heavily. “It’s Mortimer. If he knows I spoke to the investigator, he’ll have me killed, too.”

You and Cooper shared a sideways glance as your suspicions were confirmed. 

“Why, though?” You asked. “Is he behind the bride’s disappearance, too?

The man nodded. “He and, um, some of the others they… Have regressed to the old ways. They have taken many people over the last few months. Always from Freeside or other secluded places, you know, where they wouldn’t be missed. But it wasn’t enough… Now they’re also going for tourists out in the Strip and even in the hotel.”

You instinctively inched backwards, feeling like a stone was sinking in your stomach. Cooper let out a huff, arms crossed over his chest. 

“He’s got a funny definition of fine cuisine, that Mortimer,” he said.

“What were you supposed to discuss with the investigator?” You asked, swallowing bile. 

A look of deep shame crossed the man’s face. “I… know what happened to the bride, because I distracted her fiance while they took her. I had to do it! They could tell I was having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve gotten a few decent meals yourself,” Cooper spat. “Too little too late to be feelin’ guilty.”

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly! Look, some of the White Gloves started meeting privately a while back, saying we had lost our identity, and I started attending the meetings because I thought they’d be about changing some of our politics. But by the time I knew what was really going on, there was no way out. They’d kill me for all the things I’d already heard.”

You scanned his face to try and find a hint of dishonesty, but you only found guilt and remorse. You sighed, already knowing what to ask next.

“What about Ted Gunderson? They have him too, don’t they?”

He nodded. “He’s alive. Mortimer has special plans for him, so they’re keeping him fresh. The White Glove society has a private banquet every night at seven. Mortimer is planning on reintroducing human flesh into our cuisine, but he is going to do it in secret. And once everyone has eaten it, he’ll tell them.”

You shook your head in disgust. “Wouldn’t they punish him for the deception? Marjorie seemed pretty strict about the ‘no-cannibalism’ rule.”

“They might, but to him returning to the legacy of returning to the old ways is worth his life. He thinks so much of himself that I don’t think he would expect it, though.”

“Right… So where are they keeping Ted?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know exactly, I wasn’t in on that. I really think some of them have stopped trusting me. But I’d wager he’s in the members only section in the back of the Gourmand… The chef, Philipe, has an obsession with fresh ingredients. He likes to get experimental with his recipes. Maybe you could talk to him, see what kind of recipes he’s got. But if you try to break in there just to make a rescue, you can’t let them see you or Ted out in the open. There’s guards all around.”

“Got any more suggestions?” Cooper asked. “Don’t think it’ll be particularly smart to make a whole lotta racket fightin’ our way out of there.”

“Well, I guess I could sponsor her as an honorary member. The White Gloves are always lookin’ for someone who can elevate their status, and she certainly fits the bill with all you’ve done around the Strip.”

“Except it wasn’t just me who did all those things,” you countered, incensed. 

Cooper put a placating hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I don’t mind sittin’ this one out, darlin’. You’re the one with the pretty, smooth face, after all.”

“Well, as long as someone knows, that’s all I care about. Not gonna take all the credit,” you huffed, still irritated. “So, if we do that, then what? Any ideas on the banquet?”

“Really sorry, I did not mean any offense,” the man said sheepishly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Er, they’re doing a Pre-War wine tasting before the meal, so I suppose you could drug them. Though that wouldn’t stop any future kidnappings, and it doesn’t necessarily guarantee Ted’s safety. You have to expose Mortimer but… Oh! What if his revelation was a lie?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean, find some sort of meat replacement?”

“Yes! You could replace Philipe in the kitchen, I’m certain he has a suitable recipe,” he said. “And once Mortimer gives his little speech after dinner, you could walk Ted right into the middle of that room. Then he’d have some explaining to do.”

“Hmm, that actually sounds like a solid plan. And what will you be doing?”

“I have to lay low, at least until the banquet. We should meet after you’ve… Disposed of Philipe. I will send you two a message somehow.”

“Fine by us,” said Cooper. “We’ll get to it, then. We ain’t got much time.” 

The man nodded. “Good luck.”

With that, you and Cooper crept back out to the main pool area. You tried not to look at anyone, your vision fixed on Cooper’s back until you safely made it out. 

But right when you reached the bath house’s exit, you heard gunshots coming from the steam room, echoing throughout the place. Chaos ensued, swimmers loudly splashing around as they tried to exit the pool and run away from danger. 

Bodies shoved past you, some slipping and falling on the tiled floors before painstakingly getting back up. Cooper caught your arm and steadied you as someone nearly knocked you over.

“Shit, well there goes our insider contact,” He muttered, ushering you out the double doors.

“Mortimer sure is moving fast,” you said as you made your way down the hallway, blending in with those fleeing. 

“Then we’ll have to be faster.”

—------------------------------------------

Because you were sponsored as an honorary member of the White Gloves, you were given a key to the members only section within the hotel. You’d had to speak to Marjorie once again, a painful awkwardness lingering throughout the conversation. She had conceded due to your stellar reputation — No one else had managed to get into the Lucky 38 casino in many, many years. 

There had to be something special about you, after all.

You and Cooper sauntered in there like you owned the place. Special privileges were given to you due to the nature of the situation, though you hadn’t shared many details with Marjorie. It was not a light accusation to make without any tangible evidence, and you couldn’t ruin your plans before you’d even set them into motion. 

Cooper had enough MedX to drug the whole banquet if necessary, but you wanted to try your chances with Philipe first. If worse came to worst, maybe Cooper could distract him while you pickpocketed him.

You found your way to the kitchen and slipped past the swinging doors with ease. No one was around the main area, which struck you as odd. But then you noticed a stairway leading down to the basement level, unease curling in your stomach.

“Kitchen or bunker?” Cooper mused, looking down at the darkness waiting at the bottom of the steps. 

“To keep them in or keep them out?” you said, trying not to shudder.

“Well, that’s the real question, ain’t it? And there’s only one way to find out.”

He went ahead of you, wielding a knife that he’d swiped from one of the counters. You followed closely, keeping your eyes and ears peeled. There was a long hallway leading in both directions, faintly illuminated by the intermittent red light. There were various unmarked doors lining the walls. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to explore every single one of them, but Ted might be anywhere.

Cooper saw a figure down the hallway and dashed to take care of him quickly and silently. He brought back a stolen dressing cane and handed it to you, the smallest relief over having a weapon washing over you. You nodded at each other and started off down the left side of the hallway. 

You opened the first door to find a man inspecting an array of ingredients laid out on one of the steel prep tables. He brought them close to his face to try and find even the smallest imperfection, those not passing going straight to the trash. What a waste!

He looked up as you stepped in, Cooper lingering behind momentarily to make sure no one else was coming down the hallway.

“Why are you just standing there drooling? Do you think the world’s just gonna wait for you to get caught up? Get back out there and get to work!” He barked, his tone imperious.

“And who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” You snapped in return.

The man raised his eyebrows, a look of both disdain and astonishment on his face. “Who the fuck you do you think I am? I’m the fucking god of New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine, that’s who! I fucking invented edible food around these parts! If you like food, then you owe me your entire garbage existence.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, anger boiling to the top and threatening to spill over. Your grip tightened on your weapon, and you knew Cooper wasn’t far behind. Okay, so maybe you would have to shift into plan B after all, unless you could hold yourself back from bashing his brains out.

“So, Philipe, then, is it?” Cooper said through his teeth, holding on by a thread. He leaned against the doorway to block off any attempts at escape. “I think you might have her confused with someone else.”

“Oh, really? So despite her filthy face and vacant expression, AND her clear lack of human dignity, you’re telling me she’s not a server?”

“Why you little fucking rat–” You snarled, lunging at him, but Cooper stopped you before you could get very far.

“Hold on for a second, darlin’, let me try to talk some sense into him first.” He said, though he sounded just as angry as you. “We were here to make you an offer, but thinking about it now, maybe I oughta just unleash her on you. Unless, of course, you apologize for your poor fucking manners.” 

Philipe scoffed. “What sort of offer could you possibly have for me?”

Cooper tilted his head to one side slightly. “Ever thought of, I don’t know, publishing a cook book?”

“A cook book?” he seemed genuinely surprised, not having expected it at all. “Me? The supreme ruler of the Nevada dining scene teaching lowlife half-wits how to make food that doesn’t smell like burning excrement? Do you think it would sell?”

You laughed derisively on the inside, praising Cooper for playing to the man’s immense ego instead of immediately trying to barrel at him with murderous intent. Your shoulders relaxed some as you tried to fully regain your composure. 

“With your talents? Most definitely,” Cooper said. “You wouldn’t even have to deal with the public yourself.”

“As it should be,” Philippe said with a wry chuckle. “And how will you make this come about?”

“Oh, we’ve got a few connections here and there… Say, you ever heard of Mister House?”

“Mister House, eh? Now that’s the real deal…”

“‘Course it is. But as a sign of good faith, you know, we’ll need some recipes first.”

Philipe hesitated for the briefest second. “You’re pushing your luck, but alright. I have a few copies on me, here you go.”

He reached into one of his pockets and handed a couple of folded up sheets of paper to Cooper.

“This better be good enough, or we’re gonna have a real problem.”

“Oh, we won’t have any problems, but you on the other hand… You never did apologize. I tried to warn ya.” Cooper let go of your arm, nodding at Philipe with a sharp grin. “Have at him, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, raising the dressing cane over your head and swinging at Philipe’s head. You heard a crack and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious but not dead. 

“Thank you,” you said, satisfied with the small revenge you were able to get. “We should probably tie him up and hide him in the freezer.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, handing you the stack of recipes. “See if there’s anything of note here. Looks like we might have to prepare the banquet ourselves.”

You nodded, both of you immediately getting to work. You scanned through the recipes, intrigued by all the exotic combinations of ingredients. The penultimate one made you pause due to the fact that the dish was called Imitation Long Pig. 

You scowled, nausea threatening to claw its way up your throat. Philipe had cared more about the prospect of money and fame that he might not have remembered he had this one on him. It was experimental alright, but overwhelmingly useful, despite all the gnawing questions it left you with. 

Still, with the array of ingredients he had at his disposal, it might be possible to make a passable decoy meal. All that was left to do was find Ted Gunderson and get him to safety. 

“We might have to split up before dinner is served,” you said as Cooper returned from the freezer. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly in the banquet hall, while you look for Ted down here. I’d wager he’d be open to helping us expose Mortimer, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, what with the kidnapping and all,” he said. “Here’s to hopin’ he trusts the likes of me, ‘cus he’s shit outta luck if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t know, I think my charm has started to rub off on you.” You elbowed him on the side teasingly. “You played that asshole Philipe like a fiddle. Had it all thought up, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “I used to be an actor back in the day, sweetheart. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Don’t I know it?” 

The two of you spent the next two hours preparing the intricate meal. You left the tasting to him as he would be able to tell more accurately if you were on the right track. When all was said and done, the kitchen was a mess, but the food was actually pretty decent. It didn’t smell half bad, but the presentation could have been a little better. Hopefully, it would be enough to fool Mortimer and the other members. 

You glanced at your Pip-Boy to check the time, finding you had only twenty or so minutes left. 

“Alright, time to get this show on the road,” you said, a sudden wave of nervousness threatening to overtake you. “I’m gonna get in touch with the head waiter and get things set up. I’d say we have another hour while they eat. Think you can manage to make it on time?”

“I’ll do my best,” Cooper said, grabbing a cleaver from a wooden block. “That is, if he is still alive.”

You sighed, trying not to think of the other possibility. “I’ll meet you in the dining room, alright? I’ll try to find a uniform and a mask around here somewhere, so be careful who you go swinging that knife at later.”

He grinned slyly. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, I’ll be able to recognize you.”

————————————

“I know I’m not the scheduled speaker, but I’ve got a few words to say, if I may.” Mortimer’s voice was arrogant, almost gloating. Like he had already won. “There was a time not so long ago when we were bound together not as members, but as family. As a clan.”

You stood in the shadows near the kitchen door, peering out at the dining room from underneath a doll mask. Sweat beaded on the small of your back, praying that Mortimer liked the sound of his own voice enough to keep going for a little while longer. 

They had just finished eating a couple of minutes before, and based on Mortimer’s confident speech, he’d definitely been fooled by the fake meat. You smiled a little, savoring another small victory in your plans. You just hoped that Cooper wasn’t far behind, hopefully with Ted in tow. 

“Among us, it is a crime to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people,” Mortimer was saying, nearing the end of his speech. “Tonight, that all changes. The taboo ends.”

Marjorie started to stand up, astonished. “Excuse m–”

“Let me finish, Marjorie.” He interrupted. “For our society to be truly elite, we most dine on the most delicious, most exclusive food known to us. And tonight, for the first time as a society, you are sampling that very dish – the meat we are forbidden to taste, the way it was meant to be eaten! Bon appetit, my fellow members of the White Glove Society!”

There was a chorus of shocked and horrified gasps from the crowd. Marjorie nearly fainted but was caught by a woman sitting next to her. You almost felt bad for her. Your eyes swept over the perimeter of the room to see what the guards would do. They were poised for attack, but they were seemingly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The diners, on the other hand, were unsure of what to do, murmuring amongst themselves. Then there was movement in your periphery and you heard the tell tale jingle of spurs. You slowly breathed out in relief, watching as Cooper and a man you assumed was Ted Gunderson approached Mortimer from behind. Upon seeing them, he took a step back, one side of his mouth curling up in a sneer.

“What the– You two are trespassing! This is a private event!” He exclaimed. 

“Bad news, Mortimer, no one’s eating the fella you’d kidnapped for tonight,” Cooper said loud enough for all to head, gesturing at Ted.

“What are you–? Why is he here?” His voice trembled. “Who are we eating right now, then?”

You slowly pushed off the wall and unmasked, unable to help a smug grin. There was recognition first, followed by vitriol, which made the reveal all the more satisfying.

“It’s a secret recipe,” you said, twirling your dressing cane casually, barely concealing the threat beneath. “But it’s not human meat, I can tell you that.”

Mortimer stammered, panic in his eyes as he glanced around. Some of the diners started rising from their seats.

“No, t-they’re lying! I didn’t kidnap anyone,” he said, making Ted take an angry step forward. “Okay, well, e-even if I did, no harm done! See? He’s alive after all!”

“Too late for that, Mortimer. You’ve already said a little too much.”

Knowing he was backed into a corner, Mortimer became incensed, whirling around to glare at everyone. 

“You’re all hypocrites! How can you call yourselves connoisseurs when you don’t even allow yourselves the greatest of all meats?” He spat, disgusted. “I am ashamed to have once called everyone here family. But I’ll begin anew, and the White Glove Society will never achieve the greatness of my new order! You’ll all hear from me again!” 

With that, he fled,  much faster than you’d expected possible. Cooper was about to run after him, but you held him back as a couple of White Gloves pursued him instead. Ted crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head reproachfully. 

“Well, I’ll be damned… if it weren’t for y’all, I’d have been made into pot roast,” he said, shuddering slightly at the imagery. “I tried to tell my old man that meeting with these people wasn’t a good idea. They always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“We sure as hell were lucky,” Cooper said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But I still don’t trust the rest of ‘em.”

You looked over to where Marjorie was being fanned by the woman sitting next to her, while another woman offered her ice cold water. You let out a noncommittal grunt.

“Marjorie certainly seemed to be none the wiser, at least,” you said. “But it might be smart to take your business elsewhere, after all. You can tell your father all about it, in fact. We’ll take you to him.”

“He’s still here?”

“Oh yes, I don’t think he could ever leave you behind. And he did hire the best, to be fair.”

Ted looked at you and Cooper in turn, both of you beaming proudly. He let out an amused huff and nodded, smiling gratefully.

“I see that now,” he said. “Lead the way.”

You took him all the way back to the bar where, true to his word, Heck Gunderson still waited. Upon spotting the three of you, he leapt to his feet, his expression breaking open with relief. 

“Oh my god, Ted! Are you alright?” He asked, frantically searching his son for any injuries. 

“Quit your hollerin’. I’m just fine!” Ted gruffed, but he let him continue fussing over him. 

“You got me my boy back. I got no words,” Heck said tearfully as he turned to you and Cooper. “Who did this? I wanna skin their hides myself!”

“It was the maitre d’, Mortimer, who had Ted taken. He’s a cannibal,” you explained. “But he ran away right after we exposed him.”

“Well that does it! None of them maniacs will ever do business with Heck Gunderson as long as they live. They control the food? Well there ain’t gonna be no food, not for anybody in this whole damn town!”

“Hold on now, let’s not get too hasty,” Cooper intervened, holding up his hands placatingly. “That would be just what he’d want. You’d be driving everyone in the city to eat each other.”

Heck eyed him for a moment, but it was clear his suspicion had mostly subsided. He let out a deep sigh, relenting. 

“I don’t particularly like this place – the whole Strip, really. But you got a point, they’re all ready hell-bent on depravity here, and I don’t wanna help ‘em along,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a sack of caps. “Well, I promised y’all I’d make it worth your while, so here you go. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place, y’hear me?”

“No promises, sir,” you said, testing the heft of the bag before handing it to Cooper for safe keeping. “Thank you, and good luck with business.”

Both men tipped their hats and, with that, you parted ways. It seemed much easier to breathe now that it was all over, but the afterglow of victory was certainly worth all you’d both been through. You weren’t sure what you’d have done if Cooper hadn’t been by your side. You grasped his hand for a brief moment and squeezed his fingers appreciatively.

“So, what’s next for us, cowboy?” You asked, surreptitiously leading him back to the bath house. “After my swim of course.”

He chuckled, offering his arm for you to take. 

“I heard Gomorrah's got some shady business going on, might be worth checking out at some point. But we definitely deserve some time off, and we got the caps for it.” He said, looking over at you with a roguish grin. “Say… do you think Yes Man would be able to officiate if we asked it to?”

“Well, it can’t say no, so… I’m sure there’s a way.” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ve already got this nice dress, so we might as well put it to good use. But you know that means we’ll have to earn even more caps for the honeymoon, right?”

“All the more reason to hit up the casinos.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope none of them also have a cannibalism problem. I’ve had enough of that.”

--------

THE END.

[shade-pup-cub]

Unpublished work at last being posted to some kind of platform...

Title: Not Again - Wild & Twi, the others are there too.

Content Warning: mention of blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twilight groaned as he stayed splayed out on his back. Someone’s legs were draped over his stomach and he didn’t have the clarity to see who it was. He rubbed his hands across his face to try and help the world from spinning.

Time coughed nearby. “Everyone okay?” At least Twi could hear.

“That was a sick joke.” Legend was already on his hands and knees after the switch. They were in the middle of walking when the ground gave way to a portal, landing them where they currently were and if Twilight’s smell was accurate, they were in Wild’s Hyrule.

He gave it a few more deep breaths, sat up and saw that it was Sky's legs over him. He rocked the other by his knees, "You good?"

"Yeah, just rough landing."

"Um." Four started. "There's only seven of us though."

"Where's Hyrule and Wild?" Warriors asked as he looked around.

"Oh come on! Those two together, lost?" Twilight knew that Legend was actually worried about them, but decided to make it a little worse.

"Wild won't be lost. This is his Hyrule." Legend face palmed and Twilight could hear the curses under his breath very clearly.

"Wind, can't you communicate with Wild's slate?" Time asked as he reached a hand out to Twilight and Sky to help them up.

"Oh yeah!" Twilight hated magic and that was exactly what that was. Wind held up the necklace, "Wild? Are you there?"

After a moment of silence, "Hey sailor."

"Is Hyrule with you?"

"Yep. Where did you guys land?"

Twilight spoke for him. "We are beside the Broken Heart Pond, so right above Hateno Village. Where are you at?"

Wild didn’t say anything for a moment. "Can't tell at the second. We landed in a tree. Hyrule was passed out when we landed. He just woke up. Give us a minute to get down."

Twilight could hear the two moving around, then a thud. Another second went by when they heard Hyrule talk. "Wild? Hey, what's wrong?"

"T-twilight?"

That was never good. He could hear the raw emotion in his cub's voice. "Yeah?"

"W-we are at Fort Hateno. We are in the middle of the Guardian graveyard."

"Cub, it's okay. You're okay. They have been dead for a long time now. Just make your way to your house and we will see you two soon. Okay?"

"Y-yeah."

There was a mechanical noise from the slate and a panicked Hyrule talking. "What is that?"

"Run… Run!"

Twilight's breathing quickened at the sound of beeping, then a blast. The beeping stopped and he could still hear two sets of breathing.

"What do we do?" Hyrule asked.

"You aren't doing shit out here! You are getting out of here, now." Wild's tone was stern. A whistle was let out. "Hey girl. 'Rule, Epona will get you to my house safely. I'll be there soon."

"No, I'm helping you!"

"You don't know how to fight them! I can't fight them and protect you. I've done that and it cost me my life." A deep breath. "And before you tell me to go with you, if they are infected just like the rest of the monsters, I can't risk them following us."

"But-"

"No time to argue. It'll find us in a few more minutes." There was the sound of leather shifting. "Hang on to her tightly. Stay centered in the saddle. You don't have to hold the reins, just the horn. Hey girl. Go home as fast as you can and don't stop."

Twilight heard Wild slap Epona's rear with a ‘yah!’ to get her going and Hyrule's holler in protest. "Cub?" Twilight moved closer to Wind.

"I'm still here."

"How many?" He prayed there was only one.

"Seven."

He cursed to himself. "You can't teleport out?"

"Can, but what happens if someone else stumbles in and I had the opportunity to help and didn't?" The sound of beeping was heard again, getting faster and faster. "3…2…1…" They all heard the laser bounce and have a solid hit before Wild was slashing at it. "Six."

It stayed that way, Wild counting down after each kill, until he got to three left. "Shit."

"Talk to me. What's going on?" Twilight tried to keep calm.

"Last three all at one time."

"You can do this."

"Twi, did I ever tell you what was in that stew when we both got sick?" He sounded out of breath as he parried a beam away.

This was a distraction or a last confession and Twilight didn't like it. "No, you never did."

"Ha, well-" two lasers and grunting were heard as well as a shattered shield. "I ran out of meat and I had to use an alternative. The closest thing we had was that Lizalfos tail."

"Oh god, you didn't. We were sick for two weeks!"

Wild laughed. "Yeah, but we were also starving in the Hebra Mountains with no way of hunting, even if you were a wolf."

There was a long moment of Wild fighting, swords and shields breaking. There was the sound of coughing and a shaky breath. He sounded so tired. "Are you hit at all?"

"I'll be fine. Two left. Hey Sky?"

Sky walked over and stood next to Twilight, eyes wide. "Yeah."

"Can I borrow the Master Sword? I'm out of weapons. I even used a tree branch."

"Yeah, but how-" There were blue strands of light as the sword disappeared off of Sky's back. "Oh."

"Thanks!" The strikes from the Master Sword were distinct as Wild slashed at the machines. "One."

Twilight had a small smile, pride filled his heart, knowing it was almost over. That was until the sound of the sword shattering, well losing energy and it reappeared on Sky's back.

Twilight started to panic. "Wild, you're okay right? They are all dead?"

"Sure, if I could just-ahh!!"

"Wild?!"

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm back, but I can't keep dodging this thing. I have no weapons, not even a bow, but I have fucking ancient arrows!"

"Get out of there!"

Wild huffed. "Can't outrun these, you know that. But I have an idea." There was the sound of metal on metal. Wild must have been hiding under a guardian carcasse. "I can't make any promises about it though."

"Wild, no."

“Remember that thing I promised you I'd never do?”

He sighed, pinching his brow. “Please don’t say it.” It didn’t go well the first time he did this stunt. “You just used Mipha’s Grace.”

"Before I forget, Twilight, I love you."

"Wild, tell me that in person okay? Wild? Wild?!"

There was no response, only the sound of breathing. They could hear the air around Wild swirling at a high speed, Revali’s Gale. The air was still for a moment before the beeping started again. The air started whistling and Twilight could tell that Wild was free falling. The beeping was getting louder and faster as Wild got closer.

He was holding his breath, listening, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long before they heard the sound of the laiser going off, something metallic being punctured, the iconic sound of an ancient arrow swallowing whatever it hit.

The last sound he heard was Wild screaming. It sent a chill down his spine. He continued to scream until he ran out of air and had to sucking it in. He sounded like he was choking on some kind of liquid. Twi quickly realized it was the sound of blood in Wild's throat.

"Wild… Wild hang on, I'm coming to get you!!"

[suna-reversed]

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader 

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie,  or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness] 

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same. 

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin. 

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher, 

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself, 

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him” 

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about. 

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out. 

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string. 

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes. 

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’ 

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened. 

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse 

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face. 

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something, 

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt. 

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance. 

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing? 

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis. 

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting. 

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was  a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?” 

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

 - “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”- 

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far. 

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

[bakugosbratx]

Warning: NSFW 18+ Content. Sexual intercourse, angst, pregnancy, cursing, fluff, degrading, etc.

Words: 1.6k

Check out my other works here

A/N: I just realized there isn’t much talking at all. I’ll make up for it in part four. This shit is sad. I am sad so it’s fitting. I’m sorry in advance. I hope you enjoyed.

Part Two | Finale

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @miriobaby @lanarist @peachsenpie @milkthistletea @sickchildren @bakugousbrat @lil-miminini @tremendouswolfsaladranch @ssplague @vinny-likes-to-play21

Not every story has a happy ending. Y/N is learning this the hard way.

“CEO of Bakugo Industires, Katsuki Bakugo, shows off his new girlfriend at the Industry Ceremony tonight—“

You turn your phone off. Your red, swollen tear filled eyes could not look at the words and pictures anymore. The press sure did know how to capture the model’s perfect angles. A courtesy they would never give you if you were ever lucky to fill her shoes.

The way Katsuki’s muscular arm snaked around her tiny little waist made you fall ill. The flash of his glamorous smile filled your broken one with rage.

Your ears are filled with the salty liquid that flowed from your orbs. You are not even sure how you are still breathing. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t feel like this. You are just fuck buddies.

Were just fuck buddies.

The words will not stop replaying in your head. It’s been over a month. It’s spinning on a broken record player. All the emotions you felt in that moment intensify with each passing day. You should hate him for abandoning you, but your heart cannot do so. All you wanted was him.

You knew better than to fall for Katsuki. He told you to keep your feelings out of your sexual relations with him yet here you are, sobbing into your bedroom pillow, a growing fetus inside of you.

The room felt restricting of your oxygen supply. The ceiling fan sent chills down your warm spine. Your body aches and your throat feels dry. Katsuki’s cruel words along with his actions strangle you. You have not been able to see straight since.

The next couple of months of work are pure hell. You did your best to avoid Katsuki and he did the same. You noticed that Katsuki did not look at you as you were the only one in the room anymore. He seemed to look past you. If you dared meet those beautiful crimson eyes for even a slight moment, you were left feeling disgusted with yourself. Katsuki has a way of speaking without actually doing so. You adored and hated that about him.

Whenever he addressed you for business matters, you had trouble formulating sentences. Your eyes always seemed to be puffy from the endless nights of hysterical tears. Katsuki’s voice held more aggression than you are used to. Maybe you wanted him to at least have some sympathy, but that was nowhere to be found. He soon stopped inviting you to meetings.

You two did a wonderful job of finding the long way around the office building. Any precaution there was to take, you both did, but no plan is bulletproof and you are going to see each other at some point.

You two have not seen each other in over a month — almost two — and you have been feeling stronger than before. Less weeping nights, you are back to eating a normal diet, and you are more well rested. The bags under your eyes became less noticeable, but they still lingered longer than one would prefer.

You dried off your hands in the restroom — the one furthest from you and Katsuki’s office — and headed out to get back to work. The hallway is quite vacant around this time of day. Everyone is either on lunch or too focused on their work before packing up for the day. Your heels echoed amongst the marble floor. Looking up, your breath hitched.

Your eyes met the ones you desperately wanted to despise. Yours held sadness and desperation while he held anger and disgust. The way Katsuki viewed you, you started to view yourself. Even if it isn’t your fault.

The glance was only a maximum of five seconds, but those five seconds felt like a decade for you two. A period of time you would come to mentally plead for overtime.

You have not seen him for another three weeks after that. The cycle repeated: you sobbed, and sobbed some more, and then you started to cry less.

Then it happened.

You are coming into work late due to a doctor's appointment. The baby is healthy as are you so that is lovely news. Something you would love to share with Katsuki if he even remembered your name.

The elevator was taking its sweet time getting up to the floor where your office is located. You felt strong. How could you not? Your baby is going to be okay from the looks of it. A little human is excited to meet you and you are becoming excited to meet them.

Maybe things are starting to fall into place.

Elevator doors open. You begin to walk forward but come to a halt with the man standing in front of you; Katsuki Bakugo.

Your heart races with your bottom lip begging to quiver. You do your best to hide it though as you brush past one another. A jolt of electricity shot through you. The slightest graze of his calloused fingertips felt so rigid yet so soft. Your instincts force you to look up to see the stranger peer down at you. The stranger you used to know.

“See me, Katsuki. See me as the woman you used to know.” You mentally beg. You just wanted him to see you as somebody. Somebody he used to want.

Katsuki paused there, speaking to you through his eyes. This time, they did not hold as much disgust as before. Maybe it’s the hormones, but you could have sworn you witnessed longing within the roots of his irises. If Katsuki was capable of processing his emotions and allowing them to show, he would write them on his features. He remains stone cold, preventing his fingertips from latching onto yours. So, awkwardly they lay, both of your breaths caught in your windpipes until Katsuki decides to break free of the shackles.

You attempted to be in Katsuki’s space more. You knew him like a book just like he did for you. You both learned each other’s frequent routines.

Awkward encounters became more frequent and you both secretly looked forward to them. Long stares that withheld unspoken phrases. Katsuki’s gazes turned from disgust to softness. Especially with your stomach starting to show as the months rolled on. Still, not a word was spoken

The corporate office began to talk. Chatter amongst Katsuki’s employees disturbed his peace of mind. He knows he has to address you at some point, but what is there to say? What could Katsuki even begin to formulate for you to understand where he is coming from? You are due sooner than he is comfortable with. There is no hiding your stomach.

You never asked a penny from him. Hell, you have not even tried to speak to him since that night. You only spoke when formally addressed. Even that was rare.

Katsuki replays that night a lot while laying in bed. He claims what you two had was just two coworkers having sexual intercourse, but nothing can hide the way he moans your name when he masturbates or has sex with someone else. The way he sees you in every female he comes into contact with. Nothing can hide the way his natural rapid heartbeat stops by the mention of your beautiful name. Don’t even get him started on the way you purposely would get on his nerves. They are all part of the list of delicate little things he missed.

You have every right to hate him. Katsuki would not blame you if you did. His hatred for himself reflected in his actions which ultimately was passed onto you. You carried that burden. He would search for the reflection of his anger in your orbs, but they held none. They held nothing but sadness and love. Love he refuses to accept.

Katsuki laid in bed, alone, allowing his mind to wander. He cursed you for keeping him awake. He is a busy man with things to do yet your features haunt him. The thought of someone else touching you the way he does killed him. He knows he would have heard muttering by now if you went to his rival yet there is silence.

You are silent.

You are falling deep into your peaceful slumber. Something you have been doing more lately. You no longer need the lullabies of your heartache and unwanted whimpers for comfort. You are more at ease.

A heavy knocking at the door startled you. Groaning and gazing at your cell phone, the time read the time.

1:03AM

The knocking picked up again. You are not expecting company at this hour so you take precautions. Grabbing the metal baseball bat you keep under your bed, you stroll to the door. The knocking echoed through your apartment complex much to your sleeping neighbors dismay. Your adrenaline rises with each step you take towards the door. Gazing out the peephole of your front door, you see Katsuki standing at the door.

Throwing the baseball bat to the side, you open the door.

“Katsuki, what the—“

Katsuki ushers himself in, not even giving you an opportunity to scold him or ask anymore questions. Instead, his lips are entangled with yours. Magnets desperately pulling towards each other. You attempt to push him away as you smell the alcohol lingering in his breath, but Katsuki is much stronger than you are.

Your mind is telling you to hate this, but your heart speaks otherwise as Katsuki pushes you against the beige wall, caging you in with his arms. You did not even try to stop him as he began removing any article clothing on your body. Your lips only disconnected for short seconds before meeting again. Now you are laid on the kitchen table, Katsuki’s thick erected cock deep in your pussy, begging moans escaping your parted lips.

Here we go again.

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 1

Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less. 

AO3 mirror

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.  

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Unknown Number:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

 Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

[ryosmne]

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x reader part 4

Hello, it's me your friendly neighborhood Sukuna simp, I don't have much to ramble about today, I hope you have fun reading this part :)

Series masterlist here

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, implied smut that I'm too shy to write.

The café was unusually quiet today, maybe it's because the other days y/n found herself sitting at that exact spot by the window, Mai was the one sitting across from her. Today was different, Nobara took Mai's place for brunch after class, to be fair she hadn't showed up in some time so both Nobara and y/n jumped at the opportunity to spend some time together.

"So, does it feel lonely now that Yuuji and Mai spend so much time together?" Nobara asked, evidently trying to make y/n admit to some form of jealousy she was sure she had. "Not really, I'm happy she's finally with someone so good for her and she's finally off my back about hooking me up with random dudes" y/n said and she was honestly happy for her best friend, Yuuji was a very nice guy and in the past few weeks he's been seeing Mai, he's nothing less of a sweetheart and y/n saw him a as a little sibling even though they were roughly the same age.

"Of course, why would you be lonely, Sukuna's been keeping you company too." Nobara's eyes had a glimmer in them, not because she wanted to tease y/n, but she was very invested in the girls business with the oh so attractive tattoo artist.

Nobara did her homework on the guy, he certainly wasn't as polite or well mannered as he came across the night they met. He did seem like trouble at first glance, but the way he looked at y/n that night, or the times he waited for her to get off class to have some time together, Nobara would say that even a blind man could see that y/n had been tugging on Sukuna's heartstrings.

"It's not like that" y/n was once again flustered. What was she to the pink haired man, who missed no chance to be around her? "You're making out in his car in broad daylight, what is it like?" the brown haired girl chuckled, her friend was an idiot if she worried for a second about the man who looked at her like she would disappear at any second. "I don't know, but we aren't together like that, he's an interesting guy" y/n longed to be with him, she had a faint memory about him talking about something like that the time he spend the night with her, but then again, she was drunk and that could be her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

"Ok then whatever you say, I really hope you're not doubting the dude that cooked you ten different options for breakfast, after he took your drunk ass home."

"Wait how do you know about that- did Mai? Oh I'm gonna kill her."

Despite the tiny voice asking 'what are we?' in y/n's head, her days with Sukuna have been some of the best she's had. Granted they couldn't see each other that often, whenever they did, it was always better than the time before.

Sukuna had taken her to all the restaurants he knew were good, cafes with the best tiramisu she had ever tasted, taking an hour and a half to get to the next place he'd see her smile listening to her excitement filled voice as she told him how delicious the food was, then giving him some attitude mumbling about how she didn't expect him to have such nice taste, was the easiest victory to him, the highlight of his day.

He hadn't managed to get her back to his chair like he needed to yet, he had been so busy finding the best places to take her to that it seemed like it completely slipped his mind. It hasn't slipped Sukuna's mind though, he's just been nervous to bring it up again, what if she doesn't want to do that anymore? What if she changed her mind? What if she just agreed because she felt compelled to do so? Sukuna didn't know which one was worse.

Even on the days they couldn't see each other they were in touch, texting silly things or messing with each other. If a day was anything other good Sukuna could vent and let out his frustrations talking to y/n and she often did the same. Sukuna preferred calling her for that, not only to get things off his chest but because her voice was so calming to him, the need to hear it grew stronger each day he wasn't able to see her.

Afternoon classes were always adding to her demise, y/n even accepted Mai's gossiping over paying attention. Yuuji as she expected was as sweet as he looked, Mai was once again gushing over him and his adorable nature. Y/n just smiled at her friend who rumbled about the boy who, by now had a very firm hold of her heart. "You and Sukuna?" She asked, prying for any information she didn't already know from Yuuji. "Me and Sukuna" y/n stated back, shit eating grin on her face, knowing how not entertaining Mai and not feeding her what she wanted completely pissed her off. Y/n's phone buzzed from her pocket, giving her a little break from her friends curiosity.

Can I take you out after class?

Y/n's lips tagged into a small smile. "Speak of the devil" Mai teased looking over y/n's phone.

Hmm depends. Where to?

Its a surprise, doll

You know I hate surprises, but I can make an exception for you.

Mai pretend to gag next to her, but y/n payed her no mind. She had already seen enough from her and Yuuji to do the same.

You won't regret it, I'll be outside when you're done.

"Just don't make out in the parking lot again, being in his car doesn't mean that we don't see you." Mai was being Mai again. Y/n shoved her arm lightly and told her that they all knew how her and Yuuji sneaked around the bathrooms, laughing as her face flushed red.

Sukuna entered her field of view leaning against his car, finishing up a cigarette, looking too good for anyone not to stare at him. The total black outfit he had on did wonders for him, even if it was the simplest of crew cut shirts and sweatpants, every piece of clothing complimented him. Waving at Mai, y/n walked towards him noticing he's cocky expression. "Feels like you're eating me up with those eyes" he laughed, why must the sound of his voice be this melodic at all times. "Don't worry I missed you too" Sukuna said laying a soft kiss on y/n's lips as a greeting. If her fellow students weren't staring already, now they surely were .

" Where are we headed tonight?" Y/n asked fastening her seatbelt, she still kind of thought of Sukuna as clumsy, even though he's driven her many places, it's not that she didn't trust him, he was a very good driver. Hey safety comes first.

"You'll find out" he spoke with a little grin, before starting his engine and driving off.

Unlocking his door, he let y/n step inside first. Sukuna's house was surprisingly neat, everything looked to be in place, the décor was minimalistic. It felt like Sukuna very home-y, but then it didn't. It was too tidy, y/n didn't really think of him as a tidy person. The place also had his scent of sandalwood so y/n easily relaxed into the new space taking some more steps forward to look around.

"Bringing me to your house like this without taking me to dinner first, tsk should've known you were that type 'kuna." Y/n said in a mockingly disapproving tone "Who said that, I'm cooking dinner for you." Sukuna said draping his arm around her shoulders guiding her to his kitchen.

Whatever Sukuna had on his stove smelled scrumptious, making y/n's mouth water, maybe how pretty Sukuna looked with an apron on and a little sweat forming on his forehead from the heat of the stove helped too.

"You know, I would have never guessed you knew how to cook." Y/n let some of her assumptions fly in the room, she was the only one with a pass to talk about whatever she wanted with him. Sukuna wasn't going to shut her down. Y/n had leaned back on his table, her eyes roamed his figure freely. Sukuna would look over his shoulder smiling to himself every time he caught her in the act.

"I had to learn, Yuuji and I lived with our Grandpa, when he passed, it was just me and him." Y/n's heart clenched in her chest, Sukuna sounded different saying that. The truth is, Sukuna had never talked about that with anyone, he never made word of his grandfather's passing or the hardships him and his brother went through when they were left alone. He had mentioned to y/n that his and Yuuji's grandfather raised them, but from the way he spoke about him y/n was sure his Grandfather was doing well. "I'm sorry for your loss" was all she could muster at that moment, the pain in his voice was much too real for her. "Thank you, at least my brother turned out pretty good" he quickly changed the subject to something ligter, surprised at his self for opening up to her so easily. "You didn't turn out that bad either" y/n let the words spill, she had spent the past half hour blatantly checking out his back, she had nothing to get shy about. Sukuna let out a laugh, gripping his wooden spoon a little tighter throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Is that what you think?" Y/n shifted in her seat, how could this guy go from sentimental to laughing about his brother and to whatever this dark seductive tone was, she had no idea.

"Come on don't get shy on me, you were having fun checking me out just a minute ago, see anything you like" in the blink of an eye, Sukuna was slightly bent down facing her. Even after all the makeout sessions they've had that usually ended with y/n slapping his arm worrying that someone saw them and Sukuna looking at her with a cocky grin reassuring her that they gave a good show to whoever was watching, he could still make her all flustered, and she looked adorable like this, a deer caught in headlights. Sukuna kissed the tip of her nose, telling her she looked cute before turning his attention back on the food.

"Did you find that movie?" Sukuna's voice came from the kitchen, y/n was fumbling with the remote on his couch. Sukuna insisted on eating in his living room, he didn't want this to feel too formal, he still had whine out with fancy plates and everything, but he only wanted to cook for his girl and see her eyes light up eating his food, like they always did when she tried the food on the restaurants he took her.

"Yeah, here let me help with that." She said getting of the couch to help him set everything. "No no no, you go sit down, I'll do the work." Sukuna insisted, y/n only raised a brow at him and complied.

"Okay, you have to teach me, this tastes so good 'kuna" that nickname stuck, not that Sukuna complained, his stomach still did flips every time y/n called him that. She was looking at him just the way he hoped she would. The dish was quite simple, chicken with some red salsa and vegetables, but it was better than anything she'd ever tasted.

"I can give you a little cooking class, as long as you go grocery shopping" He offered her a little smile and y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Y/n was leaning on Sukuna's chest with her arm hooked around his waist, he had a firm hold of her too, mindlessly looking at the screen but not paying enough attention to it. The movie y/n chose turned out to be a barely watchable C grade thriller and the two glasses of wine they had didn't make it tolerable either. Bad movie or not, having her under his arm like this was all he needed to feel calmer. Sukuna was so calm that he forgot why he brought y/n over.

"Can I show you something?" Sukuna spoke softly, looking down at her, y/n nodded in reply and groaned loudly at the loss of his warmth when he got up from the couch, Sukuna could only chuckle at her .

"Just two drinks and you're already a brat."

"Shut up."

Sukuna came back holding a big folder and some sketch books, y/n's curiosity picked and she found herself straightening up a bit.

"I've been dying to show you these." Sukuna stated as he flipped through the pages. Y/n's eyes danced all over the various shapes and designs he had came up with. Her eyes traced a particular three headed fox, she had never seen anything like that before, she reached out her hand to feel his drawing on her fingertips.

Sukuna's heart picked up its pace, she was currently in aww at his favourite piece for her. "Are those what you told me you came up with form me?" She was amused, she stared at him wide eyed not believing that anyone would ever do something like that for her, "Yeah, every design here is meant for you, you can pick whichever you like, but if you don't want me to tattoo you, I'll understand, you don't have to let me if you don't want to." Y/n couldn't believe it, there were enough drawings in here to fill her entire body in ink. She had hardly believed him when he said he had a vision for her sleeve, but this, this was out of this world.

"I don't even know what to say, these are so beautiful, but why did you go through all this trouble?" She still couldn't see a reason for it. "You've given me so much inspiration from the first time you visited, I can't get your skin out of my head, seeing you in my work is just surreal. I would do anything to do it again" Sukuna's words had not yet sunken in properly, y/n was still in disbelief.

Sukuna placed his sketchbooks on the coffee table, his hand prompting y/n's chin up so he can look at her face in the dim lights of his living room. "I will decorate any part of your skin you're willing to give to me, I'll give you the best work I can, please let me do this much." Sukuna almost sounded desperate, his face was once more too close and his wine scented breath tickled her lips, he had almost gone mad drawing in most his free time, and every time he saw her, a new idea of what would fit her popped into his head.

"You can do that" the moment these words rolled out of y/n's tongue, Sukuna had heard all he needed, and latched his mouth on hers, allowing his hands to explore more of her body. Between heavy breaths, Sukuna whispered about the softness of her skin, how he couldn't wait to mark her again, how he wanted her to be his canvas, his and only his. Diving in her neck once more, littering her sensitive skin with bruises she'd have to cover up tomorrow and her hands tangled up in his hair. "Just be good for me and I'll be gentle" His words only made her anticipate more.

The next day Sukuna was walking like the happiest man on earth, he woke up and had breakfast with his beloved doll, he had a smile on his face you couldn't miss. His co-workers didn't miss it either nor did they miss the huge forder he had under his arm when he came in, but they didn't question it.

Gojo spent his time teasing him about his unusual demeanor while Geto laughed to himself assuming what everyone else did.

Teasing him and prying about Sukuna's previous day didn't really work in Gojo's favour, Sukuna would simply ignore him and his smile still hadn't fadded. Gojo took it as his personal mission to piss him off when he had a lightbulb moment.

"Come on man, you talk about her all the time and when she comes over we're all working, when are we gonna get to meet her?" Gojo pushed, for the third time today, he finally found a weak spot.

The entire crew was curious meet y/n, properly this time at least, but Gojo was the only one who could confidently voice that. "Tell you what, go one month without fucking someone in here, and we can all go for some drinks tonight." Sukuna said in a joking manner, there was no way Gojo Satoru would agree to something like that, the man couldn't last two days on that deal, he was not about to give his word to Sukuna and take one for the team.

Gojo stood before the pink haired man, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose "Then, it's a deal" he said, obnoxious as ever with his hand extended for Sukuna to take. Sukuna knew Gojo was a man of his word, and if he shook on something, he would no doubt keep his end. Now Sukuna had to keep his as well.

Hey doll, I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a few drinks with me and the rest of the guys after closing?

Sure, I'll be there before nine, what's the occasion?

No need, I'll pick you up, they just really want to meet you, you don't have to come if you don't want to though.

Don't be stupid, I won't pass the opportunity of collecting blackmail on you.

Sukuna was smiling at his phone, that was so typical of y/n, his grin quickly faded once his eyes met the idiots standing before him with hopeful eyes. "Just don't do anything stupid" he sighed defeated before getting back to work, this was going to be a long night.

Y/n easily spotted Sukuna's car, he was parked just further down her street. Carefully swinging the passenger door open, she expected at least extra someone inside, but it was just Sukuna.

"Hey 'kuna." y/n greeted stepping inside, Sukuna faced her with a half smile, lazily bringing his hand on her jawline, pulling her in for a short kiss. "You're looking very pretty today, dollface." he spoke, still inches from her face, as his eyes traced her figure. Every inch of exposed skin begging him to mark it. Sukuna halted his wandering thoughts when y/n spoke again. "Everyone ended up ditching you in the end? cause you could've taken me out without an excuse like that."

"I wish they did, but unfortunately for both of us we'll have to suffer through it, I know you'd rather have me all to yourself." The mare glance he gave her from the corner of his eye as he put the car on speed was enough to have y/n's hear thumping in her chest. "Speak for yourself, airhead." Y/n's tone didn't lack at all in sarcasm. She did want him all to herself but she also was very intrigued by the rest of his crew, Sukuna always spoke about them. Whether it was stories from his childhood, college or everyday work things, y/n kept hearing about Nanami, Geto, Gojo and Megumi so she looked forward to getting to know them for herself. She had only seen Gojo and Nanami. Megumi and Geto had always been occupied when she dropped by the shop she would catch a glimpse of them tonight.

Sukuna's hand had taken a grip of her thigh, making y/n not so focused in their conversation. Sukuna was mindlessly squeezing while warning y/n about his friends.

The bar looked more like a museum in her opinion, still a very beautiful, elegant place. Y/n expected no less from Sukuna, he's already accompanied her to the best small restaurants and patisseries, sometimes she wondered how he came to know this many perfect date spots.

Sukuna had managed to slip his hand in her's the moment he noticed eyes on his precious doll and guided her to the table his co-workers were sat.

"You owe me 50 Nanami, they did show up."

"You're making me regret this already." Sukuna said, his head dipping slightly

"Come on 'kuna don't be such a grump" had that been y/n's voice Sukuna would've smiled down at her and his demeanor would instantly change, Gojo's voice only offered him annoyance.

Y/n took notice and softly brushed his hand with her thumb, Sukuna let a little laugh and proceeded to introduce the girl under his arm to everyone. "Y/n this is Geto, Megumi and you already know Nanami and Gojo here" Sukuna spoke pulling out y/n's seat as she shook hands with everyone. Gojo took the chance to piss his friend off, after all he would have to strictly work for the next month, he brought y/n's hand to his lips, giving her a compliment on her dress, making Sukuna red in the face.

Everyone took a liking to her very quickly, seeing exactly why Sukuna was so taken by her, she was witty and smart with a silver tongue that was also very sharp. Geto begun telling her about Sukuna's embarrassing drunk nights in college while Gojo laughed and even Nanami snickered. Megumi made Sukuna regret the day he considered taking him in his shop when he told y/n how he always cried as a kid if he didn't have a cookie after his meal. "That's why you always grumble about dessert?" Y/n asked him choking in laughter, Sukuna mumbled a reply and went back to looking annoyed, he was really happy to see y/n interact with his friends so effortlessly. This girl was constantly giving him more reasons to be around her.

Y/n was in the middle of a deep conversation with Nanami about philosophy, her eyes gleaming when he mentioned Plato's allegory of the cave. Geto subtly tapped Megumi's leg to get him to notice how Sukuna was resting his chin on his hand staring at y/n, who was blabbering about Greek philosophers, with the most sweet expression on his face any of them had seen. Gojo also took notice of that and an unspoken pact of 'annoy the fuck out of Sukuna' was made then and there.

"Have you thought about the next thing you want done or did you just want one tattoo?" Gojo asked the girl, breaking her conversation with Nanami a little too early for her liking.

"Yeah, I'll be getting some more work from Sukuna pretty soon" y/n replied proudly, her mind wandering to the night before to Sukuna and the beautiful pieces he came up with just for her. Sukuna perked up, his heart thumping by how happy y/n sounded with these words rolling out her lips.

"You sure you want him to do it though? You know I'm free if you need." Gojo's voice was condescending like always. Sukuna tensed up, jaw clenching at the thought of anyone laying a finger on y/n's skin. "Are you crazy? with work like this, I wouldn't let anyone else do it." Y/n laughed, Gojo must've been joking anyway.

Sukuna found so much comfort in her reply, she loved his artistry and never hesitated to show it, no matter how much of a brat she could be with him. Geto butted in the conversation too "y/n is right, look at how beautiful Sukuna's work looks on her, there's no way she'd change him." Y/n nodded at his words. "But I also do black and gray, I'm sure I could come up with something for you" Sukuna's eyes were glaring daggers at the raven haired man next to him, he remained oblivious to it laughing on the inside, Sukuna was so predictable.

"Thanks, but you said it yourself, there's no way I'd change him." Y/n spoke confidently, taking a sip of her vodka, knowing that at this point she was stroking Sukuna's ego and it would only grow bigger. Sukuna had no idea what everyone was onto trying to tattoo y/n, probably piss him off. From the looks of it, y/n wasn't going to let that happen. Nanami was observing quietly exchanging a few more words with y/n, he was right about her not taking other people's bullshit, Gojo couldn't pull anything with her, Nanami could see what Sukuna saw in her.

"Y/n, when you first came you were going to get tattooed by Megumi right?" Nanami spoke, Sukuna never expected him to join the others in their stupidity. "Yeah, he takes the walk ins right?" Y/n said casually, paying no mind to what Nanami was trying to do, the rest of them were also shocked that he decided to join in on making Sukuna's night a little hellish. Oh the betrayal.

"Did you want to get tattooed by Megumi?" Such a simple question, but Sukuna was at the edge of his seat "Yeah, I did, he was the reason I chose Domain in the first place, everyone loves this guy's work, I was pretty excited." Sukuna's face dropped, it's not like he didn't expect that, of course y/n came based on the reviews, he couldn't be mad at her for not booking him, she didn't even know him. He was pretty happy that he ended up taking her in that day, even if his insides boiled with jealousy at this very moment "Sorry for ruining your plans doll" the same smugness echoed in his voice "I can only stay mad at you for so long." Meeting his enlarged pupils and darker eyes, she could tell Sukuna was indeed, jealous. He had nothing to be jealous of, she didn't plan on leaving his side anytime soon, but when Megumi took his turn in the game everyone seemed to play, y/n found it hard not to join them. "If you still want to I can tattoo you since I never got to" Megumi knew he was walking on thin ice when Sukuna gave him a look that made him wish he was dead, these two got in fights all the time as kids and ended up with bruises all over them, if Megumi didn't ease up Sukuna would gladly remind him of the past.

"Uh, yeah, if you've got a design" y/n said with a bit of hesitation, Sukuna was seathin next to her, his hand aggressively palming her leg just above the knee. The rest of the night Sukuna didn't really speak, only leaned in y/n's ear to tell her to slow down on the vodka, the rest of the guys continued to talk amongst themselves as if nothing had happened.

Exiting the bar, y/n was walking- trying to keep up with Sukuna who walked fast to his car after mumbling a goodnight to everyone. Y/n regretted playing along, she'd never seen Sukuna this quiet. " 'kuna, I'm sorry I really didn't want to upset you" she said her eyes on the ground, gently tagging at his jacket, how could he ever get annoyed with her when she looked like that. Sukuna wasted no time swiftly taking a hold of her, his lips ghosting her's "I'm not that upset, only a little" his voice barely above a whisper, lips grazed over hers briefly. Sukuna didn't know if that was his heart or hers thumping so hard "I'm tired of dancing around it" his breath was hot, warming up her face making y/n's face impossibly hotter. "Dancing around what?" She asked with visible hesitation. Sukuna dipped down once more, not so softly this take taking her soft lips into his own, gently tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, letting one of his palms to rest on her cheek and the other taking a loose hold of the back of her neck. Her arms naturally found their way around his neck. "I told you I want you all to myself" . Did he mean what y/n was thinking? Did y/n want him to call her his? Sukuna almost crackled at her puzzled expression. Sukuna wasn't one to express things this openly, y/n was a bit dense in that department so he had to, at least he told himself that.

"I'm starting to get a bit disappointed, I clearly remember you saying 'i would say yes' with some romantic mumbling" Sukuna said, stroking her cheek ever so slightly.

Her breath was striped from her lungs, it wasn't from the kiss this time. So that did happen, y/n's mind was not playing tricks on her, Sukuna had in fact asked. Her eyes once again gleamed looking straight to his crimson irises. "So will you be mine?" He was more confident this time, they had grown closer, laughed more, shared more, Sukuna wanted this from the very first session they had together and the more time he spend around her, the more he couldn't bare the thought of anyone laying their fingers on her. Perhaps Nanami's little show got under his skin way more than he could ever admit, but there was no way he's letting anyone mark her. Y/n was his personal artwork, only the finest of pieces shall taint her skin. "Yes, airhead" y/n said, finally having enough air to form words, still in his arm with a smile on her face, indulging him on another deep kiss. "Let's seal the deal then."

Sukuna finally got to fulfill his need, y/n was back on his chair late in the afterhours of the night. He finished free handing another of his designs he showed her the night before, the outline of her sleeve, with the Cerberus foxes he created just for her.

Y/n was standing in front of his full body mirror, examining the very delicate lines of his marker. His arms snaked around her waist, Sukuna could watch her admire his art for eternity.

"You look so beautiful in it" he simply stated, looking at their reflection he could only note her beauty. Y/n looked beautiful, beautiful on her own, beautiful in his tattoos, beautiful in his arms.

"Your art is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen, but you too are a close competitor" her voice crystal clear, she managed to make a faint pink dust his cheeks. Sukuna wasn't one to take compliments, but from her? He could listen to her little praises all day. "Now, now get your ass back on this chair, you're not getting out of this"

"I didn't plan to anyway."

Bonus Domain shenanigans: Megumi had the pleasure of opening up the very next morning, what the hell happened here, he was about to call the cops when he saw Sukuna looking scruffy and sleep deprived, emerge from the back room, same pants and undone dress shirt as the night before. "What the hell" was all that he could say. Sukuna was thankful he let y/n out the back just so they could both avoid the embarrassment that was to come.

"What happened here?" Geto asked the moment he came through the door, although he already knew, Sukuna was predictable. "Nothing happened" Sukuna groaned trying to get them to shut up, he just needed some coffee. He disappeared in the back again.

"yeah sure, 'nothing happened' does he think we're stupid or something" Gojo said to Nanami, who already had a headache and he hasn't been in for 15 minutes yet. "Stop it already nothing happened" Sukuna said, coming out in the front to order a coffee. Gojo stared at him, walked closer to him and began laughing straight to his face, "fuck you're laughing at?" Sukuna was confused

"Next time, clean the lipstick off your face and neck." Nanami chuckled while Gojo continued to laugh at Sukuna's frustration.

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[potter-imagines]

Smoking 🍃 w/ Your Boyfriend Fred Weasley...

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader  Prompt: Thought this was an interesting idea since I think we can all agree the Weasley Twins were def dealers lol

 (I’m still on vacation I just had this one in my drafts so I finished it up)

Warning: mature, sexual, weed, smoking, swearing, probs more.  If mentions of drugs makes you uncomfortable or you just don’t like it, don’t read this please! as implied by the title, this is literally all about what smoking with Fred Weasley would include 

-      Okay lets face it

-       Everyone and their owls know Fred and George Weasley were the best, most trusted, ‘flower’ dealers in Hogwarts 🍃🍃

-       You knew this before you started dating Fred

-       It just came as a bonus after getting together

-       Fred and George are almost always a little high

-       They sell carts, wax, edibles and flower

-       Like they’ve got it all, and the best quality

-      Their edibles are only for the brave; half the time you get an out of this world high, and other times, your skin is bright pink for a week from their trick

-       Lee Jordan also helps them with sales, the three of them are by far the biggest stoners in your year- probably in the whole castle

-       Seeing as most Slytherins’ did lines in the bathroom and in their dorms, Fred and George hardly sold to Slytherins

-       Most of the money the twins make goes towards saving for their dream joke shop

-       But Fred loves to buy you gifts when he has the chance

-       Like flowers, a bracelet, butterbeer, candies, books, etc.

-       He adores spoiling you

-       Fred never makes you pay if you wanna pick up from him

-       But he usually prefers you smoke with him or him and George

-       “You’re just so adorable when you’re high, sweetheart, I don’t wanna miss a thing. Plus, I’m scared you’ll tweak like a minx if you’re alone.”

-       Munchies galore

-       You guys will smoke late at night in their dorm with Lee

-       George is the designated snack man and will sneak into the kitchen before your smoke session

-       Lee shoves towels under the door and closes the vents

-       You would probably be the one enchanting the room so the smell doesn’t get out, but Fred really couldn’t care if anyone smelled it

-       You’ll usually smoke out the window, then trudge over to Fred’s bed and plop onto of him

-       “Jeeze, I think someone took one too many hits.”

-       Fred, George, and Lee will mess around, laughing loudly as they pass a blunt amongst the group

-       If it’s your first few times smoking, you’d probably just sit in Fred’s lap on the ground, staring off at the floor

-       Fred loves to tease you when you’re high

-       “Earth to Y/n- come back to us please.”

-       “Lovie, you’re eyes, they’re bloodshot as hell!”

-       Lots of kisses

-       You guys don’t make out too much after smoking as it’s nearly impossible for the both of you

-       Dry mouth is a bitch

-       Fred is vvv handsy when high

-       Like he needs to be touching your skin somehow

-       Whether he places you on his lap with his arms around you

-       Or laying together in his bed

-       Or holding hands on your walk back to the castle after smoking in the forest

-       Likes to pinch your butt when you’re walking up the stairs

-       He doesn’t really like when you’re high in public

-       He can tell when you’re nervous and start getting fidgety, so he’ll ask you to go on a walk with him to calm you down

“Angel, let’s go to the lake, yeah? Think you could use some fresh air, love.”

-       Fred will help you if you’re using a bong

-       “Here, love, just breathe it in until I tell you to stop and I’ll lift the top.”

-       COUGHING IN A SIN IN THEIR DORM

-       Whoever coughs first is labeled as a ‘little bitch’ according to George

-       Fred scolds Lee and George when they try to make fun of you for coughing

-       Like will murder them with his eyes and slap ts out of George’s arm

-       “Leave her alone… you know she doesn’t smoke as much as us… it’s completely normal, darling.” “Merlin’s sake, Fred. We’re just teasing her, mate. I think you could use the hit next him, maybe it’ll calm your hormones.”

-       George and you will have heated life debates

-       “No, George! Dinosaurs were here before people!” “That is not true, Y/n. Humans ruled the earth before those vicious stompers came roaming about. The dinosaurs- or should I say dinomurders- they killed all of humanity! They stomped on them, trapped the kids in those jeeps trying to eat them and ruined the kid’s fun and made destroyed the theme park-“ “George… that’s Jurassic Parks. It’s a fucking movie, you git.”

-       Fred likes to wrap his Gryffindor tie around your head and putting his sweaters over you “Aw, you look so cute, darling. I love seeing you in my clothes but my favorite thing is seeing you with nothing on at all.” “Fred! You can’t say that in front of George and Lee-“ “Oh believe me, Y/n. We sleep only feet away from you two- we’ve heard a lot worse. A lot worse.”

-       You guys will just lay around laughing for most of the night

-       You favorite times were when Fred and George would start talking about their childhood and sharing hilarious stories

-       George likes to mess with Fred when he’s high

-       For example

-       He’ll throw his arm around you and lazily lean into your side

-       Fred would watch closely from only a few feet away

-       George would then whisper into your ear, causing giggles to erupt from your chest

-       Which makes Fred jerk in annoyance

-       The weed didn’t help control his jealous- it magnified it if anything

-       Typically, he wouldn’t care since he knew George and you were extremely close friends

-       But Fred always got a little more… horny and possessive when the weed hit his bloodstream

-       Fred would pout until you noticed him and would comfort him

-       “Freddie, what’s wrong, bubba? You look so sad, aww.”

-       His jealously would diminish the second you moved away from George to his side

-       He loves when you hold his hand

-       Your favorite thing to do when high is play with his red, vibrant hair or when he would stroke and pet yours

-       Fred likes to attempt a braid in your hair

-       But he just ends up twisting two strands of hair in a coil then wrapped your black hair tie at the end

-       The gleeful, proud look on his face afterwards melted your heart so much you couldn’t tell him he failed miserably at a braid

-       You guys will place bets on who will slump first

-       It’s usually you or George

-       Fred and Lee will stay up until morning talking about life, school, quidditch, life goals, and anything else

-       Nights that you did get high with Fred in his dorm, he’d always insist that you sleep in his bed

-       He didn’t like taking the risk of you walking alone to your dorm room and risk getting caught

-       The last thing he wanted was you in trouble when he could’ve prevented it

-       You guys like to sneak into the kitchen after hours and make edibles together

-      Preferably marshmallow bar edibles or cookies

-       You liked to bring things with you for your smoke sessions with the twins

-       Like coloring books

-       A blanket, since Fred only sleeps with two which just seems criminal

-       A water bottle !!! this is a must

-       And some vanilla cherry Chapstick, Fred’s favorite

-       Fred’s favorite spot to smoke in along the Black Lake at night

-       Coming here with Fred will usually end with the both of you swimming in the lake

-       Whether it’s because he pushed you, you pushed him, or it was decided in the moment mutually that midnight was the perfect time for a swim

-      You liked smoking out by the lake as it was relaxing and fun with Fred

-       But you much preferred his dorm- it was the safest option by far

-       Fred loves getting high alone with you

-       Typically in his room as your roommates didn’t want people constantly in and out of the room as where Fred, George, and Lee were used to it

-       They made a handful of sales from their dorm room

-       Like a sinful amount 

-       It was by far the easiest way

-       Fred would light some candles before you arrived

-       A variety of sweets and snacks were sprawled against his bed

-        And warm fuzzy socks laid out for you 

-       He’d pack the bowl, then open the window

-       A blanket was thrown across the ledge so you could sit more comfortably

-       “What a gentleman!”

-       After smoking, Fred would carry you back to his bed

-       Most nights, you guys would just cuddle and whisper to each other

-       Fred never misses an opportunity to kiss you

-       On your lips

-       Forehead

-       Cheek

-       Nose

-       Neck (which will usually lead to something else with this boy)

-       Anywhere

-       Continuously giggling all night

-       Fred and you share your high thoughts

-       “But, just hear me out here. Is there another word for synonym?”

-       “Babe, who do you think came up with the alphabet? And how the fuck did they put the alphabet shit in alphabetical order.” “Darling, I am way too baked to even remember what fucking goes in an alphabet.”

-       High sex

-       Fred makes you feel so comfortable

-      Compliments you profusely 

-       Lot of laughing

-       He lovesssss going down on you when you’re both baked

-       Cause you make the cutest little noises, euphoria taking over your sense

-       He can stay down there for hours just basking in your sweet moans

-       Favorite is missionary so he can see every reaction gracing your face

-       Is only brave enough to try new sex adventures when he’s either high or drunk

-       Discovers that you both very much so enjoy his hand wrapped around your neck as he thrusts into you

-       And when you get on top

-       His touchy side comes out the most in these moments

-       Sloppy sex

-       But still vvvv fulfilling and pleasurable

-       He’ll whisper in your ear as his pace quickens

-       “You look so beautiful, sweetheart. So pure but so dirty just for me.”  

-       “Merlin, you’re bloody breathtaking with my fingers in your mouth, angel.”

-       “Freddie, you feel so good.”

-       You both finish within a matter of minutes, never lasting long when in this state

-       “…That was the best sex I’ve ever had, ever.” “Fred, lovie, you say that every time we have sex.”

“Cause it just keeps getting better and better!”

-       Cuddling for the rest of the night

-       Always making sure you’re dressed before George or Lee turn in for the night

-       Fred would fall asleep first when it was just the two of you

-       He talks in his sleep, nearly every hour he’d mutter something

-       In an odd way, you found it comforting

-       Especially when it’s your name he’s mumbling

-       Falling asleep in Fred’s arms

[dreamsoflevi]

Love Was Not Enough | Part 1

Summary: A titan shifter is working in the Scout Regiment with a plan. Growing up with hate for Paradis takes a complete turn when falling for a certain Captain and developing friendships. Is it too late to make a change?

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: Some fluff, angst, mentions of violence, description of an emotional breakdown, stress.

Author’s Note: My first post on Tumblr! I’m so slow when it comes to using Tumblr lol. Starting off with an angsty story because it's raining and gloomy. It was supposed to be an one-shot but it ended up being super long. There will be 1-2 more parts. Hope you enjoy! ♡

You loved him.

You really did.

You still do.

When you first met him, you were surprised this was the person everyone was referring to when they would mention Humanity's strongest soldier, Captain Levi. His aloof and brash attitude would prove those thoughts drilled in your head about the devils in disguise living amongst the lands as you. He didn't care for anything and he wouldn’t hesitate to remind you of that. “You will become titan shit.” His exact words spat to your face. Who does he think he is?

You were exceptional at what you did, full of intellect and skills landed you on his squad along with a group of newer cadets. The 104th cadets. You were all replacements for his previous squad who were killed by the female titan, your comrade Annie during the 57th expedition. You were trained for this after all. You were prepared and you had a plan along with a few others. Secret glances, nods, and meetings were shared amongst you four any chance you could get.

You ended up befriending a few too. A shy yet wise Armin, an extremely passionate Eren, a wild and resourceful Sasha, and some others. A bunch of children putting their lives on the line for a better tomorrow, a hopeful future. Aren’t you doing the same too?

During expeditions, you would watch Captain Levi swinging through trees on his ODM gear, slicing through the napes of every titan he landed his eyes on. Now you understand why he is humanity’s strongest. Slicing through titans without a struggle and with immense strength and speed.

He'd frantically look around making sure the others were okay. He'd shout the names of his squad and any other names he could remember hoping to get a shout in return. The panicked look on this face when he would hear screams and race to the source of them. Maybe he does care. When returning to the walls, you could see him grimace watching the gates open only for it to quickly change back to his normal neutral expression.

-

“L/N!” A voice breaking your thoughts as you walk back inside the headquarters after training. You turn around to see Captain Levi standing behind you with a small stack of papers in his hand.

“Yes, Captain?” You wiped the sweat off your forehead with your sleeve.

“Are you doing anything after this?”

You shook your head. “No, sir. Do you need anything?”

“Yes. Deliver this paperwork to Commander Erwin. He should be in his office now.” He handed you the small stack of papers he was holding.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded your head grabbing the papers and walking in the direction of Commander Erwin’s office.

Approaching his office, you knocked on his door. You heard a deep voice respond and turned the knob to enter. Opening the door, you see the distressed Commander sitting at his desk. One hand resting on his forehead and the other scribbling away. He glances up and sees the stack in your hands.

“Ah, thank you (Y/N), I was waiting for these.” Raising his hand in anticipation of the papers.

You walked up to his desk handing it to him. “No problem, Commander.”

You look around his messy desk. Papers spread all around, empty teacups resting on the side, and two ink bottles sitting on his desk. Your eyes take a peek at his face, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair slightly messed up. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. No. You try shaking those thoughts away. They are the devils and we are paying for their actions.

But you take another look at him. Imagine being in his position. Are you aware of what your ancestors did, Commander? He’s shuffling through the small stack of papers that were just handed to him. You can see the squares and circles in the form of a large triangle. The formations. The lives and the future of thousands rest upon this single man’s shoulders. Of course, he has to spend hours on end meticulously planning the expeditions and making sure the formations are properly formed. A plan for a better tomorrow, a hopeful future. Don’t you want that too?

You internally sigh in defeat. “Um... Commander?” You nervously play with your fingers.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” He looks up at you, hand still holding the quill and the other now resting on the desk.

“Do.. do you need help? I just finished training and If you need help, I…” You bite your lip, your nerves getting the best of you as his eyes remain in contact with yours.

The curves of his mouth turn upwards. “If you can, please.” He gestures to the seat in front of him.

You flash him a smile, nod your head and take a seat. He hands you a stack of papers. “For these, you just need to write today’s date under the line where it says date received. Then organize them alphabetically.”

That’s where you found yourself at least twice a week. Helping the commander out whenever you could, organizing his paperwork, and filling them out whenever he needed you to. Sometimes you would work in complete silence. The sounds of pens scribbling, paper shuffling, and the sips the Commander took of his tea. Sometimes he would tell you a little story about his life and of his childhood. He would speak of his father being a major inspiration in his life and the reason he pushes forward every day. He had a sudden death, though the Commander never told you why, you can imagine it was a traumatic one for him.

A couple of months pass by and you are now sitting in the Captain's office. Coming into Commander’s office one day and seeing his surprisingly organized desk for once and him telling you that he didn’t need any assistance today. However, Captain Levi might need help with the reports from a previous expedition. Nodding your head and giving a quick salute, you made your way to Captain Levi’s office.

Working with Captain Levi was soothing. His office was very neat. Paperwork in his office sitting on his desk in organized piles. You can smell the faint scent of lemon which was refreshing. You visiting his office became a more frequent occurrence since he appreciated the assistance he would receive though he’d never tell you that. He would have a stack ready for you set up on the side table in his office. He was not much of a talker like Commander Erwin nor was he someone who reminisces his life it seems.

However, you would still have conversations here and there. He would ask about how you were feeling with training and if you dared to complain about the exercises he was giving, he would simply tell you to get better with the exercises or get eaten. Then realizing his bluntness and the silence that filled the room after, he would elaborate on his statement.

What he means is, he would say, these exercises help with increasing stamina and balance that will aid us on the battlefield. Outside the walls, anything can happen. Titans pop out of nowhere catching you off guard and little mishaps like getting tangled, being too slow, or even aiming your anchor wrong can lead to a fatal mistake. You could agree with that.

“(L/n), why did you decide to join the scouts?” He asked without looking up from what he was doing.

You stilled for a second and looked up at him. His eyes were still on the paper in front of him. This question always catches you off guard even if you rehearsed it so many times. It makes you nervous and vulnerable as if the person asking can see right through you and your facade.

“Same reason as everyone else, sir.” He glanced at you now and you immediately looked back down at the paper in front of you. You tried to avoid as much eye contact as you can.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“F-freedom.. from the titans.” You heard a scoff.

“Now you sound like Eren.” He was still looking at you. You dared to meet your eyes with his. He still had a stoic look on his face but there was curiosity simmering in his eyes. He was waiting for an answer. You had no choice but to give one. How would you say it though? You don’t want to lie. Captain Levi can be very perceptive and you’re sure he could see through your facade.

You bit your lip. “I… I want a better future for myself, my loved ones, and future generations. All my life, I’ve experienced confinement and.. oppression. But I have been given the power- er, the opportunity I should say to aid in defeating our e-enemies and... and I hope to accomplish that to live a more liberating life.”

He remained in eye contact with you without saying anything. The silence was deafening in the room and you hoped he would say something. Each second of silence was building the temperature in your body as your nerves were starting to get the best of you. Your chest was burning and you could feel a bit of sweat forming on your scalp. Did you say the wrong thing? Or maybe you said too much? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Your lips parted in anticipation to say something. But what else were you going to say? Before you can process what you are going to say, he hummed and looked back down at his work.

“You are right. We all have the same reason, more or less. To break out of these confined and oppressive walls and defeat these shitty titans. Whatever is out there must be better than what we live in now.”

You internally sighed. It’s not better but hopefully, it will get better. I guess we have the same mission, just different targets. You and everyone else here being mine Captain. You felt your throat dry up. Can you imagine killing these people? Watching Captain struggling on his last breath? Commander Erwin? Hange? Connie, Sasha, Jean, Armin? But your ancestors... Now you are suffering because of these devils.

Shaking your head of these thoughts, you try to focus back on the paper in front of you. “Ar-” You cleared your throat. “Armin believes there’s a sea out there.”

He snorted. “That kid and his shitty dream...” You could see a hint of a smile forming on his face. “Who knows, maybe there is.”

You come to realize that he’s not rude, he just doesn’t know how to express himself. His actions speak louder than words and you can’t help but grow a lot of respect for him. But he’s still a devil. But he has a heart and he cares for every single person in this regiment, including you. It doesn’t matter. They caused your people pain and betrayed them.

-

A perk of being on Captain Levi’s squad is getting to sit on meetings planning the expeditions. Commander Erwin would call these meetings for input on observations made from previous missions. Armin enthusiastically shares what he learns from the missions. Plans are being formed around Eren and his abilities. He’s learning new things about what he can do every day and recently he learned about hardening abilities from Annie. Working with Hange to train how to harden properly to be able to plug walls in the future.

They have no idea though. No idea what is beyond these walls, where these titans come from, where do they go, or anything else. They are risking their lives for the answers, the answers that you already know.

Walking through the dark hallways, you step into the mess hall. There sitting on a table in the dimly lit corner were Reiner and Bertholdt. The ones on the mission with you alongside Annie.

“Where have you been lately?” Reiner asked as you sat down on the bench. You usually had these meetings at least once or twice a week, but since Annie was captured, things have gotten more hectic. In fear of getting caught or being busy with so many tasks, you haven’t had the chance to meet with them as often as you should.

“Sorry.. I’ve just been swamped with training, meetings, and helping the higher-ups with their paperwork.”

Reiner narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with them lately.”

“Yeah but I’ve managed to learn a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Eren is close to figuring out his hardening abilities. Hange had taken the sample from Annie but she didn’t get far with that. Now she and Eren are working together to see how Eren can unlock his own ability.”

Reiner hummed. “If Eren learns how to harden, he could start landing attacks on me. He’d still be no match for Bertholdt though.”

You nodded in response. There was an awkward silence. No one had much to say which was a huge difference from before when you had to plot your next moves and practice your stories together. Usually, Reiner was the one who would come up with the plans and assign tasks to the rest of you three. This was before the fight between Eren and Annie. You didn’t expect Annie to lock herself into the crystal.

You looked at Reiner who seemed to be deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”

He sighed. “I think another attack is coming soon.”

Bertholdt and your eyes widen. “Are you sure? Isn’t it a little too quick, Reiner?” Bertholdt wearily asks. You nod your head in agreement.

“They already have Annie. We need to get Eren and try to get Annie out of there as well.”

“Yes!” Bertholdt interjects. “We do need to save Annie.” Bertholdt always had a soft spot for Annie. You have an inkling he has a crush on her because he gets flustered and avoids the topic every time it’s brought up.

You don’t know if you’re ready for another attack. The last one was devastating. The fight between Eren and Annie destroyed so many homes and lost lives. Children losing their parents, parents losing their children, lovers lost… It is heartbreaking. You don’t know if you can stomach another attack at this point. What are you saying? That is what you’re here for. You need to do this for your people back home. You let out a long exhale and close your eyes.

“It bothers you too, doesn’t it?” You open your eyes to Bertholdt looking at you.

“They are people… just like us.”

You nod your head meekly. “Just like us.” You repeated in a whisper.

Reiner sighs. “And they have no clue what is happening.”

“No clue.” You and Bertholdt breathe simultaneously. You three sit in silence, all three of you lost in your own thoughts. Why did it have to be us?

-

During training you noticed Captain Levi limping a little more than usual. Since the 57th expedition, his leg has been in bad shape. He still supervises your training and some days, he can walk properly and some days he’s limping. You turn back to your task at hand, slicing through the titan dummies set up.

“(Y/n)! Straighten your back!” He yells from the field and you obey, straightening your back while you and Connie swing to the titan dummy.

“Oi Sasha! You have to aim your anchors a bit higher!”

“Mikasa, don't go too fast!”

The comments usually went like that for the entire training session. Watching all of you train and critique your performances. You’re not going to lie, it was a pain in the ass. But you noticed it does help you outside of the walls. Captain Levi is good at what he does. He’s perceptive and knows exactly what to do and when. He is a natural titan killer. Being able to take down small to abnormal and maybe even ones like you. After you were done, you all were panting and sweating while walking back to the field.

“Phew! That was some training today,” Connie wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

Jean clicked his tongue. “That was nothing! Probably too much for you right Yeager?” He smirked at Eren.

Eren rolled his eyes. “You wish, Jean boy. That’s why you’re drenched in sweat.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

You all groaned as Eren and Jean started arguing for the fifth time today. The first two times Armin tried to interject to try and diffuse the argument but at this point, even he gave up.

“You’re on Yeager. After dinner, we’ll have an arm wrestling match.”

“After dinner,” Eren confirmed. “Don’t horse around Kirstein.”

“Shut up titan freak.”

“Are you ladies done bickering?” Captain Levi glared at them with his arms crossed. Eren clicked his tongue and Jean muttered under his breath. Captain narrowed his eyes at them, a warning to fix their attitudes. They immediately straightened their backs.

“Yes sir!” A few of you silently giggled watching them get scolded by Captain Levi.

Watching them with a smile, you loved the banter between Eren and Jean. Despite the arguments, you know deep down they have respect and admiration for one another. It’s distinctly shown during battle when they are looking out for another. Even during Eren’s fits of rage, Jean is understanding and never attacks Eren for his impulsive decisions. He might get a little bit of teasing though.

They were very friendly with you too. Always giving you a pat on the back or a cheesy grin whenever they see you. Looking back at you when riding through the gates to make sure you’re okay or screaming your name to make sure you are fine when fighting titans. And let’s not forget Jean’s flirty nature. His love for Mikasa is strong but he can’t help it when he sees any walking and breathing female. Just kidding. He’s not that girl crazy.. maybe. It’s too soon to decide that.

I think another attack is coming soon. You heard Reiner’s voice suddenly appeared in your mind. You suddenly started feeling a bit nauseous. Another attack on these people. These people you are considering your friends. You felt the salty taste in the back of your throat. Trying to calm your nerves, you took some deep quiet breaths. It wasn’t helping. It was getting harder to swallow with your throat tightening. You silently walked back hoping no one starts a conversation with you. As soon as you get back, you were planning on taking a very, very cold shower.

Grabbing your clothes, you ran into the showers. Breathing hard and with shaking hands, you turned the shower knob. The cold water hitting you and startling you for the first few seconds. You can’t. You can. You can’t. You have to. But these people, you can’t do that to them now. Not when they are just started to grow on you. They were normal people with normal feelings. They’re not… devils? Yes, they are.

You remember the attack in Trost. The chaos that spread through the walls. These same cadets hopelessly try to fight the titans. You were all newly graduated. Thomas getting eaten by a titan. Screams and cries filled your ears along with the sounds of loud thumps and bone-crunching.

When you were discussing things with Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie, poor Marco being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How devastated Jean was losing his best friend and not knowing ultimately it was you three that led to his death. Not only his but everyone else’s. The way Armin looked when Eren sacrificed himself to save him.

Can you do this again?

A sob escaped from your throat. Tears flew down your cheeks getting mixed in with the water. You are no different than them, aren't you? The blood of these innocent lives on your hands. But they were the reason for all this, no? Except they don’t know. Is it justifiable blaming them for something that happened so many years ago? While you are oppressed by the Marleyeans, they are oppressed by these titans. Aren’t you any different from the Marleyans then? Punishing innocent people for things out of their control?

Leaning your head on the tiled wall, you needed to make a decision. Whose side are you on? No, whose side do you want to be on? Do you want to continue the same treatment you received? Do you want to be the reason a child loses their mother? Their father? You need to make a decision and make it quick. You grabbed the soap bar and cleaned yourself off. You will make a decision. You just need time.

After your shower, you remembered you were going to go to Captain Levi’s office to help him with his paperwork. You also remembered how he was limping badly today. Before going into his office, you decided to make a trip to the infirmary.

Asking the nurses for some balm for Captain Levi’s leg, you grabbed a small jar and made your way to his office. What’s the reason for this? Are you trying to relieve some of the guilt eating away at your conscience?

Entering his office, he offered a small greeting before pointing to the paperwork that needed to be done today. Before getting seated at the table, you walked over to his desk and held out the small jar. With an eyebrow raised, he looked at the jar in your hand.

“It’s for your leg. You were limping today and I thought this might help sir.”

He took the jar from your hand. The curves of his mouth turned upward, not enough to call it a smile since he hardly ever did. “Thank you.”

Thank you. You felt your heart flutter. You barely hear words of acknowledgment from him and you can’t help but feel happy that you were on the receiving end of them. So what? Why do you care? Because you do admire him. After all, he was your Captain and you respect him. And he is looking nicer than usual in his black suit and cravat. What? Are you okay? You’re just acknowledging his looks. It means nothing-

Wait, he said thank you. You need to answer him instead of disputing with your own self.

“It’s no problem.” You smiled at him and walked over to your seat and began working.

-

That is how things went for a while. You have been avoiding Reiner and Bertholdt any chance you can get because you were unsure of how to explain the inner turmoil you are having with yourself. You are close to walking away from it all, officially dedicating your heart to the Scouts, to Commander Erwin, to Paradis. You are willing to throw it away. Your family, friends, and everyone else back home. They don’t understand what you’re going through. The struggle you are facing. It’s easy to be on the other side of things but when having to see these losses head-on, it’s gut-wrenching.

You managed to get even closer to everyone. Sharing laughs and jokes with your squad during breakfast and dinner, working with Commander Erwin more closely and offering suggestions when he’s planning the formations, engaging in more conversations with Captain Levi, and even spending time in Hange’s office.

“Oh! Hello again (Y/n)! Guess what Eren is doing today!” Hange exclaimed while wrapping her arm around Eren’s neck. Eren holding onto her arm trying to relieve some pressure on his neck.

“What is he doing today?” You gave Eren a little smirk.

“Drinking a lot of water. We’re testing out his pee!” She shoved a large canteen into Eren’s chest.

“Pee? Wait, why?”

“Because Eren, we’re tested your blood but we haven’t received consistent results. So we are going to try your bladder. So drink up! We need at least a liter.”

“A liter?!” Eren squeaked.

Hange cackled. “A liter indeed!”

“(Y/n), do you want to help Eren out?” She flashed a grin at you.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “What do I have to do?”

“Just make sure he drinks this entire canteen of water. And if he doesn’t..” her smile dropped and she grimly looked at you, “Force him.”

Eren managed to drink the canteen of water and he also managed to give a liter of urine samples. Unfortunately, Eren had to run to the bathroom every half hour for the rest of the day. This resulted in a very irritated Captain Levi and a snickering Jean.

“What experiment did four eyes do on the shit head today?” He asked you when you walked into his office.

“She needed urine samples from Eren so she forced him to drink an entire canteen which is a gallon of water in one hour.” You grinned while grabbing your stack of papers.

He cringed. “Poor Eren.”

You snapped your neck to look at him in shock. “Did you just have sympathy for someone, Captain?”

“Oi, shut it. Don’t get mouthy with me.” He teasingly pointed a finger at you.

You snickered, taking your usual seat at the table. “I mean… It’s Hange. I always have sympathy for anyone who works with her. Look at poor Moblit.” He chuckled.

His chuckle rang through your head. He chuckled. You quickly caught your thoughts and felt heat rushing up to your cheeks for getting flustered about him chuckling. Why are you feeling like this?

“Captain, what’s the occasion? I don’t think anyone has ever heard you laugh.” You grinned at him.

“That wasn’t a laugh.” He immediately responded while scribbling on papers.

“Fine. A chuckle.” You rolled your eyes and began shuffling through the papers and organizing them.

“Well feel special I guess. You heard your captain chuckle.” He mockingly repeats the word in your tone.

Special. You smile. I do feel special.