I know I promised the previous one would be the last one for a while but I had a video that I not use in one of the last stories and ended up creating a shorter one just so as not to waste it. I hope you like it.
Cherisse was pissed off. At her old schoolmates and at herself. The five-year reunion was coming up next weekend, and she was gonna have to show up all alone. She never really gave a damn about this kind of stuff, always focused on her career. But then, why the hell did she lie about having a boyfriend? She knew whyâthose bitches Brenda and Destiny with their pathetic little housewife lives and their useless husbands loved to say that because she was a bodybuilder, no guy would wanna date her. I mean, what kind of dude would go out with a woman bigger than him? That thought made her wanna scream, but those bitches had a point. Even the male bodybuilders ended up choosing curvier, less muscular women, which really pissed her off. The fact that she was so close to becoming a big star in the bodybuilding scene shouldâve been enough to ease her doubts, but it wasnât. In reality, she was so fed up with everything that she dropped her apartment key on the floor of the hallway in the tiny building she lived in, thanks to her job as a Personal Trainer. At least for now, since she had contracts lined up with several big brands by the time she stepped on Olympia stage in a few months, which was what she shouldâve been worrying about. Frustrated and angry, she picked up the key from the floor and stood up, only to see David, her neighbor, walking by. The blond thin and extremely cute guy worked at a nearby coffee shop and was always super polite to her, even though any flirting attempts on him had been shot down.
She knew she couldnât make him like her or⊠could she? Remembering the times she got shot down by the guy, combined with the frustration about the upcoming event and the possibility of being ridiculed by her old classmates⊠all of that lit a fire inside her that made her decide to take action. Sheâd been warned a bunch of times not to mess with her gift, that it could spiral out of control and come with a high price, but she was tired of being the good girl, tired of being humiliated. It was time to think about herself. She will get what she wanted.
âŠ.
After a long day at the coffee shop, all David wanted was to flop down on the couch in his tiny one-bedroom apartment and chill, and maybe, just maybe, look for a hookup on Grindr. After throwing on a tank top and some shorts, he was about to head out of his room when he heard a noiseâthere was someone else in the apartment. Creeping up to the door, he was freaked out and jumped.
âCherisse, what the hell! What are you doing here? What you want?
âWhat I want, David? I want my boyfriend!â The muscular black woman replied, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
âWhat? What the hell are you talking about?â
âYeah, I want my boyfriend, David. My boyfriend who loves me and would do anything for me!â
âCherisse⊠youâre out of your minâŠâ David started to say, cutting himself off as a weird sensation flooded his body, like he was about to choke, making him gasp for air. Then he was shocked to hear his own voice while his mouth moved on its own.
âBut thatâs what you already have, babe.â
âNot enough! I want my boyfriend, bigger, more muscular, and stronger than me.â
The choking feeling hit him again, this time harder, along with a dizzy spell that made David wobble for a second. After a few seconds, he seemed to recover. With his giant biceps and powerful pecs on display, he looked a few inches shorter, with shaved hair and a square face, wich smiled to Cherisse.
âStronger and more muscular for sure, and two inches taller!â
âNo, I want more! I want my bodybuilder boyfriend, way bigger than me, my boyfriend with beautiful dark hair and a darker skin.â
In an instant, the bodybuilder David underwent a transformation, turning into a caramel-skinned version with brown eyes and well-kept dark hair and beard, maybe of Latin descent.
âMuch better! Take off those shorts and pose for me, David!â
He obeyed, stripping down to just his underwear and flexing his powerful muscles for his girlfriend to see.
âYummy, but I still want more.â She commented licking her lips without noticing the change in her voice and vocabulary. âI want my boyfriend with delicious choclate skin as dark as mine. My professional bodybuilder boyfriend, Mr. Olympia material boyfriend. My boyfriend who fulfills all my needs and will accompany me to my school reunion, and make all the jealous bitches shut up they skunk mouths. Now come, come to me, my love,â she said, as the uncontrolled power took over completely.
As the muscular giant, who minutes ago had been a gay dude just looking for a casual hookup, walked from the bedroom door towards her, with each step he took, he grew larger while his skin darkened to a chocolate tone. His pecs looked like two slabs of meat, his abs lost some definition, but his arms swelled to the size of tree trunks. As sweat dripped down his body, his black wavy hair transformed into small curls in a stylish cut with shaved sides, while his underwear turned into gym shorts, and the tiny apartment room morphed into a spacious mansion living room.
While all this was happening and the power dominated Cherisseâs mind, she didnât notice that her short hair, which had fallen out due to steroid use started to grow back in beautifull well manteined curls while her voice gained an airy melodious tone. As the former David grew bigger, she shrank, her powerful muscles becoming smaller but defined, while her glutes became curvier and her breasts softer. Then, as the monstrous off-season bodybuilder stood smiling in front of her, her clothes evaporated, leaving her in a tiny bikini that showcased all her perfect curves. Finnaly the whirlwind of power seemed to reach its peak before fading away forever while the reality reset.
The smile on the behemoth's face quickly vanished when he noticed his girlfriend posing in the middle of their living room.
âCan I ask what the hell youâre doing, Cherisse?â
âBabe⊠I⊠I thought youâd be back later.â
âI decided to surprise my girlfriend, and guess whoâs getting surprised? Donât tell me youâre back to that ridiculous idea of competing in Bikini Fitness. Iâve already been clear with you about that. You donât need to work, especially not by exposing your body; Iâm the one who takes care of all my wifeâs needs.â
âWife? What do you mean?â
âWell, that was the surprise I was gonna pull on you, but it looks likeâŠâ
âStop being silly, I was rehearsing, yeah, but it was just for you, my love.â
âNow youâre talking like my future wife,â he replied, with his smile returning.
âŠ.
That weekend, Cherisse was bursting with joy. As her boyfriend parked the car, she rushed over to meet her old school friends, Brenda and Destiny, in the garden of the beautiful restaurant they class picked for the high school reunion. After some kisses, hugs, and excited squeals, Brenda looked at her curiously.
âYeah, look over there,â Cherisse said, making her friends look at the handsome specimen of a man strutting confidently towards themâ300 pounds of pure muscle covered in a beutifull chocolate skin, wearing a light gray suit with a vest and a shirt whose last buttons could never stay closed, showing off a gorgeous chest. All of this was topped off by a rugged face that could make knees weak.
Later, as her friends walked in, Deshaun pulled her close.
âAre you happy, my love? I know how important this reunion was for you.â
âHappy? Iâm totally fucking ecstatic, babe. I showed those bitches whoâs the best. Iâve got the best house, the best body, and the best man. What more could I want?â
not to rain on anyone's parade but WHY do so many of you guys think dennis would get jealous of whoever mac chooses to date when the gang gets romantic exists
A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? Itâs more likely than you think.
This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemiâs self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.
Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 âs wonderful meta analysis of Sanemiâs self hatred and his scars.
CW: 24k âą explicit sexual content âą MDNI âą gang-related violence âą mentions of blood and broken bones âą mentions of murder/death âą loss of virginity âą creampie âą vaginal fingering âą some angst
I have plenty more of this AU written, so if yâall want more, just let me know đ«Ą
There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.
The first is simple: once youâre in, youâre in.
Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but donât even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.
And donât be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. Thereâs no splicing your life within the Corps with the one youâd had before. No separation. Youâve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, youâre there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.
This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that heâd allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira â the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.
The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that heâd not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.
Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies â mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.
And then thereâs Sanemi: the debt collector.
Largely monetary debts â collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.
But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money â it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.
Life debts.
In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.
Their executions had been quick and without fuss â or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.
But even though the spray of their brains hadnât touched him, their blood still stains Sanemiâs hands.
He will never be able to wash them clean.
But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences â for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom heâll do anything â be anyone â if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.
The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).
And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is donât get attached. Keep your circle small so thereâs less collateral to be used against you â against the organization that owns you.
This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.
For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.
But then heâd chosen your bookstore to hide in and thatâs when everything falls apart.
âFuckinâ Christ,â Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.
They were late.
The job was simple, and well within Sanemiâs capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzuiâs joints that heâd yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldnât get elsewhere.
He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldnât say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but heâd be lying if he said he didnât relish the chance to smash the pervertâs face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction heâd felt when heâd thrown open the steel door of the Maedaâs small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as heâd begged for mercy Sanemi hadnât been hired to give.
The stupid, greasy fuck.
By the time heâd finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the verminâs back as he sobbed). But heâd had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.
And thatâs how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maedaâs small warehouse, Uzuiâs payment split into two rolls that heâd shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members heâd brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then theyâd return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.
Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But heâd received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.
Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.
Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.
Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty â disquietingly so.
Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.
Sanemiâs eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. Itâs been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.
He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.
One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits â
A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.
The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.
The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.
âPigs!â The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. âPigs!â
âShit,â Sanemi growls. No doubt Maedaâs bruised ego sold them out. He shouldâve taken the time to smash the assholeâs phone.
Heâll be dealt with later â and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.
Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corpsâ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.
So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He canât be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.
He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.
He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.
The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.
Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there â
A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.
No good.
âFuck.â It isnât the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While heâs familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadnât the chance to fully scope out his only other two options â the side streets to the left and right.
Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasnât fully fucked himself.
Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street â one that borders the cityâs western wing.
Itâll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.
He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop â a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.
But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other â the storeâs lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerkâs counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.
He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.
Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.
Itâs now or never. And, because heâs desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.
âYou got someplace I can hide?â
ââ-
You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.
His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.
Sanemi Shinazugawa.
You know him; youâd known him most of your life, even if youâd never spoken to him. Youâd gone to the same school in your youth â all thirteen years of it, in fact. Heâd been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.
You know heâs from the Silo â a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.
But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.
It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.
Hence, its presence in the Silo.
So you hadnât been surprised when youâd heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before heâd even graduated high school.
You shudder to think what he had to have done â what heâd become â in order to achieve such status and notoriety.
If heâd been anyone else, you wouldnât have helped; you wouldâve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.
But you owed him.
Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.
But one afternoon, when youâd had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, sheâd ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.
Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.
But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though heâd been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, heâd put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parentsâ home.
Youâd watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sisterâs white-haired savior. Theyâd offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but heâd only waved them off, briskly telling them it was âno big deal.â As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.
His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.
Youâd been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.
Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerkâs counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.
There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.
A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isnât stupid enough to try and shift.
One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.âYou havenât seen anything suspicious?â
âIâm sorry, sir. I donât know what you mean.â
The cop grimaces. âYou havenât seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like theyâre running?â
You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. âIâm afraid youâre my first customer of the day, sir.â
The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.
Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counterâs edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.
But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.
âTheyâre gone,â you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.
Thereâs a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.
In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But itâs the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.
That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well â at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.
However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.
But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.
He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle heâd found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.
You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.
He has scars heâd not had in your youth â jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.
A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.
âCanât thank ya enough,â he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. âYou really saved my ass ââ
âGet out of my store.â You order, your voice hard. âTake your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.â
Sanemiâs eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.
âAs you wish, Princess,â and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. âJust need somethinâ for the road.â
He snags a small novel â a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.
âLater,â he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.
You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. âYou have to pay for ââ
But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.
â-
By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. Heâd met up with Uzui and forked over Maedaâs payment. Though, the Corpâs head pimp hadnât been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.
As it turned out, Maeda hadnât sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.
Right in front of two, marked cop cars.
One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other â the driver â had managed to escape, though heâd been carted off to Iguro for punishment.
Thereâs a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.
He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash heâd received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.
He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book heâd swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.
Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.
Take your trouble somewhere else.
Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which youâd spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.
You know what â who â he is. In Sanemiâs world, thatâs a liability.
Though, in fairness, he canât really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and itâs a coveted one. It wouldnât be a stretch to conclude that youâd overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.
What concerns him is he doesnât know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe youâre really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.
Or maybe youâve got an in with them.
The Corps isnât the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.
The Kizuki.
In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.
Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadnât been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.
Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.
There are whispers that theyâve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious â perhaps youâre in league with them, and youâll hand him over the moment itâs most convenient for you to do so.
Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. Youâre a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.
But thatâs an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.
Either way, he doesnât know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he canât afford to make.
Sanemi doesnât tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, heâll decide how to proceed.
He eyes the book heâd swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasnât had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if heâs going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.
Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.
â
His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.
You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and donât visit home often, if ever.
Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.
Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But itâs that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.
Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.
Or so he tells himself.
The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parentsâ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.
Heâd felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, heâd looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your motherâs prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.
The memory of how youâd looked at him â a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when heâd met your stare head on â remained fixed in his brain for years after.
And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.
He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he canât remember if he had. He shouldâve; especially now when it seems as though heâs unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.
Sanemiâs phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen â instructions, only by way of an address and an amount â chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.
With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.
He wonders what will kill him first â whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because thereâs nothing left of him to whore out on the Corpâs behalf.
Ultimately, he knows it doesnât really matter. He wonât die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life thatâs anything but this. Heâll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. Heâll die under the mask heâs forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasnât yet bonded with his skin.
But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where heâd placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.
And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.
â
Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.
Sanemi doesnât really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguroâs regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.
The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. Heâd kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.
That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.
So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.
His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.
He doesnât know her by name â only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But itâs surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps thatâs because sheâs looking for an escape just as much as he is.
Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.
Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.
At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. Sheâs licking and nipping at his lips in a way heâs not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.
And, after all, heâs the one desperate for relief.
âIâve only got ten minutes,â she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.
He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girlâs clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.
âDonât worry, darlinâ,â he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. âWeâll be done in five.â
â-
Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.
He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.
He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that dayâs sins.
The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.
Step.
A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that heâd heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasnât worth shit when theyâd already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.
Step.
The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.
Step.
The crush of bone under the iron pipe heâd found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.
Green; the color of the money heâd found stashed in a duffel, the debtorâs desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.
Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstoreâs front steps.
For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.
The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesnât know why heâs carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night youâd helped hide him from the cops.
He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and heâs pushing the door open.
His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.
That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.
âThis isnât a library,â you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. âYou have to pay for the books here.â
Itâs incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. âI brought it back, didnât I? Look â didnât even crack the spine.â
âIt doesnât matter,â you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. âThat loss came out of my paycheck â which is scant enough.â
That piques his attention. âDidnât you say this was your store?â
His question makes you turn pink, and youâre quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. âI work here,â you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. âBut I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesnât ever come by.â
You wrinkle your nose. âSo yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.â
Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.
Youâre beautiful; heâs always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if youâre glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.
But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.
He doesnât take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.
âFine, here,â he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.
He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.
Your restlessness boils over. âWhat?â
âNothin,â he shrugs. âJust think itâs interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.â
Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. âI live here, idiot.â
He snorts. âDidnât you want outta here? Do somethinâ different?â He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.
âI donât see how thatâs any of your business.â Heâs dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours â that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.
âThis canât be your dream life.â
You donât have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.
Like heâs waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.
Sanemi continues. âItâs strange for people not to want for more â to not dream about somethinâ different.â
âAnd who are you to say I donât?â You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. âI have a dream of my own. Just because itâs not one you would pick for yourself doesnât mean itâs wrong.â
He blinks, taken aback. âWoah, woah, I never meant any offense.â He pushes back from the counter. âMy bad.â
His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.
You slide his book across the counter. âHave the day you deserve.â
His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. âYou too, Princess.â
You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you donât see him toss another note on the counter.
Heâs already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. âSir, you dropped your ââ
âNah, I didnât,â he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.
Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.
â
His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. Itâs unplanned in that heâs annoyed and itâs partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.
Youâre in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerkâs counter startles you.
You frown. Itâs him again â all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.
âThis book was shit,â he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. âI want a refund.â
You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.
Return-exchange only. No refunds.
âBut it was shit,â he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didnât create. âYou let me waste twenty bucks.â
âI did nothing,â you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. âYouâre the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.â
You glance down at the discarded novel. âFigures,â you scoff. âHeâs not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.â
âWoulda been nice if youâd told me that before you let me give him my money.â
You hum idly as you cross off the logâs boxes for new releases. âI suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasnât really paying attention to your shit choices.â
âOh?â And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. âThe Princess has claws, does she?â He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. âSo, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?â
âIâm not your Princess,â you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. âCall me by my name or call me nothing at all.â
His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. âAlright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?â
The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish youâd let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.
Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.
Youâve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.
Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt heâd owed (their words, never yours).
Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most wonât speak about.
But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. Itâs his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.
Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. âFine, here.â You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemiâs.
âRead that.â
His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. âThis ainât a book; itâs a brick.â
âItâs a classic,â you counter. âOne that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.â Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. âLove and lust.â
His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps heâll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then heâll leave you alone.
Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. âIf you say so,â he sighs. âBut if itâs shit, Iâm taking my refund.â And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.
His breath is hot against your ear. âRegardless of your shitty little policy.â
You refuse to let him see how much heâs knocked you off-kilter. âSo I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so Iâm prepared.â
His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. âWorse,â he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. âYouâll owe me a date.â
He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. âThough, I might just take you out anyway.â
âYou assume Iâll say yes â or are you planning on kidnapping me? Iâm sure youâre rather proficient at it, given your occupation.â
Something dark flashes across his face, and itâs enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.
Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.
But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemiâs mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.
âYouâll say yes, Princess. You wonât be able to resist the temptation.â
âTemptation?â You force out a laugh. âAnd what makes you think I canât?â
Sanemiâs eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.
Itâs a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.
You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. âHabits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.â
You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.
ââ-
Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what youâd imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).
Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and heâs open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.
And, heâd been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that heâd slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. Youâd assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldnât have given two shits if heâd stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money â and the lengths some would go to keep it.
Yet heâd paid you back â paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.
Since that day, youâve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. Youâve managed to glean small things here and there. That heâs a Hashira, and Hashira means heâs only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family â the heads of the entire organization.
That heâs rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that heâs known for his swift brutality.
That heâs more than just a flirt; heâs a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.
You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.
Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And heâs said to be very well-endowed.
Itâs more information than you care to know, but you canât deny that your curiosity lingers.
You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And youâll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isnât limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.
â
âYou look like shit.â
You startle up from where youâd been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.
You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.
Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, youâd thought youâd been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.
âIs that the only descriptor you know?â You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. âIs everything either shit or not-shit to you?â
Sanemi shrugs. âPretty much,â and he holds something out to you, waiting. âHere.â
Itâs a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.
Your stomach grumbles fiercely. Youâd foregone eating breakfast when you realized youâd overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure youâd be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.
The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.
But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. âIs it poisoned?â
He rolls his eyes. âIf I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, Iâd pick a far more convenient way to do it â and one that didnât involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.â
Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.
Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. âItâs a thank you. For that book you recommended,â He smirks. âIt wasnât shit. It was good.â
You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. âYou sound surprised.â
âMaybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.â
âYouâre the one who grabbed that last book,â you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. âThat had nothing to do with me.â You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. âSo, no date, then?â
The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. âSorry, beautiful. I donât actually date.â And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. âGotta keep things casual in my world.â
The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. âAnd you donât look like a casual girl.â
You resist the urge to cross your arms. âYou seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.â
âExperience,â he offers easily. âI know casual women.â He turns his head away before quietly adding, âAnd you ainât one of âem.â
Itâs odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as youâre slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you havenât yet been able to pick apart.
You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when heâs been such a consistent pain in your ass.
Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you donât see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.
You see only the boy on your stoop; the one whoâd gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.
And itâs because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, âSo, friends, then?â
Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile â a real, genuine smile.
And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.
â-
In retrospect, Sanemi knows heâs probably fucked himself.
His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps â number Three, in particular.
But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows itâs good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations heâs entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesnât have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better â far safer â city.
It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.
Yet, he canât recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldnât, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.
He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though heâs steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he wonât be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.
It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what heâd thought otherwise, youâre not nearly as prim and haughty as youâd tried to make him believe.
Youâre sweet. Genuine, in a way thatâs rare for him to encounter in his world.
Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.
He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though heâs never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, heâs grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests â movies, shows, music â and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.
And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie youâd swiped from the storeâs limited collection, he canât find it in him to tell you no.
The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.
For starters, the neighborhood you live in isnât the safest. Itâs not the Silo, by any means, but itâs an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzuiâs business â another Hashira.
And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, youâd proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.
He supposes he can see its appeal â youâve certainly turned it into a home.
Youâve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.
A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he canât tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once youâre distracted.
Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere â in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.
Itâs lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.
But itâs still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.
Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock â the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though heâs not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.
The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because heâs petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once heâs finished.
The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesnât matter whether youâre working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.
Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadnât realized heâd been harboring, and itâs a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.
It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isnât the kind of switch he imagined heâd ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.
With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.
He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but youâre picky about your order. If itâs hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If itâs cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.
He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and itâs a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.
In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life â namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, youâre always there to pull him back.
Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.
He canât tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He canât tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He canât tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.
Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit heâs guilty for.
Itâs selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But youâre the first person heâs met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesnât cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.
So, he makes a promise. He wonât show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they donât.
With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.
And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.
As though the metamorphosis hasnât already set in.
â
âYou never told me what your dream was, yâknow.â Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.
âWhat dream?â You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.
He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. âYour big dream â the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.â
You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. âWhereâs this coming from?â
âDunno. Curious.â
âThought youâre not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.â And you shoot him a sly grin. âYou ought to be careful.â
Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. âIâm serious.â
Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. Thereâs no real harm in it, you decide. After all, heâs the only friend you have. âI want my own bookstore.â
âYeah?â He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. âArenât you practically running this one? That ainât enough?â
âI donât own it, though.â You frown, setting your clipboard down. âI just work here. Youâve seen my paycheck.â
And he had, having found a paystub when heâd gone snooping under your counter. You wouldâve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way heâd stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.
His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.
âI want something thatâs mine â that I own.â You continue. âIâve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldnât need anyoneâs permission.â
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. âI wouldnât have to live under anyoneâs thumb.â
Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.
Your cheeks heat. âI know it sounds stupid ââ
âIt doesnât,â Sanemi says earnestly. âWanting your freedom can never be stupid.â
You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that â arguably better than anyone you know.
Sanemi clears his throat. âSo, a bookstore?â And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. âConsider me your first investor.â
â
Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.
By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.
You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. âAre you walking me home?â
âTch. Donât I always, when I can?â
You grin and itâs enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldnât do it, as often as he does. Heâs risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way heâs beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But itâs dark and late, and you donât have a car, and heâll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.
Better heâs there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.
Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.
He wouldnât do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But youâd once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.
Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.
He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if heâs ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.
You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. âDid you finish that series I recommended?â
Sanemi grins. âLast night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.â
You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.
Your door gives way and you turn back to him. ââTil next time?â
It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.
ââTil next time,â he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.
You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.
âYou never told me yours â what your dream is.â
He should leave. Youâre treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you â tell you the truth, at that.
That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. Heâd settle for anything, really; anything at all.
As long as it was more than this.
But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. âTo wake up in the morning, Princess. Thatâs all I can ask for.â
âââ
Sanemiâs answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.
To wake up in the morning, Princess.
Heâs full of shit and you know it.
Over the course of the last year, youâve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Youâve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you canât afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.
He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.
More importantly, youâve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that heâs merely involved with the notorious gang â at least, not any more than the two of you are just âfriends.â
Town gossip aside, Sanemiâs affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.
Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.
Itâs evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.
But perhaps the most significant detail youâve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:
He wants out. Dreams of it, even.
This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while youâre watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you wonât see him for the rest of the day.
It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.
Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother â Genya â to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genyaâs future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadnât anyone to want those things for him.
Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect itâs because he doesnât believe he will have one.
That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.
A cop-out, is what it is.
But his reading habits betray his darkest secret â betray the truth â and thatâs exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.
The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. Heâs read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.
He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.
But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.
You opened to the first page of of a tale â an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beastâs rose.
You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes â the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.
Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True loveâs kiss, or something along those lines.
True love.
And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemiâs apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.
And thatâs how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.
He wants out.
He wants a happily ever after. He doesnât think heâll get it.
And, above all, he dreams of love.
â
If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after heâd first burst into your bookstore.
It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.
Sanemiâs name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.
You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.
You open the door and the flutter of excitement youâd felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.
There is a bruise forming along Sanemiâs cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.
The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.
Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.
âYou got liniment?â He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. âAnd water?â
âYou mean icy-hot?â Youâre already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.
You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where theyâre propped up on the back of your chair.
Youâve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).
Once, in the early days of your friendship, youâd snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.
Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.
He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. Youâd hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.
But, youâre only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.
And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.
Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.
âNeed ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you donât mind,â his voice is muffled against his arm. âI hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it â fuckinâ hurts, now.â
You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, heâd once explained. Not unless youâre bleeding out.
You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful heâs turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.
Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.
âMotherfucker,â Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. âShit stings.â
âYouâre lucky itâs not broken,â you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss â an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasnât been reset properly. âAt least, I donât think it is.â
âYour medical expertise is astounding,â Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.
âIâm not a doctor,â you shoot back. âAnd since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.â
You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.
âYouâre in luck. It seems like you wonât die,â you say dryly. âBut youâre going to have a nasty bruise.â You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. âAnd this says youâre supposed to rest â not overexert the joint.â You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. âI donât suppose youâre actually going to do that, though.â
He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. âYou know me too well, Princess.â
You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.
Youâre about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just canât seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.
You wouldnât have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but thereâs a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.
A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.
Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.
âUgly, ainât it?â His tone is unreadable. âLike a collar, âcept itâs permanent.â
Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.
But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin â the one that stands for Kill â is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemiâs duties can and do entail another kind of collection.
A chill snakes down your spine. Youâd had your suspicions, of course, youâre not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.
Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you canât see his face. âGuess itâs fitting, since Iâm their dog.â
There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You donât know why youâd held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.
Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.
âItâs barbaric,â you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you arenât someone he can confide in.
But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. Youâre grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.
He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. âThank you,â he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.
You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. Youâve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways â youâve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.
But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.
Intimate.
Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone â the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.
But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps itâs because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.
You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.
Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.
Yet, you donât stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.
You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.
Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. âThanks again. Donât know what I wouldâve done without ya.â
You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. âOh please, Iâm just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.â
A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.
âNo,â he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. âNo, youâre more than that.â His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. âMuch more.â
For a moment, you wonder if heâll lean in; if heâll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.
His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.
And then he turns and leaves.
You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you canât begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: youâd wanted to kiss him.
And for a moment, you swear heâd wanted to, as well.
An old rumor, one you hadnât considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.
The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.
Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You donât care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And whatâs more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything youâve ever felt toward anyone.
Youâre in love with Sanemi.
It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; itâs his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when youâre desperate and aching.
Itâs he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks youâre actually worth something.
Youâve never really known love before. But itâs because youâre such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is â what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you canât.
You wonât.
â
Three rules. Thatâs all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.
Donât speak. No patterns. And donât get overly attached.
It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corpsâ rules. Number three, in particular.
Until you. Until the day heâd chosen your bookstore to hide in.
Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. Heâd let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And heâd justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.
Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.
He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.
But now, heâs too deep; Sanemi knows heâs gotten in way too fucking deep with you.
Until this moment, he imagined heâd managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when heâd let himself blur it.
As it turns out, heâd been dead fucking wrong. Because heâs pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary heâd set for himself when it came to you.
So, Sanemi only gapes at you. âWhat?â
You huff, impatient. âI want you to fuck me.â
You say it like itâs the most obvious thing in the world â as though you havenât just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.
If he didnât know you were dead serious, he wouldâve laughed in your face. And thatâs how he knows heâs fucked.
Youâre a virgin; he knows that, because youâd drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer heâd brought over for your weekly movie night together.
Admittedly, heâd been surprised. You were beautiful â not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didnât seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he wouldâve thought youâd had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.
As it turned out, youâd never been in a relationship, either.
Between long gulps of your drink, youâd asked him to fix it and heâd turned you down â his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasnât the type to sleep with someone who couldnât fully consent.
So heâd let you down â but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure heâd never fully known what home truly felt like.
And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.
Heâd boldly kissed you twice more after that night â one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.
The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.
One of Sanemiâs fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadnât been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When sheâd missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.
Theyâd found her in the kitchen of the small home sheâd shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.
Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.
Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.
Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadnât yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.
He hadnât been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, sheâd had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.
The hours passed by in a blur once Kochoâs death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didnât remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when heâd begun walking in its direction.
He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldnât bother you â
His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.
Despite the late hour, youâd greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.
Safe; you were safe.
Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.
Youâd broken away long enough to ask, âS-Sanemi â what â?â
âShut up,â heâd snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Heâd half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet youâd only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.
He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though heâd moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.
You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense heâd managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up â to let him in.
And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.
His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare â completely bare â beneath your hoodie.
That youâd allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that heâd only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.
But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.
Without a word, heâd turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.
Heâd sent a text only a few minutes later â a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.
He hadnât the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.
So, yes, heâs blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, heâd never allowed himself to go further than that.
No matter how much he wanted to.
And itâs because he knows he canât cross this last line â canât open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.
âYouâre better off asking someone else, Princess. You donât want to get tangled up with someone like me.â
Never mind that youâre already tangled up with him â but heâs managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he canât ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.
âI donât want to ask someone else,â you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.
A low growl of your name is his warning. âYou donât know what youâre asking ââ
âItâs you I want. I donât care what the rumors say, I donât care what anyone thinks â including you.â
The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. âAnd I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.â
He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never â but he wants to shake the sense youâre so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.
Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months â so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And heâs pent up. He hasnât had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.
Really, itâs been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing â no one â has come close.
More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there arenât any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where heâs weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.
But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization heâs sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.
He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.
He will rot you from the inside, out.
His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that â heâs always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.
You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he wonât give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.
Sanemi wonât label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.
Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or youâre used as a weapon against him.
In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.
He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.
You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and thatâs how he knows this is wrong.
Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.
Youâre confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.
And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once youâve had your fill.
(A lie, but itâs one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)
But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious â far too precious to him to continue to indulging.
He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.
A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.
He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell canât ever be yours.
Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.
He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.
âYou want me?â He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he canât stop. Not when heâs desperate to save you from the blight of himself.
You shouldnât; you canât.
But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.
His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. âYou want to say youâve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?â
Your eyebrows knit together. âSanemi, thatâs not ââ
But he canât stop his venom. âBragging rights, thatâs all youâre after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories â the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.â
âStop it,â you bite, and your eyes harden. âYouâre acting like an asshole.â
Youâre angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.
âHate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but Iâm not acting like an asshole. I am one.â
Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. âI know you want to believe you are, but youâre not ââ
Sanemiâs hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. âIs that so?â You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. âThen maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.â
Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.
Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard fatherâs son, and that heâd be no different, no different at all. Heâs a brute, and you donât want that, you donât want him â
âYou can do whatever it is you want,â you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemiâs eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. âDo to me what you like; I donât mind, as long as itâs you.â
All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.
It isnât that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, heâs only shown you heâs entirely capable of doing so.
Itâs that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that youâd do it with a smile not unlike the one youâre wearing right now, soft and earnest.
Fuck, you just did.
And itâs that realization that has Sanemiâs hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.
You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front heâs put forth crumbles to dust.
He is a monster, but not for the reasons heâs used to justify this ugly display of his. Heâs a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable â an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.
Worse, heâs done the one thing heâd sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.
Heâd only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.
But this is worse. He has frightened you.
He recoils from you like a kicked dog. âI didnât mean to scare you.â
He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.
He clears his throat. âIâll go,â he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. ââM sorry, I didnât ââ
Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. âI want you to stay.â
âYou donât owe me anything ââ
âItâs not about owing you,â you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. âI want you. I want this.â
You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.
âYou deserve someone else,â Sanemi canât stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. âBetter.â
But youâre already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. âThere is no one better; I only want you.â
Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. Youâre an idiot.
You canât possibly believe heâs as good as it gets. Heâs used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things heâs done and what heâll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.
He will hurt you; itâs in his nature. Itâs unavoidable. He canât be what you deserve.
But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.
Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.
This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemiâs lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash youâd be better off leaving out on the street.
The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemiâs tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh heâs ever heard. One of pure relief, as though youâd been burning and he was your balm.
Ironic, considering heâs only adding gasoline to this fire between you.
But thereâs nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.
Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though heâs boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.
You want more, and he needs you, too.
His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.
One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.
He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful youâd at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.
âDonât,â he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. âLet me â please.â
Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.
Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. Heâd always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.
But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest â have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?
âHoly shit,â your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.
Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire â rich, hot need for him.
Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. âCome here.â
He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until heâs panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.
More. He needs more.
He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.
Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other â including his with the Corps.
Sanemiâs lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.
The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this â you.
As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.
He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.
âBeautiful,â he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. âSo fuckinâ beautiful.â
He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. Heâs always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isnât a picky man; heâll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.
But you? Celebration isnât enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.
âYou feel so damn good,â he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.
He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that wonât be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.
He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemiâs fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.
His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.
He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.
Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.
He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.
With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. âWeâll take it as slow as you want. Iâm not in any rush.â
âN-now?â You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.
âNot yet,â he groans against your mouth. âI gotta make sure youâre ready first.â
âI am ready -â
âNot like that,â he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.
âFound you,â he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.
He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.
You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.
A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. âUh-uh,â he tuts. âCanât hide from me now, sweetheartâ.â
He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where heâs most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.
One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.
A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. Youâre tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.
The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.
He wonât go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when heâs throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where youâre already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how youâll move under him; how youâll moan.
His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.
You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.
Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, youâre vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.
âSanemi! I think â oh, I think Iâm -â but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.
He smothers a curse into your skin. Youâre close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, itâs too soon.
âNot yet,â he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.
Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.
âThere. Feel how wet you are?â His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.
âFor you,â your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesnât feel like he could get drunk on it. âItâs all for you.â
His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. âThatâs right,â and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. âBecause youâre mine.â
Itâs not fair. But he wants to pretend like itâs true, if only for a while.
Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.
It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.
Heâd made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, heâd never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasnât you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.
The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.
But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.
âJesus Christ,â he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. âHere.â
His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers heâd just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.
âGo on,â he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. âTaste how fuckinâ perfect you are.â
The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.
Fuck, youâre trying to kill him.
But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of whatâs to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight â whether thatâs something or nothing â you will never be just friends again.
Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.
He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.
Finally bare, heâs quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.
âAre you sure?â
You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.
He doesnât have a condom but heâs in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. Heâs never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who heâd had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, heâd always been sure to have protection on hand.
Children are a gift, but heâd be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.
But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesnât think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.
âIt might hurt a moment,â he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. âBut I promise Iâll be gentle â as gentle as I can.â
You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. âI trust you.â
You shouldnât, he wants to say. You shouldnât, and you should run far away from this â from me.
But Sanemi knows you wonât just as much as he knows he doesnât have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.
He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemiâs hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.
The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.
Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. âFuck,â he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. âFuck.â
His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.
The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.
The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.
Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where youâre concerned.
Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, youâre impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.
With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.
His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.
Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.
âThere you go, thatâs it,â his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. âThatâs my girl.â
Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.
He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.
âReady?â His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.
There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isnât entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.
Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.
You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single âPlease.â
With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.
You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.
But then Sanemiâs lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand heâd used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.
âIâm sorry,â he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â
He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.
Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way youâre constricting around him so tightly itâs nearly painful.
Itâs unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but heâs also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.
Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.
Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. Heâd had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.
With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.
You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.
He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.
He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.
When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows youâre ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.
His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.
And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.
He starts slow. He doesnât withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.
Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.
Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemiâs moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.
One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.
His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.
âTighter,â he gasps. âHold me tighter. Please.â
Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.
And then heâs rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until youâre stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.
His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. âTalk to me, angel,â the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. âTell me how you feel â tell me what you want.â
You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.
The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You canât stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.
âCloser!â You gasp. âI â I need you closer.â
He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesnât want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants â he needs â to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.
Sanemiâs hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. âDeeper,â he confirms between throaty groans. âYou want me deeper?â
You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.
He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.
So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.
The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemiâs eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.
Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.
Itâs a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.
Really, he canât give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing heâs ever heard.
Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. Youâve come before with your own hand, but this â this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.
You try and tell him youâre losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.
But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.
âIâm here, baby, Iâm here. Iâve got you.â And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.
âIâll take care of you, sweet girl,â he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. âJust keep your legs around me.â
Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.
With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.
You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. âSanemi ââ
âItâs okay,â he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. âItâs gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.â
Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks heâs ever heard.
A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.
And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.
âYouâre doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you â- thatâs it.â He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. âYeah, yeah. Youâre my fuckinâ girl, arenât you?â
A single wail of his name is your only response, but itâs enough of a confirmation to damn you both.
âYou are,â he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. âMine. Youâre fuckinâ mine.â
His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.
Youâre close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.
The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.
Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.
But he needs to see you, first.
âLook at me,â his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. âLook at me, Y/N.â
Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly youâre right back at that edge, only this time, youâre falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.
âS-Sanemi â!â Itâs all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.
Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.
âThatâs it baby, thatâs it,â Sanemiâs praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. âFuck!â
Heâll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.
But heâs also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet â all because of him.
He is selfish and he is weak; itâs a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.
Sanemiâs hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.
He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.
He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
âFuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckinâ good.â He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.
One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. âYou okay?â
You donât answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster heâs always known he was â
âI love you,â and then youâre peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. âI love you, Sanemi.â
It wouldâve hurt less if youâd shot him.
Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.
Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.
He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.
It hits him, then. You arenât waiting for an answer â you said it only so he would know, and youâd not expected anything in return.
All youâd done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.
He doesnât deserve any of it.
Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesnât think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you â including him.
He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.
He pants as he breaks away. ââM gonna pull out â might be uncomfortable for a second.â
You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemiâs retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.
A low whistle blows past his lips. âDamn, I made a mess outta you.â
For a moment, Sanemi canât tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.
His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. âLet me clean you up.â
Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. âDonât leave â not yet.â You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. âPlease, can you just hold me for a bit?â
Sanemiâs eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He canât imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.
Heâd be lying if he said he didnât know the source of your anxiety â or that you didnât have reason for it. Sanemi isnât known for lingering.
But this is different â youâre different. Youâre not some temporary distraction. Youâre everything. His everything.
âShhh,â he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. âIâm staying right here, sweet girl. Iâm not goinâ anywhere.â
He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.
Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemiâs head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.
He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way heâs disregarded every rule, every boundary heâs ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade heâd safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isnât quite sure what heâs supposed to do with the rubble.
What he does know is that thereâs no putting things back to how they were.
His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.
But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he canât quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.
His eyes widen. Thereâs his answer.
Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.
Perhaps that is what youâve done to yourself, and youâre waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.
He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.
But he can try.
He mouths I love you against your hairline â he does not voice it, not yet, though itâs what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.
See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3
The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencerâs. Youâre not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.
Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader
DISCLAIMER
This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!Â
You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you donât like it, donât read.
Part 2 was highly requested and Iâm sorry itâs taken so long to finish.
WARNING
Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out).
Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots.
Proceed at your own risk.
Word count: 10.3K
See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.
The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. Itâd taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after youâd sent your email.Â
From: Boss Man đ¶ đ
My office, first thing tomorrow.Â
You didnât take into account that youâd have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that youâd need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; youâre leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best.Â
To convince you that this was for the best.Â
Youâd spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because âthe person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didnât want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your lifeâs work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldnât think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind.Â
âYou canât love me.â
Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesnât want you to love him? Thatâs your understanding, at least.Â
âPlease donât come back here. Itâs hard enough at work, I donât want to see your face in my personal time too.âÂ
Since youâd left his apartment the previous night, youâd been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldnât recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where heâd hurt you in ways you never imagined he would.Â
Youâre not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.
âIâm just surprised, thatâs all. Where is this even coming from?â He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.
âI just think itâs time for me to try new things, you know?â It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning.Â
âI try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just soâŠsudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?â
âThis has nothing to do with him.â You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison.Â
Hotchâs brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesnât say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child thatâs about to receive a scolding from their father.Â
âHonâHonestlyâŠHotch, I justââ
Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply.Â
âSir, Hello, Iâm sorry to interrupt but itâs an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?â Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. âWell, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.â
âGarcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. Weâll debrief on the flight.â Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. âYou and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.âÂ
Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek.Â
âHow bad do you think this one is gonna be?â Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival.Â
âWeâre up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, theyâve been at it a while. So, bad.â You answer honestly.Â
âSpeaking of bad, is everything okay?â
âThat was not even remotely smooth.â You scoff.Â
âIâm just asking as a concerned friend.â He shoots his hands up in defence.
âWhat happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.â You roll your eyes and smirk.Â
âHeyyy, woahâ no oneâs interrogating anyone.â Derek chuckles. âWhat are your plans for the weekend?â
It wasnât long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didnât notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didnât like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasnât a genuine smile.Â
He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencerâs agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off.Â
âAlright letâs get started.â Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around.Â
With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you.Â
âShe didnât say anything as to what the meeting was about?â JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette. Â
âNo, but Garcia said that âthe air in his office was really tenseâ.â Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. âDid Hotch say anything?â
âNo. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.â JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter.Â
Despite being the FBIâs most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU werenât strangers to workplace gossip. Youâd just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team.Â
âIs it something we should know about?â Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity.Â
âDave youâre not normally one to pry.â Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him.Â
âNo Iâm not. But with the events of the past few months...â Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. â...thereâs been some talk Aaron.â
âTalk?â Hotch meets Rossiâs eyes.
âMhm.â Rossi nods. âApparently youâre transferring one of our two youngest members because they havenât been able to put their differences aside.â
âIâm not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?â The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.
âOffice drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,â he sets his mug down and looks towards where youâre sound asleep. âIâm guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.â
âWeâre not supposed to profile each other, you know.â Hotch sighs. âIâd appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I havenât had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think sheâd prefer to break the news herself.âÂ
As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victimsâ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasnât enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads.Â
You were especially frustrated because you felt that you werenât working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.
âI think this may be the first night weâve gotten to turn in early.â Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.
âIâm just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.â You force a giggle, exasperated. Â
âYou okay?â She doesnât miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness.Â
âYeah, fine.â You smile, but it doesnât quite reach your eyes.Â
âYouâre going to snap at some point, you know?â She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. âSomethingâs clearly wrong. Talk to me.â
âWeâre all on edge right now. Itâs this case.â You hope that youâre being convincing enough.Â
âIt's more than that. Youâve been distant from everybody.â Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment.Â
âIâm aware that Iâm not working to my full potentialââ
âThatâs not what I mean and you know that.â She steps closer to you. âI canât force you to tell me whateverâs actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you soâŠdetached. Not just from us, but from yourself.â
Itâs the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away.Â
âPlease donât.â You sob. âIâm sorry.â
She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldnât fault others for not respecting that boundary when youâd never verbalised it.Â
âIâve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I donât think thereâs any way this gets easier.â You recompose yourself after a moment. âIâm, um, leaving.â
You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed.Â
âYou donât look surprised.âÂ
âWell itâs not entirely surprising. I mean given everything thatâs happened.âÂ
âSo youâre not mad?â
âWhy would I be mad?â She leans back with her mouth slightly open.Â
âBecause I feel like Iâm abandoning you guys.â You heavily exhale.Â
âYouâre not abandoning us. Youâre doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And itâs not a decision you have to justify to anybody.â Emily reassures you.Â
âHow do I tell everybody else?â You push for more advice.
âHowever you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesnât have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. Theyâll understand.âÂ
âThank you, Em.â You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that sheâs managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.
âNow while youâre in a mood to shareâŠif you wanna talk about something elseââ She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit.Â
âNice try.â You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.
The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emilyâs advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than youâd anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.
Except Spencer.
That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, itâs not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads.Â
Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadnât uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didnât exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.
At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadnât even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didnât have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it.Â
That didnât last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldnât stop. You pretending like he didnât exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork.Â
âDo you plan to help at all?â He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case.Â
You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area.Â
âHow am I meant to help?â You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.
âYouâre asking me how to do your job?â He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.
You dramatically groan, throwing your head back.Â
Itâs hard to believe that heâs a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesnât register what youâre doing at first. Heâs too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him.Â
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.
âWhat do you mean?â You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words.Â
âDonât try to act all dumb!â He berates, shaking his head.Â
âDonât try to act all smart.â Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy.Â
âI am smart.â He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.
âSavour that, itâs the one good thing youâve got going for you!â You finally snap.Â
âYouâre UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and itâs just to argue?â Heâs trying his best to refrain from yelling.
âOh! Youâve been trying to start an argument all week and now that Iâm giving in you canât take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you canât even stand to look at my face!â
He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadnât anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done.Â
âYOUââ
âAlright, thatâs enough!â Hotch loudly cuts him off.Â
Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. Youâre slightly embarrassed, wondering how much theyâve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek.Â
âCare to explain whatâs going on?â He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father.Â
âShe wasnât doing her job!â Spencer complains. âAnd when I brought it up she messed up my profile!â
âGod youâre insufferable! Itâs called ânarrowing the profileâ, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldnât have to.â You retort.Â
âHey!â Hotch scolds.
It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first.Â
âYou know, if I didnât know any better, Iâd think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.â
You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort.Â
âWe will discuss this later. Letâs focus on the updates weâve gathered.â Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand.Â
âAfter talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.â JJ pipes up first.
âAnd the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. Heâs definitely not holding them anymore.â Morgan adds.
âThat has to be where heâs choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?â Hotch asks.
âTraces of GHB.â Emily replies. âWe donât know how heâs administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.â
âGamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.â Spencerâs about to continue but quickly recognises that itâs a tangent he needs to cut short.Â
âWait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?â You inquire, walking closer to the map.
When she relays the name it clicks.Â
âThatâs smack in the middle of the comfort zone.â You point at a small red note labelling the building.Â
âSo how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we donât know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.â Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.
âExcept for when heâs alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women heâs using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected heâd fly into blind rage.â Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input.Â
âYeahâŠbut he has a very specific type.â Rossi hesitates.Â
A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home.Â
Youâre his exact type.
âNo.â Hotch shuts down.
âHotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.â JJ shares Rossiâs hesitation.
âItâs too risky!â Spencer blurts, making it clear heâs against the idea.Â
Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but youâd seen the bodies and what heâd done to those women. What heâll continue to do to other women if he isnât stopped. It was a no brainer on your end.Â
âIâll do it!â You announce amidst the chatter.
It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.
âWhat?â Spencer scoffs.
You can tell that heâs genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question.Â
âIâll do it.â You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.
âAbsolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!â Spencer howls with a little too much passion.Â
âReidâs right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.â Hotch debates.
âJJ has a point, think about it!â You argue. âWe know for a fact that heâs going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!âÂ
âOkay so letâs send somebody else!â Spencer contests, his tone prayerful.Â
For a split second, you see your best friend again. Heâs showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it wonât be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while heâs there.
âThereâs no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.â
âNo, this is stupid and dangerous. Youâre not going in there!â Heâs gone again.Â
âThatâs not your call to make!â You snap.Â
âHotch no!â Spencer tries again.
âKid, relax! This isnât her first undercover mission.â Morgan attempts to calm Reid. âPlus weâll all be there in case anything goes wrong.â
âStatisticallyââ
âFor Godâs sake forget the fucking statistics! Peopleâs lives are at stake!â You loudly end his tangent before it can begin.Â
âAlright, everybody calm down!â Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer.Â
Heâd made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue.Â
âLike Morgan said, weâll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You wonât be wired, but weâll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We donât have a lot of time. Letâs get to work.â The unit chief asserts.Â
Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that sheâll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night.Â
âSpence! Slow down!â She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct.Â
Heâs breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.Â
âSpence what the hell is going on with you?â JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
âMe?!â Spencer yanks himself away from her. âWhat the hell is going on with all of you?! Youâre all insane for allowing her to do this!â
âSheâs a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what sheâs getting herself into.â JJ reminds him.Â
âWell itâs not a very smart decision! She shouldnât be making decisions thisâŠthis reckless!â He shrieks.Â
âOkay you need to calm down!â JJ sternly states.Â
âJennifer, do not tell me to calm down! Sheâs about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and youâre all just letting it happen!â
âSo what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?âÂ
âNo! Iâm not saying we shouldâ justâ why does it have to be her?!â The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly.Â
âThatâs what this is about? Câmon you know better than this.â She relaxes her shoulders. âSpencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings fromââ
âFeelings? This has nothing to do with how I feelââ
âOkay stop! Stop! God!â JJ huffs with pauses between her words. âI am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been aboutââ
She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration.Â
âListen to me.â She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. âItâs clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether youâre willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is thatâs caused this riftâ fine! But donât you think itâs time to bury the hatchet now that sheâs leaving?â
Spencer freezes.Â
â...Leaving?â He repeats, taken off guard.Â
JJ takes a moment to read his expression.Â
âShe didnât tell you?â JJ mutters, still scanning his face.Â
âWhatâ what are youâŠâ He canât find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.
âSheâs resigning, Spencer. Sheâs leaving the FBI.â JJ canât hide how sheâs surprised that you havenât shared this with him.Â
âNo, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?â Denial is his first response.
Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. Youâd only leave if you grew to hate the job.Â
Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?
âWe were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.â
âWe?â He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. âHow long?â
âWhat?â
âHow long have you guys known?â He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger.Â
âItâs hard enough at work, I donât want to see your face in my personal time too.âÂ
He had no one to be angry at, but himself.
âA day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I havenât had time to wrap my head around it.â JJ honestly reveals.Â
So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldnât just leave without so much as telling him, would you?
A few months ago, Spencer wouldâve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong.Â
âSpence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure youâre able to stay objective. Can you do that?â
He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you.Â
Youâre leaving and heâs the only person you hadnât disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that youâd abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still canât help the irritation thatâs creeping in his veins.Â
Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he canât push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He wouldâve showed up to work one day and youâd be gone.
Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you donât look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that youâre undercover. Itâs amazing how youâve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.
If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, heâs walked right up to you. You donât feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around.Â
âShit Spencer!â You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night.Â
Heâs about to say something but you beat him to it.
âDonât start! Iâm not in the mood.â You brush him off and disappear out of sight.
It was like that for much of the preparations. Heâd muster the courage to try and talk to you, and youâd walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart.Â
âEverybody in position?â Hotch inquires through his ear piece.Â
âAffirmative.â Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club.Â
You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didnât have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared.Â
This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. Heâd managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didnât even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldnât give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents.Â
It was Spencer whoâd found you fighting for your life against Archieâs grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archieâs head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If heâd found you any later you mightâve been gone for good.Â
Pissed was an understatement.
At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasnât pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you.Â
You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasnât their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit.Â
In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didnât want to leave, but hearing Spencerâs voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldnât bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.
Physically, he knew youâd be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. Youâd been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet.Â
Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasnât his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your âIâm okayâ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. Youâd been doing that a lot in your recent cases.Â
It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasnât going to. He didnât care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. Youâd felt like that since you came to, in the alley.Â
It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you.Â
âYouâve gotta stop sneaking up on me.â You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.
âSorry.â He chuckles out of habit.
You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes.Â
âAreââ He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. âIs there anything I can get you?â
Youâre taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.
âWhat do you want?â You grumble, accepting that you couldnât get past him.
âI want to know if thereâs anything I can get you.â He repeats in a low tone.Â
There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.
âIf this is to clear some guilty conscience, donât bother.â You verbally guard yourself. âIâm fine.â
It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didnât last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon.Â
Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldnât live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle.Â
âI know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.â He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you.Â
Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together.Â
âYou know.â You whisper.Â
âWere you going to tell me?â He gulps after a beat of silence.Â
âDoes it matter?â You're quick to respond.
âI wanna hear it from you.â Heâs just as fast.Â
You look up from the leaf of pills, heâs already surveilling you. Itâs a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, whoâs observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadnât officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.
âDonât go.â Spencer pleads when you take your first step.
Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didnât bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either.Â
You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. Itâs been four days since your return from Anchorage and youâve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. Heâs ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait.Â
You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. Youâve convinced yourself that you canât do any of it until the forms are filled out.Â
The âuniverseâ isnât the only thing delaying you.Â
If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; youâre not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. Youâve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job.Â
The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you donât want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. Itâs not as bad as it seems, itâs more self care than anything. Your bodyâs telling you it needs to rest and youâre simply obliging. Plus, it couldnât be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if youâre able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really werenât that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits.Â
And itâs not like youâre truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. Itâs not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know thatâs not how it works, but you canât stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing untilâ
Youâre okay.
No, youâre irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door wonât stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasnât any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all.Â
You canât live in fear all the time.Â
The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you donât get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadnât been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasnât healing like he expected it to.Â
âSpencerâŠwhat are you doing here?â Your voice is hoarse.Â
âI brought take out.â He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet.Â
You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days heâd come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didnât know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.
âI already ate.â You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.
Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him.Â
âWe can do something else until youâre hungry again.â He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like heâs pleading for you to accept his offer.
âI donât think Iâll be hungry anytime soon.â You awkwardly laughâ well itâs close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords.Â
âCan I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.â Heâs using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. Itâs a stark contrast to the voice youâve been hearing for the last ten days.Â
Please donât come back here. Itâs hard enough at work, I donât want to see your face in my personal time too.
Tears threaten the composure youâre working so hard to maintain.
âWhy are you really here?â You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries.Â
âI told you.â He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. âTake out. Maybe a movieââ
âCut the shit.â You assert, harshly. âYou can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.â
âThatâsâŠis that why you think Iâm here?â His shoulders drop.
âIsnât it?â You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again.Â
âNo.â His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. âIâm here because I want to be here.â
âWhy? Thereâs nothing in it for you.â You scoff, blinking from confusion. âUnlessâŠis this some sick game? Seeing me like thisâ knowing that Iâmâ are you trying to gloat?â
âGloat?â He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.
âRelish, rejoice, rub it in, I donât know. Youâre the walking thesaurus.â
He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and youâre leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.
Is this how low you think he is?
âWhy would I be enjoying this?â His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you.Â
âCall it epicaricacy.â You shrug.Â
âEpicaricacy?â He mumbles in a whispered tone, like heâs trying to process what you said.
Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.
Your eyes roll from how slow heâs acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.
âDo you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?â The change in pitch stings a bit.Â
âNo, I donât think you like seeing me at all.â You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. âWhich brings us back toâŠwhy are you here Doc?â
âThatâs not true.â He cringes, ignoring the second part.
âNot true?â You wiggle your brows sarcastically.Â
âNot true.â He reaffirms, sighing deeply. âI didnât mean it. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âYouâre sorry.â You scoff again, shaking your head.
âI know that Iâve been unreasonableââ
âUnreasonable?â The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity.Â
âA dick! Iâve been a dick.â He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out.Â
You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go.Â
âI was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, Iââ He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. âI know that Iâve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back thereâŠI justâŠI know what youâre going through, even if you wonât admit it. I donât want you to go through it alone.â
Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. Itâs jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly.Â
âSpencer, go home.â You say with the same bitterness.Â
âPleaseââ
âGo home! I donât want your pity!â You yell. It feels alleviating. âDo you honestly think that anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything thatâs happened in the past few months? Because it doesnât! Things canât go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. Itâs not a flip you can switch. You donât just get to start caring!âÂ
You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows youâre right, except for the one crucial error in your speech.Â
âI never stopped caring.â He mumbles.
This fucking idiot.
Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions youâve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that heâs holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you donât let it go to waste.
âDonât come back here. Itâs hard enough at work to see your face at work, I donât want to see it in my personal time too.âÂ
You canât stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heartâs threatening to burst from how fast itâs racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but itâs still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You donât make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob.Â
That didnât make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of youâre feeling, youâd hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything heâs done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didnât make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt.Â
He didnât come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you âget well soonâ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didnât have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until youâd be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencerâs days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door.Â
You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didnât plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer.Â
âYouâre back! Ooh, itâs so good to see you!â Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability.Â
âGood to have you back, Pretty Girl.â Derekâs second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotchâs office.
âEnjoy it while you can.â You giggle in reply. âIs Hotch in yet?â
âI see someone canât wait to leave us.â Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.
âYeah, heâs expecting you.â JJ laughs, slapping Emilyâs arm playfully.Â
âThanks JJ!â You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door.Â
âSo itâs official? Sheâs really leaving?â JJ questions through a half-hearted smile.Â
âI asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.â Emily replies, still eyeing the door.Â
âHow did you get Rossi to admit that?â JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response.Â
âAm I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know sheâs leaving because of him, right?â Morgan looks at Spencer, whoâs nose deep in a file at his desk.Â
âYeah, but we canât help if they refuse to talk to us about it.â Emily sighs, hanging her head back.Â
The three dive deeper into their discussion and youâre none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotchâs office. As per protocol, heâs just finished informing you of whatâs next and youâre kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the teamâs transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave.Â
âJust return this to me once youâve filled it out.â He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms.Â
âThanks Hotch.â You smile, grabbing the file.Â
You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name.Â
âI understand that youâre set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.â Itâs insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. âHowever, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.âÂ
âThanks Hotch.â You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once.Â
If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasnât easy, pretending that you werenât crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesnât make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.Â
âCoffee?â Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage.Â
âThanks Pen.â You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands.Â
âNo problem.â She smirks mischievously and trots off.Â
A strange lady, but your strange lady.
Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you werenât a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did.Â
You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldnât help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it.Â
You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you arenât wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once.Â
When heâs sure youâre no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, youâd throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out.Â
âKid, are you even listening?â Rossi scolds in an incredulous way.Â
As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldnât get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.
âNeed some help?â Spencer asks, spawning next to you.
âChrist, Reid!â You blurt, startled. âI thought I told you to stop doing that.âÂ
âSorry.â He chuckles as if on cue.Â
You glare at him expectantly. He doesnât say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer.Â
âNo thanks.â You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint.Â
âLet me know if you do.â He doesnât.Â
âYou wouldnât even be the last person Iâd ask if I did.â You snark.Â
âBut you would eventually?â He stays calm, almost playful.Â
Smart ass.Â
You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasnât antagonising you.Â
âThanks for the coffee.â Itâs forceful gratitude. You werenât feeling grateful, but you still had manners.Â
âYouâre welcome.âÂ
âDonât make it again.âÂ
âI will not.â He grins and walks away to his desk.Â
You act like you donât know heâs watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didnât plan to stop. What he does know is that youâd never directly let him help you. He doesnât care. There werenât any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. Itâs taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. Youâre too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours.Â
What you didnât miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before.Â
âI thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.â You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencerâs desk.Â
He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk.Â
âAnd I did. Thatâs not from me.â Heâs earnest with his response.
âOh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?â You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.
âNo.â He crosses his fingers across his lap. âI told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.â
âAnd why did you do that?â You play along, unenthusiastically.Â
âBecause you told me to stop doing it.â He states in the most casual way possible.Â
This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think heâd let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch thatâ he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?
âStop. It.â The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised.Â
âStop doing exactly what youâve told me to?â
You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You canât even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents.Â
After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered youâd decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, youâd respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didnât deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to.Â
This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that youâd ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that thereâs little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred.Â
Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner.Â
Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life.Â
You didnât comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you werenât in the alley. You were in Spencerâs arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe.Â
When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrowâs flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of todayâs events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay.Â
You couldnât sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencerâs saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time heâs put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier youâd become. You were also wearing a vest, you wouldâve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless.Â
What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?
You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldnât bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You arenât going to let your guard down just because heâs an idiot.
Spoilers:
BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc theyâre so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.
AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. Itâll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. Thereâs only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, itâs not my fault!!!
Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I donât have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.
If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (Iâm not liable if this never happens), think about that...Â
Summary: He was done fucked, a weak man on his knees for her, mad for her, in love with her and funny enough she didn't know. Him sleeping around isn't helping him though.
Beware: angst, fluff (?), minimal plot, smoking, drugs, alcohol, she/her pronouns, second person used as well, miscommunication, misunderstandings, excessive use of swear words, both reader and Mattheo assume the worst, happy ending.
Words: 4.025k
Mattheo Riddle is in deep shit. His feelings have dug him a deep hole, a hole so deep that he could bury himself a hundred times over and still not be anywhere near the surface. He is so in love with you. And you being so fucking oblivious, mistake his advances for him being friendly. It's funny because when has he ever done something friendly? He's not even friendly to his friends, he insults them as a greeting for fucks sake. It's ridiculous how clueless you are, it was endearing at first but now it's just painful for him to watch you go on dates, that too every date with a different guy.
He thinks you've fucked them all, afterall it's him, Mattheo Riddle, he only thinks in extremes, if you've been on a date with some dude, you ofcourse had fucked him because who wouldn't do you. He resorted to the same ways, fucking his frustration out but instead of feeling satisfied, he would feel relieved for a moment and then his frustration would grow more and more, never coming close to being satisfied. He thought he could just fuck it all out, that he could just forget you, that he could just hate you. It became a routine for him, he got rougher and rougher with the girls he slept with, reaching his own high became harder and harder. It was all because of you, 'cause you couldn't see his love and make him a lover.
His reputation was worsening, his grades started slipping, he started ignoring you, becoming angry easily, snapping at anyone and everyone. Fucking girls left and right, every day was the same and he wondered why the hell he couldn't find a solution to all his problems. His smoking habits became worse, one cigarette turned into two, two turned three and now he was smoking one pack a day. His life was fucked, he could no longer think for himself, the thoughts of you with someone else corrupted his mind at all times. Everyone could see him ruining his life, he couldn't care less, he didn't give a shit about the names he was being called, most of them were true anyway.
âŠ
Tonight was like every other Slytherin party night, except for the fact that he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, all he wanted was a drunk hookup but he had slept with most of the girls in the room and he couldn't bring himself to repeat them over. He sighed, walking off to a secluded balcony, pulling out a cigarette, it was boring, life had become boring.
"Mattheo," he nearly jerked his head in the direction of your voice, it's been so long since he's heard it. All of it coming back to him, all the feelings he was trying to get rid of came right back, knocking at his heart. He's looking for the sweet smile, the one you'd always give him when you'd talk to him but all you did was frown at him, looking at him like the onlookers who gossiped about him and it fucking hurt. "Yes darling," he greeted you like nothing was wrong, before you would've smiled at his cheesy nicknames but now you grimaced at his hoarse voice and stepped back, he quickly looked away, just like that he blew off his last chance, he couldn't face it, he couldn't see you walk away from him, he physically couldn't.
"Riddle-" "Don't, don't call me that," he whispered, it was pathetic, he knows it too but that doesn't stop him, he couldn't hear you call him that. "Mattheo, I am Mattheo," he breathed out like an affirmation to himself, as though reminding himself of the person he's losing, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his shoe. There it is, he's doing it again, acting how you'd want him to act, you disapproved of his smoking habits, you never told him to stop though, just so you know, he would stop if you only asked but you never did. You never asked anything of him, making the friendship feel one-sided, never wanting to bother him, you didn't do that with your other friends, you were openly asking them for favours albeit small, still favours, that's how friends are, looking out for eachother but no, you never expressed it, he just had to read into it. It made him feel as though he was your friend, just for the name sake, wow- he couldn't even be your friend.
He closed his eyes trying to contain himself, taking a hit from the burning cigarette, his hands were trembling, he was hurt, he could never be with you, you were making it clear. For the first time he got an actual sign of rejection and he just couldn't take it. "Riddle." It was still your voice, coming from his side, he slowly turned, there you were, standing next to him, looking at him with concern, giving him the slightest bit of hope, making his heart pound against his chest. He simply stared at you this time, unable to think of a response because you called him by his last name, you never did that. You didn't speak either, both staring at eachother, him with everything unsaid, sadness, anger, hope, longing, love, every fucking thing while you looked at him with worry painted all over your face. Mattheo hated to have people worry about him, noone was obligated to do so and he didn't want anyone to do it but right now, he didn't seem to mind, your attention was on him, worried about him. You finally looked away, placing your glass on the railing, alcohol with a lollipop in the glass, a typical you thing.
"alright, Mattheo," a small smile was tugging at your lips at his actions, "tell me, what's going on?" He didn't have anything to say, what would he say anyway? Upon not receiving an answer you sighed and continued, "Draco was telling me how different you've been-" he scoffed loudly interrupting you, ofcourse this is what it is, Malfoy sending you to talk to him, to scold him like everyone else, ofcourse you wouldn't come to him on your own, he was so fucking worthless in your eyes. âDonât do that Mattheo-â âYeah? Why not? Coming here to scold me like everyone else, you know what, surprise surprise, itâs nothing I havenât heard before.â He was angry, you come to talk to him after all these days and it was to tell him, that heâs bad, that heâs wrong, yes, he started it by ignoring you but you didnât even make an effort to talk to your âfriendâ while he was away, it pained him to know that you didnât even care to check up on him.
âNo, I am worried Mattheo, this is not okay for you,â you moved closer, shaking your head trying to find the words, âI tried Mattheo, to catch you, to talk to you but you were always turning away, ignoring me, I couldnât even get a proper look at you these weeks. Draco was joking about you smoking two a day, one for each girl you slept with, it was then but now, a whole pack a day? I tried to get to you, tried to see whatâs been hurting you, but all I saw was your back towards me.â You paused, looking around clearly frustrated, âI thought maybe you didnât want to talk about it, so I stopped trying but I am sorry, I canât help myself, I care about you Mattheo and I hate to see you like this,â you looked up at him, hoping heâd understand but he only stared at you blankly, maybe you were wrong to care, he clearly didnât want to be bothered, you sighed yet again, clearly there was no point, you could only wish for him to be better.
You mustered up all the courage you could, moving closer to the brunette who still hadnât said a thing, âI am sorry for bothering you, I hope you win whatever battle it is that you are fighting, just know that I care and I canât help but be worried when you are hurting, sorry if it is selfish that I want you to be better, I wonât disturb you anymoreâ you gave him a small smile, going up on your tiptoes planting a small kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment, holding his hand in both of your own giving it a hard squeeze before letting go. It pained you to see that he didnât seem to care about his own life, making you feel useless for doing the same, he was dear to you, you didnât want to let go of him but clearly he didnât want the same, who were you to deny him of anything? So, you let go, taking the moment in before walking away, the tears were ready to fall, you werenât going to let him see that, you didnât want him to see how pent up you were over him when he couldnât even bring himself to care.
Mattheo could feel his chest burn, he could feel the sting in his heart at the sight of you walking away, his knees felt weak, you cared? You tried to reach out? Yes you did, of course you did, you werenât the ugly person he tried to paint you as, he wanted to hate you so bad, he wanted you to be wrong, he wanted you to scold him, he wanted you to hate him just so he could move on but no, he could never move on from you, even if you spat his way heâd love you. âSorry if it is selfish-â he fucking wants you to be selfish, he wants you to be selfish about him. Only if he wasnât busy imagining you with other guys, maybe he wouldâve noticed that you smile a bit more around him, just maybe heâd see your eyes looking out for him. Maybe then he wouldâve seen the look in your eyes, one similar to his, but he was a fool, heâd always be unworthy of your love, you wouldnât love someone like him, he ruled that possibility out the very moment he fell in love with you, thereby in his mind even if you actually loved him, you didnât because he couldnât see it.
He called after you, he couldnât see you walk away, not when he has so much to say. You turned around, he saw tears in your eyes, he felt like dying, it was him who made you cry, if he didn't hate himself before, he clearly did right then. With two wide strides he was infront of you, holding your face, wiping away your tears, "please don't walk away from me," he muttered, trying to get you to look up at him, you look up at him with stars in your eyes, taking his breath away, 'I want you so bad' he thinks to himself but it's false, no, he doesn't simply want you, he fucking needs you like the air you take away from him, when you look at him like that- hazy eyed, making him think that you love him but he knows you don't, he knows you don't love the guys you go on dates with, he knows you don't love the guys you sleep with, in his eyes you love to care but don't care to love, he'll be one of those guys, if it means you'll have him, even if it is for one night.
He was staring at you, looking for a sign, waiting for you to push him away but you just look at him with glossy eyes, making him weak, unable to contain himself he presses his lips against yours, you hiss pulling back, the bitter taste of smoke invading your senses, your reaction hurts him, he couldn't even be one of your guys, that's how worthless he is, his grip loosens, he tastes you on his lips, sweet cherry- the lollipop still sugary on your lips. Then you surprise him, fisting his collar, pulling him down, soft lips on his, like honey against his smoke. He loses it then and there, his hand comes up to hold your face, the other low on your back pulling you flush against him. It was heaven, eyes closed, moving in sync, savouring every second, he could feel his skin tingle, his body burn, it was pathetic how you could bring him to feel so much with the simplest of touches, and now you were kissing him, better than any dream or fantasy, it's real, he reminds himself, frowning as he concentrates trying to capture every single detail, of you against him.
Mattheo walks you back to the railings, not letting go of you even for a second. You pull away as the cold metal makes contact with your body, the sting seeping through the thin layer of your clothes. Still impossibly close practically breathing the same air, then the situation dawns upon you, you look up at Mattheo in horror. This is what has become of your love for him, he's using your attraction towards him to get you into bed, just like he did with other girls. There was no difference in their relationship with him and yours with him, evidently so. You loved kissing him but you hated the fact that it meant everything to you but all it was to him was a one night stand, your dignity would not allow it, even though you wanted him so badly. "I'm- I'm sorry but I can't," you quickly walk off, not looking back this was humiliation, you felt embarrassed.
One moment you were there kissing him and the next you were gone, he fucking hates this because he doesn't know what to do or what made you push him away. You gave him hope when you kissed him but shattered it when you walked away, you were confusing him. Why'd you kiss him like that if you wanted to let go? His hands reach out to pull at his hair, "Fuck" he grits out, it was frustrating not knowing what to do, knowing he has done something wrong. But for the most part, he doesn't know how you feel, you kissed him like you felt something but you walked away like it was nothing. He's over it.
âŠ
He's absolutely not over it. He couldn't even stick to the plan for five seconds, images of you in his arms plagued his mind. He could only cherish that moment, he felt more alive in those few seconds than he ever did, his lips are still tingling, it's the next morning and his head is still in clouds. Mattheo for once, feels human- he feels like going to class again just so he could see you. The wound of your rejection was still fresh in his heart but so was the memory of your lips against his in his mind.
He could handle the professors' taunts, he infact muted them out and zeroed in on your face, you were avoiding him, he could see it, trying so hard just like he did the past few weeks. He saw himself in you for a moment but then you started talking to some Hufflepuff dude next to you, smiling at him so pretty, his blood started burning hot when he saw the guy touch you. You did nothing to push him away, pfft- ofcourse he wasn't Mattheo fucking Riddle that you'd push him away.
Mattheo was practically burning holes into you skull as he took a seat in the very back. Only if he wasn't so overtaken by jealousy he'd see that your smile didn't reach your eyes as you laughed at the Puff's joke, that your reactions were simply polite, a mere distraction from the pinching of your heart. You didn't want to be one of the girls he slept with, didn't want to be discarded after being used.
He couldn't even be one of your guys, he fucking wanted it to be him so bad just to have your for a night, just so you could see him in a different light, just so you'd know that he loved you. He'd gladly be discarded by you.
âŠ
Mattheo has been searching for you, for about an hour now, you were minx- rushing out of the class before he could catch upto you. You were no where to be seen, he was actually getting worried. He was just about to enter the dungeons when he saw Pansy near the entrance. She'd know your whereabouts, she was a close friend of yours. She'd help him too, because she was his friend as well, right? Or had he destroyed every relationship he had the past few weeks. "Pans, a moment please" "oh hey Mattheo," she greeted him with a smile, that's a good sign, "umm- do you know where-" there he was, polite stuttering fucktard, "oh I know where she is," He didn't even tell her who he was looking for, confusion taking over his features, "I saw you looking at her in class, you like her don't you?" Was he that obvious? If so, why couldn't she see it? "Yeah," he finally admitted it to someone else, it was out there now, he felt some weight lift off of his shoulders, there was no denying to it, he loved her and he doesn't care if he gets laughed at for it but then his heart stops at her next words. "She's on a date with some Hufflepuff, in Hogsmeade," her voice was sympathetic, hurt was painted all over his face.
They were standing there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before she broke it, heading towards the entrance, "You know you should tell her," she gave him a small smile, she patted his back ready to slip into the entrance, he stopped her "Why? Did she say something about me?" His voice was full of hope, hoping that maybe she had confessed to her friend just like he did right then but to add onto his sorrow, Pansy shook her head, he let his head hang low, moving his hand over his face, scoffing bitterly at the situation he was in, "but you should still tell her, at least you'll be satisfied knowing that you did something about it than do nothing." She shrugged walking in, leaving him there to think about her words.
She is right. He has to know, to know how you feel, he has to talk to you, has to let you know how he feels because in his heart, there's hope that you may like him back because you kissed him like you did. Mattheo wants to confirm that it wasn't his delusions that rendered your lips to move against his in adoration, something more than just physical. He has to hold you again in his arms-
He didn't even have to walk far away to find you, walking alone in the empty corridor but you turn around as you see him. Mattheo won't let you do that this time, he's onto you within seconds grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. "What-" "Please don't ignore me-" "I am not!" You sound defensive, taking your hand back, folding them as you look at him as though he is some lowlife human, there's a similar hurt in your eyes, one he knows a bit too well. "Yes you are, please don't try to deny it," he says slowly and carefully, he doesn't want you to walk away, "what do you want Mattheo?" You are annoyed, you stretch out his name showing your impatience. He takes his sweet time though, taking your hands in his, they feel cold, snatching away the warmthness of the action, "Why did you walk away? Yesterday?" "Why? Is there some rule against it-""no no ofcourse not-" both of you interrupting each other, you were frustrated, what was he trying to do? Did his ego take such a huge hit that you didn't want to sleep with him, like those girls he used and discarded? "Tell me why is it that you care? It's not a huge deal to you, you can have anyone else to sleep with you, it shouldn't matter that one girl decided to walk away when you have tens and hundreds lining up-" "WHAT?" He was looking at as though you were saying something ridiculous, "I cared about our relationship enough not to ruin it but you had to be there, trying to use me like you use the other girls and then discard me-" "STOP!" He holds your face in his hands, intense gaze setting you ablaze, "I fucking care, donât think otherwise, I care because it's you, you could never be them-"
"wow- am I so worthless and unattractive in your eyes that you don't even-" "Wait, it should be me saying all of this, about you and the guys you on dates with, the guys you take to bed-" "What guys-" you both were now screaming at eachother, it was overwhelming, having to be vulnerable and admit your feelings and not understand what the person in front of you is saying. "I have not once slept with the guys I went on dates with, I'm in love with you for fucks sake but I got tired of waiting for you to love me," What.
He fucked up.
"Fuck, fuck-" his knees hit the ground as he covers his face with his hands, he's ruined all his chances by being an assuming dickhead. Heavens goodness- "FUCK!" He groans into his palms, not being able to digest what you had just said, he feels ecstatic that you love him but he hates that he's ruined his chances with you, "Mattheo-" "Fuck, I am so sorry, I've been a fool, a fucking idiot-" he pulls you down, grabbing your hands, crying because he doesn't know any other way to express it. He has lost his chance all because he let jealousy get the best of him, took illogical steps to overcome it. "I love you, I fucking am in love with you," he grips your hands tight, shaking them as he speaks, unable to control his very physical reaction, "Mattheo what-" "I thought that I could fuck it all out, fuck all the feelings away but no you were always on my mind, not just you but you with someone else, happy. I thought maybe I could resort to your ways, thought maybe I could sleep around then I'd get rid of my feelings, afterall you seemed happy doing it but you never- FUCK! I am so fucking sorry, I love you-" you kiss him, he sure was an idiot to think that you could just flip a switch and "unlove" him, what kind of love would that be? You hated to admit it, you loved him even when he was sleeping with so many girls, you loved him before he did that, a few weeks were nothing to make you hate him.
It was brief kiss, enough to silence him, tears were still running down his face- he was a heartbroken man on his knees afterall- they were only a sign of his regret, then he was at it again, apologising, "stop Mattheo, you are foolish if you think that I'll love one moment and not love you the next-" "but you don't deserve it, not after what I did-" "let me decide that. Do you love me?" Your ask is serious, so he answers you with utmost sincerity, his words soft, full of truth "I love you, more than I think I can handle," he looks down, you don't let him as you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him close, "Learn to handle it then, I am not going anywhere." For the first time in his life, does Mattheo experience pure bliss, you are a sin against his lips, he pulls you closer like a prayer because if there's a god above, he'd pray for you to be his.
I literally just wanted a sugar daddy/mama!au. Maybe I'll talk about sugar daddies!141 x sugar baby!reader after this. I am not an expert in sugaring, so bear w me here. readers age is not told either, but i imagine reader to be younger than price.
Times are tough; the 141 need funding the government isn't willing to cough up. Price's solution? Getting them a sugar mama.
-
You never expected your profile to be picked. It was a silly thing you signed up for in a moment of weakness when you were feeling sad and lonely, wallowing after a messy break up. You even forgot about it after a week, throwing yourself in your self-made business, working when you didn't have to, but you needed to bury yourself in it. It's no surprise you forgot all about your little profile, but it is a surprise when you see a missed inquiry from a Mr. John Price about a day old.
Hello, darling.
I've never been on this side of the message before, but my boys and I don't have many options, and I needed a solution fast. I saw your profile and I think you'd be a good match for us.
We're a package deal, the four of us. You don't have to pay us exactly, we just need some funding for our work. My boys and I are willing to provide you with any type of company you desire. We don't mind sharing and we take care of what's ours.
There are other little details we can go more in depth later, although I might not be able to tell you everything. I'd like to hear what you have to say and any questions you may have.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Capt. John Price
Everything about the message is... strange... to put it kindly, but you can't help but feel this Capt. John Price is being sincere. Maybe that's a naive, lonely part of you that's convincing yourself that the message is real and not some scam. Maybe you're desperate enough to believe someone- four someone's!- actually have an interest in you.
For what you can give them, but you're not entirely innocent either. This Captain Price- you assume he's military- said he and his boys will give you what you need, and if he's a man of his word, maybe they can distract you from all the noise in your head.
You stare at the message. It wouldn't hurt to take a risk, would it? You can always block the man if he ends up being a creep.
It takes you an hour to finally work up the nerve to craft a small message back to the man. It takes less than a minute for him to respond.
Glad to hear from you, darling.
I'll tell you everything you need to know.
-
The rules are simple.
You fund them with enough money each month they need it for however long they need, and they'll give you all the companionship you want. Whether that's sexual or not is up to you. It doesn't matter to them, though John informed you that if it is sexual, you would need to discuss any limits with the other men yourself. With him, you got to briefly stutter through your likes and dislikes, and he did the same, after discussing all of the rules and expectations.
You don't know if you should be thankful or not when he listened with such intense focus. Like you were briefing him on a mission or whatever it is captains like him do. It makes you nervous. He makes you nervous. Not quite in a bad way, but you've never done this before. The idea of paying another person, well this task force, in exchange for some company to fill your pathetic void feels kind of... sad.
You almost talk yourself out of this whole crazy thing, but you're also kind of curious what could come of it. If John and his boys will really be able to distract you and make you forget how lonely you are.
Being alone, being lonely, never really bothered you before, but after your last relationship... It opened up some old wounds and this sugar arrangement could be the perfect distraction. If only for a while. You'll take whatever you can get at this point.
You look over the messages John sent you, lingering over the pictures he sent of him and the other three men. Well. Two men. John told you this Simon guy would show you his face himself if he wanted to. You don't know if it's a sexual thing or not or something else entirely. You were too afraid to ask, and you don't really know if you want to know. But the other three are handsome, if the pictures John sent aren't fake.
You're still not entirely sure you should trust him. Trust that you're not gonna get all your money stolen. The site you signed up on is reputable for sugar mamas and sugar babies. You couldn't find a bad review written about it. Only positive testimonies with positive outcomes. That could be suspicious in and of itself. Hopefully, you didn't make a mistake.
John said that he would meet you next week when he had time off. Alone. In a public space, but alone. He said he didn't want the boys to overwhelm you, and you're grateful for his consideration because you would have been overwhelmed if you met all of them at once.
You still have time to cancel, if the nerves get to you and you chicken out. John even told you you could back out any time you wanted. But. You want to do something different. You need to do something different. Get yourself out of your head and focus on anything else that doesn't make your mind feel like static.
These men can help with that. This'll be good for you. Probably.
As long as this doesn't end up with you mysteriously disappearing or getting murdered, you'll be content with whatever happens. Besides, it's good to do something out of your comfort zone, and what better way than becoming a sugar mama to four military men who can give you all the company and care you could ever want? Hell, that sounds weird to think about.
There are still little things you have to work around, such as their schedules, but John promised that at least one of them would always come when you called. Already, that gives you more comfort than he could ever know, and perhaps that's foolish of you, but it truly meant a lot when he told you that.
You scroll down to the last message John sent and feel something in your gut flutter.
Can't wait to meet you, Mama.
-
this might an anthology of sorts. maybe have some loose plot to it. idk.
Tags: Mikey x Fem!reader, Fluff, crack, no angst, he's only soft for you <3, love of his life
You know, I think the first rule of joining a gang should be 'don't piss off the leader'. Like, you wanna fight people who can whoop your ass? Go for it, that takes courage and respect. But you join a gang like Toman with 'Invincible Mikey' as the head, the one thing you should probably not do is make him mad.
(Nobody is stupid enough to do that though, much less Toman.)
Mikey personally didn't fight the weak, finds no joy in something that isn't a challenge. Two highschoolers that got recruited by Mitchy's crew? He could tell they were nothing from the back of their babbling heads.
"My god, there's no way a girl like that is here. She's so fucking hot."
"What's a girl even doing in a gang? There's no way she fights."
Mikey's eye twitched. Not only are you most definitely in Toman, with a gang jacket and everything (You had your own but you ended up wearing his most of the time, pretty in what's his.) One of Toman's strongest was Senju, someone who would kick their ass too.
"Do you think she's single?"
"She is not." Mikey drawled, eyes dead and head tilted. Draken came behind him, wondering why his captain was just standing there. Mikey was always friendly with new members but very evidently, those two were an exception.
"What a bummer. She could've been mine."
Draken wanted to laugh so badly but Mikey's hand was warning him into silence before he could.
Mikey couldn't see the dude's face but knew that he was too ugly for you. You weren't into pathetic fucks. And the only person Mikey was pathetic for, was you.
A lot of gang members' eyes were on them now, ready to bow to their captain but stopping when Draken raised his palm. They could tell something was off, looking at the two kids who just didn't bother turning. The aura around Mikey was practically tangible though, suffocating to anyone who took notice.
Yamagishi staggered towards his friends, ready to point out the very dangerous threat behind them. Of course, he was the one who recruited them. If he wasn't Takemitchy's friend, Mikey would've added him to his blacklist. Mikey's finger against his lip kept Yamagishi from saying anything. Their fates were sealed already.
"Man, I could probably take her boyfriend on. Easy win and I get her."
Draken choked, Yamagishi wanted to die, the few people who were close enough to listen stepped away. Mikey still didn't say anything, because the moment he was waiting for finally happened.
Chifuyu had let you know of the arrival with a nod of his head, pausing in his rant about a manga you guys had been reading. You saw Draken's head first, eyes lowering, knowing that Mikey would always fall close. And there he was, his blond ponytail the only thing you could see. Your heart filled up like it always did because fuck, you wanted to consume him in your love. His eyes peaked out and your smile stretched your cheeks.
You walked as if on auto pilot, feet having a pep in them as you did. He stepped out in full view and you squealed at his gentle eyes and outstretched arms. You practically ran to him, you missed him and missed him and missed him.
Your shoulder grazed someone's as you zoomed past and launched yourself into Manjiro's warm embrace. Strong arms encircled you immediately, his cheek squishing against yours. And before you knew it, your feet were off the ground as he twirled you around. Unabashed laughter left your lips, hanging onto him and letting his warm and wet kisses pepper your face. The swooping in your chest was welcomed, clinging to the boy you've loved for years. Your precious----
"Hi, Jiro~" You crooned, eyes open to catch his reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.
He put your feet on the ground and pulled you close by the waist, noses touching each other's.
"Hi, baby." He said in a hushed voice.
You gave his cheek a peck, knowing one on the lips would result in him not getting off of you. There was supposed to be a meeting, so you decided to have him later. Being a gang leader's girlfriend was hard work.
"Did you have a good day?" You asked, knowing he woke up an hour ago, barely in the realm to text you a 'good morning, honey' ('Morning' in Mikey's realm was 1pm).
"Mhm." Mikey hummed, giving your cheek a kiss too. You relished in it.
"Where are you going?" Draken's voice came gruffly and you saw the tall man with his hands on two members' shoulders.
Your boyfriend's gaze fell on them, hardened and cold. It made you shiver, his arms tightening around you when you did. It didn't scare you, he looked hot but it never meant anything good.
You blinked at the two boys, confused and just now noticing the complete silence and the eyes of everyone on you.
I mean, you were a spectacle whenever Jiro was involved but weren't they used to it by now?
"You guys have really bad awareness if you didn't notice me even when I spoke up. I don't know if we want that in our gang." Mikey's words were sweet but dripping in venom, a grin to hide his clear rage.
"I'm so so sorry, boss! We didn't know she was yours, I swear!!" Dude no 1 got on his knees immediately, more so because his legs gave out.
"It's our first day, please have mercy." Dude no 2 shouted, bowing till his head met the floor.
Oh, you thought, they were actual idiots.
Seeing people bow and beg at your boyfriend was always surreal. You knew he had repertoire and respect because of years of being a gang leader. Personally, you never really understood gang things tm. But you knew your Mikey could kick ass and people looked up to him, so you always enjoyed the times he did gang leader things tm cuz it was hot.
"Yamagishi, you recruited them so you have responsibility. Have anything to add?" Mikey asked the frozen boy, who probably stopped breathing a long time ago.
"Uh, it was Takemitchy's idea?" The boy said, knowing who Mikey's kryptonite was.
"You're the one who asked me. Don't try to get me killed along with them!" The acting president hollered.
Mikey turned to his best friend, smile still plastered on his face. If Takemitchy didn't have the trauma to back up his biggest endeavour, he would be worried that the dark impulse would've possessed him from that interaction alone.
"Mitchy, normally I would let the head captain step in for any decision made about their division. But since they directly challenged me, we have to deal with it like all gangs do, right?"
"We didn't....we didn't know, promise!" Dude no 2 peeped out.
"Hmm, but wasn't it you who said that you could take her boyfriend on? It'd be an easy win? There's enough people who witnessed that."
"Oh, Lord Almighty." Takemitchy murmured, "nothing can save them now."
"Not even an hour in and they're going to die." Another murmur from the crowd. (It was Ran)
"I never said that, I am not a part of this." Dude no 1 threw his friend under the bus immediately. It was understandable.
"'She could've been mine,'" Mikey practically sang, taking off his jacket, "is what you said, right?"
"No I couldn't," you spoke absentmindedly, only looking at your boyfriend cuz you'd lost interest in the morons, "you're too ugly for me."
It was a blow that hit almost as hard as the kick they were about to receive. Mikey let out an affectionate snort as he covered your head with his jacket. The heavy material blocking your peripheral as he left your side within a second. A sick crack brandished the air, followed by two thuds.
"Welp, that fight didn't last. How boring, wanted to show off." Mikey sounded bored, the asphalt crunching under his slippers as he walked back.
"Are they--" Takemitchy's panicked pitch followed, a very common tone whenever Mikey was involved.
"Breathing." Draken called out, giving them a light kick on the side to check.
"Takemitchy, your crew is banned from recruiting." Their leader yelled back with his head only half turned, a flurry of 'yes sir!'s came.
"Thank you for holding onto my jacket, baby." Mikey whispered as he took the jacket off your head and draped it on his shoulders. His eyes were back to being kind and gentle, warm hand cupping your face in gratitude. You melted into him, eyes closing. He left a kiss on your forehead, keeping you close.
"Ah, I'm hungry," he whined, "let's go get mcdonald's. I didn't eat breakfast."
"You didn't?" You asked as he interwined your fingers together and tugged.
"I had cereal but that barely counts." Mikey started chattering on, waving a hand to dismiss the meeting that never began.
Steve Harrington is absolutely the sort of person to become emotionally dependent on a pet. He grew up lonely and he loves taking care of things, and here's this creature that loves him unconditionally and is dependent on him for care? He's a goner
He finds a kitten in his backyard, wet and cold and alone, but in pretty good shape, all things considered. It hisses and swipes at him, but it's also mewing pathetically, and Steve can't just leave it, so he manages to get the thing inside with minimal blood loss (all his) and cleans it up and feeds it. It's a lot more amenable to the idea of Steve once it's warm and dry and full, and by the end of the day, it's curled up and purring in the crook of his neck, and Steve is already prepared to die for this thing
He does recognize that the right thing to do is to ask around and see if anyone is missing a kitten, which he does do, but no one on his street or the next one over lays claim to it, and there arenât any kind of wanted posters going up for it, so Steve decides he is now the proud owner of a cat
He names her Baby and dotes on her accordingly. (In his defense, the name is Robin's idea; she tells him that he treats the cat enough like a baby, so the name might as well fit. Steve's always been shit at coming up with names, so he just goes with it)
Baby is the world's most spoiled cat, which Steve readily admits. But isn't that what cats are for? She's a wonderful cat and she clearly deserves nice things and Steve is going to get them for her. Toys, treats, a plush cat bed, the best food, whatever he thinks she could possibly need or want. If "I work hard so my cat can live a better life" t-shirts had existed in the 80s, Robin probably would have gotten one for him and he probably would have worn it
Of course, it helps that Baby actually does adore Steve. With everyone else, she ranges from frosty to outright hostile (she's taken a particular dislike to Eddie, of all people, which is unfortunate, because Steve really, really likes Eddie); she'll consent to be admired, and she'll accept treats, and she might even let more familiar people pet her, but in the end she is very much Steve's baby. If he's home, she's stuck to his side like a burr, curled up wherever he is and purring away, content just to be with him. She still snuggles up in the crook of his shoulder at night, just like when she was a kitten, even though she's bigger now and is a bit less easily accommodated
It goes without saying that Baby is strictly an indoor cat. Steve lives right up against the woods and there are predators out there, and people in town drive like assholes, and Steve won't take the chance of her being eaten or run over or meeting some other horrible fate. He really doesn't think his heart could take it
But of course, because all cats are terrible bastards at heart (affectionate), Baby darts out the back door one day as Steve is coming in off the patio, chasing after some other small animal that Steve can't even see, and she's out of the backyard and up towards the trees before Steve can do much more than make a grab for her
And Steve, who has survived interrogations and monster attacks and many situations objectively much more stressful than this, does not panic. He does spend half the night wandering around in the trees with a flashlight, shaking a bag of cat food and calling for Baby, but that's not panicking, that's problem solving
He eventually gets too cold and too tired to keep going and has to pack it in for the night. He holds onto some shred of hope that she'll be waiting by the back door when he wakes up, wondering why the hell it's taken so long for him to come let her in, but apparently that's not the way life works, because the patio and all areas around the house are still distinctly catless come daybreak
Eddie shows up sometime mid-morning, just as Steve is preparing to head back out and look for her. He has genuinely never seen Steve so upset; he looks like he might actually cry if he doesn't find that damn cat, which just isn't something that Steve does. But he's actually fucking distraught, and Eddie simply can't have that, even if Baby is his nemesis, so he goes to the phone and makes some calls
He cashes in on favors, he makes promises, he actually agrees to pay Mike ten bucks to show up, but he gets the kids, all the older teens (the only reason Robin hadn't been there already is because Steve hadn't paused long enough to tell her what was going on), and even the Corroded Coffin boys up to Steve's house to comb the woods for Steve's damn cat
It's Eddie who finds her in the end, a shock of pale, mewling fur actually stuck in a fucking tree. The cliche nearly kills him â either that or trying to climb down a tree one-handed while holding a cat. He's surprised she actually lets him pick her up, but then again, she's been out here all night, she's cold, and at least she recognizes Eddie. Maybe this is the beginning of a truce
Or, she might go back to hissing and swiping at Eddie any time she the mood takes her, but Eddie doesn't even care, because Steve is elated to have Baby back, so fucking happy that he doesn't even seem to notice that she's digging her claws into his arm as she clings to him for dear life all the way back to the house. Eddie will deal with anything that Steve loves that much
Steve pays for pizza to thank everyone for putting their Saturday on hold to search-and-rescue a cat, and everyone warms up and eats their fill before slowly filtering back out of the house. And later, after Baby's been cleaned up and fed and properly doted on and is purring away curled up over a heating vent in the living room, Steve takes Eddie upstairs to show his thanks in a much more thorough manner
After all â Baby is very important to him, and he's more relieved than he can say to have her back, but she isn't the only thing that Steve adores
tags: steddie, nsfw, the homoeroticism of knowing you could treat them better
đ„”đđŠ
"Okay," Robin smirks at Eddie as she pops the open button on the microwave in Steveâs kitchen, "But you understand how pathetically gay you sound right now, yes?" She pulls out a fragrant paper bag of popcorn; she says that she likes to have an extra bag before retiring after one of their movie nights.
Eddie scowls, forgetting that Steve's in the next room as he becomes revved up over a pet peeve that is less pet and more a wild animal, "It's not gay to appreciate a work of art." He gestures wildly, the lights above catch on his heavy silver rings, "It's not gay to understand that a sweet, beautiful boy is tragically unloved."
Robin snorts, pulling open the edges of the paper bag, releasing a plume of buttery steam, "No, pretty sure that's pretty gay. Next thing I know you'll declare 'no homo' while sucking his dick."
"I'd suck his dick better than Brittany or Betta or Betsy or whatever her name was," Eddie declares, sore at the memory of Steve's broken brow as he'd explained that his latest date had ridden his face and then gave him a pat on his shoulder, explaining that it was a nice time but not to expect a callback.
What an idiot, Eddie fumes to himself, neglecting to notice the shifting shadows in the hallway behind him; who doesn't enjoy a man who vehemently and vocally declares his love for going down on his partners? Eddie would kill for a partner willing to suck him dry.
Eddie may have blamed the deficiency on the female of the species, but Steve had allowed Eddie in the inner sanctum a few months ago: letting him know that it wasnât only Robin and Eddie who were vehement friends of Dorothy, even if it was only Steve who enjoyed the full spectrum of the rainbow. And while B-whatever-her-name-was may be the source of Eddieâs ire right now, he knows that Steve has had likewise lousy luck with men whenever theyâd ventured for their weekend nights out to Indy.
Each and every time Eddie had to endure Steveâs sad face a week or two later as heâd admitted that he thought his nightâs partner may be up for more than just a brief bit of fun. And each and every time heâs been left dumbfounded becauseâ
Eddie pulls at his hair, trying to work it out becauseâ
Well. He can only imagine that every single person thatâs walked away from Steveâs beautiful lips couldnât hit the broad side of a barn with a fucking canon with the intelligence left over in their little pea brains. Because Steve Harrington is a goddamn catch and every one of them has let him escape their grasp.
Eddieâs too busy scowling down at his Reeboks to see Robin look over his shoulder and softly laugh. She scoops a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she swiftly leaves the kitchen, calling out, âIâm claiming the spare bedroom tonightâthe one at the far endâsee ya.â
Eddie looks up at the last minute, wondering at her sudden exit.
The air shifts again but Eddie doesnât realise it until Steveâs right behind him. "Her name was Bella," Seve says in a low caress, close enough that his warm breath rustles Eddie's loose curls.
He stops, frozen, the touch of Steve's words making Eddie ache for something that he's wanted for such a very long time even as heâs unwilling to allow himself to think that Steve could mean anything by leaning in so close. But he canât help but shiver, a tiny movement that brings his lips against Steve's sharp jaw, nearly stuttering, "Who?"
Strong arms wrap around him, bringing the broad planes of Steveâs chest against Eddieâs back, blunt fingers coming up to grip his jaw, directing Eddieâs lips to just under Steveâs.
Eddie freezes again in desperation, every single fantasy converging at once to break his brain and body while he tries to understand that the arms, hands and fingers wrapped around him are not an invention of a daydream.
"Iâm saying,â Steve says patiently, eyeing Eddie with a dark gaze over his firm grip, "That I want you. Not Brittany or Betta or Betsy."
Eddie swallows around the knot in his throat.
"Just you," Steve repeats, a steady weight holding down his words that has Eddieâs gaze flying up to meet the hard pressure of hazel eyes bearing down on him. A force that has Eddieâs heart knocking heavily against his ribs, his breath shuddering against his frame, pressing taut and bullying against the thin of Eddieâs skin as he meets Steveâs expectant gaze.
And suddenly Eddie is angry.
Furious.
Heâs had to endure weeks and months of listening to Steve be sad. Listening to Steve tell of glum exploits where women and men havenât appreciated his freely-given love. Where it hadnât mattered how quickly and devotedly Steve would put himself forward, that his partner would pat him on the back and distance him or herself after.
Eddie is furious and he glares at Steveâs beautiful hazel eyes, so close to his own and suddenly wide at the clear fury in Eddieâs eyes. Steve stumbles back, âWhatâŠâ But Eddie lowers himself decisively, knees falling to the ground with a clear thump and thighs spreading as he knows with a deep conviction that heâs finally interpreting Steveâs actions correctly.
He looks up with dark eyes and presses into the tentative hand that falls against Eddieâs nape; Steveâs brows pull together, doubt drawing at them, âEddieâŠâ
Eddie glares up at Steve with all the strength of emotion running through him like the swift currents of a river. âNo Steve, thatâs it. Thatâs fucking it.â
He determinedly wraps his fingers around the zipper of Steveâs Leviâs and, as Steve chokes out his name again, Eddie glares up at him, daring Steve to take his prize away. âNo, Iâm done. Youâve given me permission now. Youâve given me a sliver of hope, and youâre not fucking taking it away.â
Eddie swiftly draws down the zipper, pulling down denim and soft cotton until Steveâs already hard cock bobs in front of him and he reaches forward quickly, hand already at its base and mouth open as heâs about to swallow him down but Steveâs hand buries itself in Eddieâs curls, gripping him tight.
âDo you want me?â Steve breathes and Eddie somehow finds it in himself to glower deeper, scowling up at Steve while refusing to speak. Inching forward until the tip of Steveâs cock hovers over Eddieâs open mouth. Steve curses and a heavy pearl of fluid drops from the tip to Eddieâs outstretched tongue. Eyes closing in contentment, he hears Steve choke as Eddie almost hums around the welcome flavour.
âRight,â Steve rasps roughly before pushing forward to rest against Eddieâs lips, he traces the heavy beads from his weeping slit against the petals of his mouth, breath running ragged before pressing further.
Eddie gasps, stretching his lips wide and pushing in and forward to embrace the cock intruding his mouth. His lashes flutter as he finally has the heavy weight of Steveâs cock resting on his tongue, stretching his mouth obscenely open before peering up to check where Steveâs at.
He neednât have worried because Steveâs own mouth is hanging open with eyes darkly trained on Eddie. âSo fucking pretty,â Steve gasps, gripping Eddieâs head to pull him closer. Choking Eddie as he moans, âYes, fucking, yes, baby. Take it.â And Eddie does. Gratefully. Happily. Fucking swallows and devours and pistons back and forward until the bitter musk dripping from Steveâs dick is greedily consumed, taken within.
Steve cries out, throbbing powerfully and pouring into Eddie. Spilling and overflowing, fucking against his face until beads flood and stream out of his mouth. Eddie lets out a long, guttural and broken sound, grateful for the blessing that Steve fills him with.
Heâs so consumed with the feel of Steve in him, surrounding him, that he barely registers the hardness in his own black denim until Steve drops to his knees too, meeting Eddie face to face before falling forward, fingers working his zipper open and mouth swallowing him whole.
Eddie gasps at the sudden sensation of the hot welcoming cavern of Steveâs mouth. He bucks, lightning shooting up his spine and overwhelmed at the attention as he thrusts once, twice and another before shuddering as he releases into Steveâs warm embrace.
Gasping, Eddieâs head falls forward to stare down at Steve in wonderment. In clear awe as he stares down at the beautiful boy in his lap. Mind blissed but still a niggle worries at the back of his mind, enough to have his hand reaching forward to Steveâs face, cupping his cheek and bringing him up to meet Eddie.
âSweetheart,â the endearment drops from Eddieâs mouth without his permission.
Steveâs lips tug up, spreading in a grin and widening his eyes, âYou want me, donât you?â He asks, almost breathless.
âYes. Fucking yes.â Eddie has nothing but honesty to his name at this point.
Steve smiles. Smug and fucking so proud of himself. He leans forward, âThen take me,â he whispers.
Heeseung doesn't have wet dreams often, but every now and then, the two of you get really busy, too tired after work to even invest in sexual behavior. And it's so painful for him. Even if he is hard, he's too tired to deal with it, let alone ask you to.
It easily turns into him having a wet dream. His head is filled with visions of all the things he wants to do to you, and how you'd react. He wakes up, hard and slick with his own cum. You'd be sound asleep beside him, but he can't help but to wake you. You're tired and against it at first, but his pleading is a bit of a turn on.
You end up giving him sloppy head under the covers, opting to continue any other wants or needs in the morning when you're not tired as fuck. "We'll finish this later."
Jay:
Jay finds wet dreams embarrassing, so whenever he gets himself worked up enough to the point he has one, it's terrible for him.
Waking up with a raging hard on, it's still dark outside, and Jay hates that he's probably gonna have to spend the next thirty minutes trying and failing to cum again from just his hand alone.
He eventually wakes you with his quiet groans and grunts. You're confused at first, but when you see his fist closed around his dick, you get an idea.
You decide to let him fuck you, knowing that it would be less work on your part to simply let him get off, using you as a personal sex toy.
And it definitely isn't bad because you feel amazing and so does he. In the end, he doesn't think wet dreams are too bad. "Maybe I should wake you again next time."
Jake:
He happens to have a wet dream the one time you're not sleeping beside him. He was dreaming about something along the lines of fucking you in all his favorite positions, you in his favorite set that he bought you. Everything was so tempting.
But of course he wakes up in his empty bed, and he contemplates for twenty minutes before calling you.
His cock is already clutched in his right hand, he's holding the phone with his left. When you amswer, your voice sleepy and cute, he's already losing it.
It doesn't take you long to realize he's jerking off, so you give him some substance, whispering dirty words into the phone to help him get off. He eventually releases in his hand, moaning pathetically into the receiver. "Fuck.. I need you so bad."
Sunghoon:
The epitome of horny. Sunghoon hasn't been able to touch you all week because he's been busy as hell. This leads to the wet dream he's just woken up from. He was dreaming of you, fucking you from behind, which is his favorite way to do so.
He spends the next five minutes stroking his own cock, biting his lip to silence himself, but it's not working in his favor. He then looks over at you. You're sleeping so peacefully, and all he can think of is ruining you.
To his luck you've given him prior permission to try out the whole somnophilia thing. You both liked it last time, so he wanted to try again. You were luckily on your stomach too, so he simply removed the clothes on your lower half, sliding into you slowly.
He ended up waking you so he could fuck you properly and neither of you got any sleep. "Next time I'll try eating your pussy while you sleep.."
Sunoo:
Sunoo probably has frequent wet dreams. Waking up at random hours, soaked in his own cum just because he dreamed about you.
Like usual, he wakes you up, moaning in his sleep thanks to the content of the dream. You're not even surprised at this point. Usually you just watch him squirm and pretend to be asleep when he wakes up, but this time you wanted him to see you.
You had taken matters into your own hands, freeing his dripping erection before lowering yourself onto his length. He wakes up, the feeling of you riding him being too good.
He comes pretty quickly, but you both agree to go for another round before taking a late night bubble bath. "You should do that more often.."
Jungwon:
He immediately wakes you the second he has a wet dream. Whatever it may be, he's asking you to make it a reality.
So when you're awaken at nearly 2am, being asked in the most pitiful way possible, to suck your boyfriend's dick. You can't say no.
Jungwon is a moaning mess, enjoying the feelings he gets just from your mouth being wrapped around his cock so prettily.
He's cuming down your throat minutes later, whining pathetically as you suck on his tip.
The whole ordeal makes you horny too, so he gets to fuck you in the end. "Oh this is so much better than a dream..."
Riki:
Wet dreams are so embarrassing for Riki. He gets so shy it's almost unbearable. One time you woke up while be was trying to deal with his problem, and he swears it was the worst thing that ever happened to him.
The second he wakes up, feeling the all too familiar stickiness in his pants, he's making a beeline for the bathroom, not wanting to wake you up.
Thank his lucky stars, because tonight just happens to be the night you wake up, walking into the bathroom where the lights are on and Riki is leaning against the counter in distress.
Being caught only made his problem worse. He was near tears until you stepped towards him. "Let me make it better.."
đ„ luke castellan x reader in a long distance relationship & he calls her after heâs had a few drinks bc he misses her (fluff or smut, whatever u want)
MWUAH
MDNI
đ„đ„đ„đ„đ„
a/n: loser!luke? more like whipped!luke, very whiny.... i believe in my heart he's an ass man but that's me being self-indulgent anyways smut but he just masturbates because he's a needy fuck
wc: 914
frances made me do it blame her i'm putting my phone away in fear
At first it was a good idea.
Picking colleges an hour away from each other seemed like the right thing to do, a very mature adult thing evenâespecially after spending a good four years of being attached to each other at Camp Half Blood. Personal growth, you both reasoned, and college was a great way to branch out and be independent. You didnât need to be with each other 24/7, and seeing each other on weekends wasnât all that bad. Luke couldnât give less of a shit now thoughâheâs tipsy after downing a few Heinekens and all he can think about are very R-rated adult things he did with you last weekend when he went to visit.Â
Some things never change, and he reckons heâd settle for anything you give him, whether it be a picture of your ass or the sound of your voice over the phone. His hands fumble with his belt buckle as he sprawls across the couch in his apartment. The sound of the phone ringing adds to his anticipation until he hears a click and your voice filters through like music to his ears.
âMiss me, baby?â
âLike you wouldnât imagine,â he sighs, noticing his cock stand at attention at the few words that have left your mouth. Heâs convinced youâre a witch of some sortâthat or heâs been pavloved to feel hot at even the idea of you. Cheeks flushing, he canât help but stick his hand in his boxers and stroke himself as you tell him about the paper youâre writing, steady tap-taps of your keyboard in the background as he strokes himself slowly. Your voice is hushed to not wake up your roommate, but well, his dick is fully awake at the sound of your murmurs. Only you could make the Ides of March sound sexy, and you quickly notice Lukeâs not paying attention when you hear a low groan through the phone.
âYouâre not even listening to me, babe,â you giggle, âmy boy feeling needy?â
âIâm a man,â he whines, your laughter trickling through from your end and tickling every one of his senses as he spits into his hand and gets down to business just wishing you were here to help him. He even tries to tease his balls like how you would, but thinking too hard about it makes him aggravated.
âYouâre crazy, LuâŠâ you whisper, âcan feel how desperate you are from all the way over here.â
âCrazy for you. Whatcha wearing, hot stuff?âÂ
He smiles when you tell him youâre in those leggings he likes and Luke closes his eyes tightly as he fists his cock. Through the stars that dance in his vision he thinks he can smell youâall sweat and sweetness just how he likes. His head lolls onto his shoulder in desperation as his hand moves up and down adding pressure as he imagines your hole fluttering around him and taking him so well, covering him in your slick instead of his own pathetic spit. Lukeâs tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he concentrates.Â
Gods youâre pretty when you ride himâthe curve of your waist when you bounce in his lap and the crescent-shaped marks he leaves when he grabs onto your hips, forcing you down harder so that all you can both hear is the slapping of skin. Luke moans, a broken, almost shameful sound until he remembers heâs alone in the apartment tonight.Â
Youâre still tapping away at your keyboard unfazed by your boyfriendâs arousal.
âPoor baby, you close? Whatâs on your mind?â
âMmmphâŠHow your back arches when you ride meâŠLike the way you let me pull your hair,â he grits, his hand moving faster as precum drips over the precipice of his cock, swollen and angry and heâs almost there. The veins in his forearm look like theyâre about to burst and heâs dizzy with want, his heart beating faster with his movements.
âYeah? You know I like it when you need me. Wish I could be there and do that thing you like.âÂ
He can hear the grin in your voice as he shakes his head, breathing harder and groaning. He can see it so clearly in his headâfeel the swivel of your hips as your pussy clenches down on every ridge of his cock, and all he can do right now is rub his thumb over the sensitive area as he gasps for air.Â
âGot you baby, just let go for meâŠâ
Luke hisses, spurts of hot, milky cum hitting the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, before he takes a deep breath. He hears you shut your laptop and the sound of you shuffling in your room.
âDidnât even make it to Facetime this time around. Sorry baby, missed you bad,â he chuckles, taking another sip of now warm beer.
âItâs been four days, Luke,â you tease, âbut I was hoping youâd return the favor.â
âOh yeah? Lemme see your pretty face.â
He presses the button to Facetime, but you donât answer, and the sound of a car starting catches his attention.
âBabe?â
âUnlike you, Iâd rather have the real thing. See you in an hour,â you laugh, pulling out of your driveway.
âItâs Thursday!â
âAnd itâs my turn to drive up anyway, so you better fuck me so hard Iâll have a reason to call in sick. Iâm driving as fast as I can, Lu!â
And what type of rational adult would he be to deny that?
Summary: Your boyfriend has been too busy to give you attention recently, so sending his friend Kai to hang out with you might offer more than just a simple hangout.
Wc: 2k
Here you were, watching a movie with your boyfriend's best friend, Kai, and all you could think about was how your boyfriend bailed on you again. Ever since he released his new solo song, he's been too busy for you, leaving you sad, lonely, and desperate for touch. You haven't been kissed properly or made love in months, and it's driving you crazy.
You were hoping Kai would get bored and leave so you could finally have some time to yourself. The movie finally ends, and Kai picks up the remote, ready to select another one. "Kai, how long do you plan on covering for him?" you whine, looking over at him.
"I don't know what you mean. I just came over to hang out with you," he says, not very convincingly.
"Kai, when have we ever hung out alone?" you question him.
He looks a bit guilty. "Well, I thought our recent hangouts have made us closer," he feigns hurt. It has been nice to talk to someone who understands your situation.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Play the next movie," you sigh in defeat. So far, you two have been watching your favorite animated movies. It seems like Taehyun, your boyfriend, told him which ones usually cheer you up.
"Well, we're going to watch a movie I've been wanting to see. It just came out, and I heard it was awesome," Kai says.
You shrug, not really minding the change of pace. As the movie started, you thought it was boring. It seemed to be a regular movie about tennis.
You weren't really a sports person, but you didn't complain because the lead was your favorite actress. As the movie went on, it got messier and definitely raunchier. Some of the scenes left you hot and bothered, making it awkward to be horny next to your boyfriend's friend. You glance over at him during a particularly steamy scene and notice him mesmerized. His demeanor is a bit different from his usual self, less relax, and now a pillow is laid across his lap. It seems the scenes were getting to him too.
You wonder why, though. Your excuse was that you haven't been touched in months, and stuff like this easily flustered you now but what was his excuse. After the movie Kai quickly excused himself and left in a hurry. As you cleaned up the snacks, you noticed he left his favorite hoodie behind.
"Well, he'll come back for that eventually," you said to yourself. You brought it into your shared room with your boyfriend and stripped down to a tank top and panties, happy to finally have some alone time. You opened your phone, your favorite porn video ready in your incognito tab. You started groping yourself, trying to imagine it was your boyfriend, but it wasn't enoughâyou needed another touch.
You were whining and moaning pathetically, so loud that you didn't notice Kai had come back. Seeing your door slightly open with the lights on, he assumed you were still up. He opened the door.
"Hey Y/N, it seems I forgotâ" he stopped mid-sentence at the sight unfolding in front of him. You, with eyes screwed shut, lips parted, one strap of your tank top fallen down, exposing one of your plump, round breasts, and your inviting brown legs parted, giving him the best view of your hand down your soaked panties.
You didn't hear him or notice he was at the doorway, battling with himself on whether to leave or enjoy the view. He decided to leave, but your frustrated moans and pouty lips drew him in.
"You need help with that?" a voice said above you. You jumped, ripping your hands out of your panties and attempting to fix yourself.
"Kai, what are youâ" you began to say, but he shushed you with a single finger on your mouth. "Do you need help with that?" he asked again. "IâI have a boyfriend," you rambled, blindsided by his question. Kai just hummed.
"You didn't say no," he noted. He started trailing a single finger up your thigh, making direct eye contact the whole time. You shuddered in pleasure.
This is so wrong, you should stop him, but it felt so good to be touched.
"Don't worry, love," he murmured, gently pushing your shoulder, laying you down slightly before he sat face to face with your soaked panties.
He teased the outlines of your lips and clit, rubbing and applying just enough pressure to give you fleeting pleasure. "Kai, we shouldn't," you managed to get out. He didn't respond, only slipped your panties off and brought his face closer to where you needed him.
"You know, oral isn't sex, baby. It'll be fine; there's nothing bad going on," Kai persuaded, his words dripping with manipulation.
You found yourself giving in to his convincing argument. After all, it's not actual penetration, right? Just a little licking. He licked a long stripe up your pussy, causing you to arch your back. He licked a few more stripes like that, teasing you and watching your every reaction before he started eating you out expertly.
He licked and sucked in all the right places, leaving you moaning and your hips thrusting. Kai, being much bigger and stronger, held your hips down with one hand on your stomach, the other wrapped around your thigh keeping it open, giving him complete access. You were so wet, and Kai just lapped it all up.
When your moans grew louder and your hips became more uncontrollable, Kai knew you were close and stopped completely. You looked at him, frustrated, whimpering softly, "Kai." He just smirked.
"Well, it wouldn't be right if I tasted the cum of my best friend's girlfriend, right? That should be only for him," he said. You nodded; he was rightâonly your boyfriend should know that taste."Here, let me transfer some of the taste I already got. It'd be bad for me to keep it," Kai hovered over you before pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. When he pulled away, you felt a bit disappointed.
"Oh, right. I can't forget to transfer what my tongue tasted," he said before pulling you into a steamy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, making you wetter. You were left wanting more when he finally pulled away, and you looked at his face, which held a smug look.
Kai got up, and you thought he was going to leave. You almost got ready to beg him not to, but all he did was take off his shirt. "Taehyun would scold me if I left you so sad. You know, he told me to cheer you up," he said as he laid back on top of you. "Now I should take his request properly."
He rubbed his middle finger on your pussy, gathering all the slick wetness there, and then rubbed it onto your clit. You couldn't let him finger youâthat would be cheatingâso you grabbed his arm. "Oh, don't worry, baby. It's just like masturbating. It's only my fingers. You're still a loyal girlfriend, okay?" Kai reassured.
You let go and nodded as he slipped two fingers inside you. It was only his fingers, its just like using your own. "Plus, baby, my fingers are longer, and I can reach more places to help you," he said as he pumped his fingers in and out. He was totally rightâyour own fingers never felt this good. You could never make yourself moan as loudly as Kai was making you now. As Kai explored your gummy walls, you were left a mess of moans.
You were practically riding his fingers with how much you were moving your hips, wanting him deeper, craving something fuller. You clung onto his neck, his hot chest touching yours. As soon as Kai found that sweet spot, your mouth hung open, a loud "Kai" escaping your lips. He abused the spot, hitting it again and again, relishing how you moaned his name over and over like a mantra.
"That's it, baby, moan for me," he whispered in your ear, his other hand coming up to play with your hard nipples. You were a pleasure-filled mess under him, shaking and writhing.
You were close again, your walls squeezing Kai's fingers as your moans grew louder. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Kai stopped, pulling his fingers out. A few tears slipped down your cheeks. "Kai, please," you begged.
"Don't you think it would be bad if you came all over my fingers? Can you even make yourself cum on your own fingers?" he taunted. You pouted and shook your head no.
"See, it wouldn't be masturbating then, and you'd be a slut," he said. Your back arched slightly, and your thighs squeezed shut at the word. Kai raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You wouldn't want to be some cheating slut now, would you?" You shook your head, your thighs rubbing together for some friction. Kai parted them. "Don't worry, darling. I have a toy for you to use, completely safe to cum on."
Your eyes brightened a bit at the mention of finally being able to cum. "Close your eyes, baby, and keep your legs spread."
You followed his instruction, too dumbed out to even realize that the toy he meant was his own cock. You felt the warmth of Kai towering over you as he slipped his "toy" in. It felt so warm and thick you almost started fucking yourself on it, but Kai stopped you. "Patience, lovely," he said.
Kai started slowly dragging the toy inside and out of you. It felt heavenly, better than any other toy you'd ever tried. You wanted to peek at what it looked like so you could get one, but when you opened your eyes, you saw Kai fucking into you and not a toy. You looked at him, worried, hoping he'd say more words to manipulate you, but he just smirked.
"Are you that dumb, baby, thinking you weren't a slut this whole time?" he said. You clenched at his words, and Kai let out a grunt.
"You're so easy, ready and willing to let another man inside you, moaning my name and begging me to make you cum." You almost cried at his mean words, but they made you so hot, so much more needy.
Kai's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more demanding. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't hold back the moans, each one louder than the last. "That's it, fucking slut. If you're gonna cheat, you should enjoy it," Kai murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You were so cute during the movie, I wanted to fuck you right there and then," he admits.
"Really?" You responds, eyes widening.
"Yeah," he continues, caressing your face. "Let me show how much"
Tears spilled from your eyes at the intense pleasure as Kai started sucking on your aching nipples. You were so close to the edge, every nerve in your body filled with pleasure. Kai's cock felt incredible, reaching places even your boyfriend hadn't. You knew you should stop him, that you shouldn't cum all over his cock, but you needed thisâyou were too fucked out to care about consequences now.
"Kai," you whimpered, your voice shaky and desperate. "I'm so close."
"I know, baby," he replied, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel you. You're so tight around me. You enjoy being fucked by another man this much?" Those words, combined with the sensations, drove you wild.
"Beg for it," Kai said.
You easily obliged, "Please, I need it. It's been so long, please," your voice filled with need."What a slut? You didn't even hesitate" his tone was condescending, making you want to cum even more.
"Go ahead, cum all over my cock." A smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss. His pace became almost brutal, his hips slamming into yours with force.
Your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing as you came all over him. You cried out, and he continued to thrust through your climax. You were a panting mess underneath him, but he didn't stop, thrusting a few more times before reaching his own climax.
"Well, when I said take care of my girlfriend, I didn't think you'd take me so seriously," a voice says from the door.
Kai just calmly shrugs, pulling out of you. You look toward the door to see your boyfriend, Taehyun, leaning against it with an obvious hard-on."Tyun, how long have you been there?" you stammer, trying to cover yourself with a sheet, ashamed.
"So, you enjoyed it?" Taehyun asks, slowly making his way over to you. "Iâwell, Iâ" you stammer, unable to think straight, still coming down from your high.
"Mhm, I see. Maybe I should help you with your words," Taehyun says, taking off his jacket. "She's all yours," Kai says, grabbing his hoodie and leaving. "She always was," Taehyun adds before Kai exited.
Summary: You're struggling with horrible period cramps, and luckily, Law has the perfect solution.
Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Period Sex, Fluff
Word Count: 2.1k
Notes: Did I write this in one sitting instead of just taking ibuprofen for my cramps like a normal person? Maybe. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Law, so I hope I did him justice!
This is going to kill you.
You say that every month, of course, but you really, truly mean it this time. Youâre practically immobilized, laying in the fetal position on your bed trying not to let out pitiful moans every time another wave of pain hits. You fail every time.
Several members of the crew had come to check on you, bringing offerings of heating pads, ibuprofen, and various other remedies, but they hardly helped. After the fifth visit (Penguin bringing you more water while anxiously checking you over), you couldnât even thank your friends, only letting out a sad whimper to acknowledge their presence before once again squeezing your eyes tight and trying desperately to ground yourself.
Your captain had been noticeably absent from these visits, probably burying himself in work as he always does, and youâre torn between being grateful he hasnât seen you in such a sorry state and hurt tearing through your chest that he didnât care enough to check on you. You would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he was doing as poorly as you were. He wouldnât want you to, of course, would lock his door and burrow so deeply into his bed he wouldnât see a single speck of light until his illness had passed, but you would come anyway. You would at least try.
You regret the thought the moment you hear a familiar hum at the doorway. You should have known he would never leave you alone when you needed him. âI almost didnât believe everyone when they said how bad it was.â You whine, and you hear a sympathetic chuckle. âI know.â The heels of his shoes click softly against the ground, and suddenly Lawâs warm hand has slid under your shirt, warm and gentle as it rubs circles onto your upper back.
âEverything hurts.â Youâre so lost in the pain you can't even bring yourself to hate how pathetic you sound. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzle into it, welcoming the affection gratefully.
âI know, sweetheart.â He doesnât often call you pet names, and it makes your heart flutter when he does. Usually when you hear them it means youâre going to be taken care of, cherished in a more tender way than the quiet and understated (but no less wonderful) way he normally shows his love for you. His lips ghost over your forehead, and you finally open your eyes to see his own staring at you with undisguised concern, bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. âCan you describe it to me? Is it just the cramps, or is there something else?â
âItâs just cramps. And a small headache, I guess.â Another wave crashes over you, and you pull yourself in even tighter. âTheyâreâŠtheyâre not normally this bad.â
âAnd the pain meds havenât helped?â
âNot enough.â
âHm.â You can see the exact moment he flips from lover to doctor, racking his brain for any knowledge he can use to help you, and the moment he finds his answer. The light flickers on behind his eyes, and he carefully looks over you, assessing the situation, before your lover is back, sly grin slowly creeping over his face and a quiet excitement makes its way into his voice. âI think I know something that could help. If youâre willing.â
âI would do anything for this to stop,â you whimper, and his amusement once again fades into fondness as his eyes soften with pity.
âIâll do my best to help, sweetheart, I promise.â His lips brush against your forehead again before the bed shifts and his warmth has left you. You cry out, but he gently shushes you. âJust a minute. Iâll be right back, really.â
He probably is only gone for a minute, but it feels like hours. You donât relax for even a second until you hear a quiet, âShambles!â and find yourself in the familiar dim light of Lawâs room. Your back is pressed against something rougher than his usual blankets, and you turn your head to see youâre laid out against a mismatched array of towels, clearly stolen from the shared bathroom the rest of the crew uses. His pair of towels are separated, one lying directly under your lower half while the other sits folded and ready at the end of the bed. Law is staring at you, unblinking, directly next to it.
âHi.â Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, barely a whisper, but he slightly smiles when he hears it anyway.
âHi.â He leans forward a bit, eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light, looking almost like a predator stalking his prey. It makes you tense despite yourself, causing another flash of pain in your abdomen. The vulnerable noise you make causes him to grin, showing just a bit of sharp canines through his parted lips. âAre you ready?â
âFor what?â
âYour treatment, sweetheart.â He maintains eye contact with you as he slowly pulls latex gloves over his tattooed hands, covering the letters on his fingers. Once theyâre fully on, he lets the material go, making a small thwap as it snaps against his skin. He repeats himself. âAre you ready?â
âYes?â
âI need you to be sure.â
âYes.â You repeat, more firmly this time.
âExcellent. I promise youâll feel better soon.â With that, you can feel the cool latex against your skin as he slips off the loose pajama pants you were wearing in a single fluid motion. You then feel his hands against your thighs, forcing them apart and leaning forward. You let out a soft noise of surprise, and he gives you the same predatory smile as before before muttering, âJust relax.â
His gloved fingers slowly trace up your thighs, before he quickly removes your panties, depositing them somewhere nearby. He turns his attention back to you, fingers retracing their path, and you shiver as he runs a single finger down your slit. He lifts his hand closer to his face as though to inspect it, and you can see the blue latex becomes stained with blood. You can see his pupils dilate, black overtaking the normal steely grey of his eyes. You canât tell if heâs fascinated or aroused. Probably both.
He allows his hand to find its rightful place again, slowly inserting his first finger into you. You gasp quietly, and he laughs under his breath. You feel yourself stretch around him as the slick of your blood makes it easy for him to slide himself knuckle deep into you. You let out a stuttering breath as you get used to the new sensation. Your pain hasnât subsided, but this is certainly a good distraction.
âEverything alright?â His voice is low, thick with want, but he tries to maintain an even tone.
âYeah,â you managed to squeak out. âIâm fine.â
âOnly fine?â He lets out a displeased hum. âNext time I ask, I want you to be doing better than âfineâ.â
âThatâs up to you, isnât it?â You regret the words the moment they come out of your mouth. As much as Law loves to pretend he is some even-keeled professional, heâs easily riled up by a challenge, and challenges relating to you are some of his favorites. âI meanââ
âI know what you meant. Donât worry. Iâll make it happen.â With that, he begins pumping, keeping a steady slow pace that isnât nearly enough for you, before suddenly adding a second finger. He curls them, hitting a sweet spot that makes you sing for him, and he gives you an absolutely shit eating grin. âSounds like weâre already well on our way, hm?â
He speeds up slightly, his other hand leaving the plush of your thigh and finding your clit. The material feels strange against you, but that thought is quickly shoved out of your head as he slowly begins to rub small circles against it. You let out a whine of, âLaw!â
âYes?â His voice is dripping with smugness. You can do nothing but let out another small cry of his name, and you can see the way his chest slightly puffs out with pride at the sound. There is nothing in the world he loves more than making you come unraveled, and he loves any reminder of that, especially those that remind him that youâre his and that he is the one making you feel this way. âJust relax, sweetheart. Iâve got you. Weâll be there soon.â He adds a third finger, reveling in the way you clench around him. You see his eyelids drop slightly as he takes in the sight of you splayed out before him, blood and wetness covering his fingers as they pump in and out of you.
You finally, finally begin to feel something stronger than your pain as the coil in your stomach tightens, making every part of you begin to tense as you approach your precipice. Law leans over you, taking his eyes off of your cunt for the first time since he started just so he can look you in the eyes and whisper, âLet go. Iâve got you.â
You gush around his fingers, crying out. He doesnât look away from your face as your eyes squeeze shut and you throw your head back, taking in every inch of your sweet expression. He works you through it, not removing his fingers until he knows for certain that youâve ridden your high to the end, leaving you spent and relaxed against the towel below you. Once he slides his hands out of you, he quickly removes his gloves, dropping them into a nearby trash can. He grabs the towel at the end of the bed and uses it to wipe up any blood on your thighs, placing a gentle kiss to each thigh once heâs sure theyâre clean.
âHow are you doing?â His voice carries no challenge like earlier, only a genuine concern for you.
âIâm great.â
âNo cramps?â
You close your eyes, taking in your current state. You feel a little sore, and thereâs still a small pressure in your skull, but you realize your abdomen doesnât hurt at all. âNo cramps.â You canât keep the pleased smile off of your face, and when you open your eyes you see his expression mirrors your own, if a touch more smug.
âGood.â He kisses your forehead before gently gathering you into his arms. You let out a soft noise of protest, but he pulls you into his chest anyway. âAfter a quick shower and some sleep I think your treatment will be over. âŠFor now.â
âFor now?â
âYouâll have to come see me if your cramps return, of course.â His eyes shine with a gentle mischief you donât often get to see.
âOh, of course, Dr. Trafalgar.â You expect him to roll his eyes at you, but he smirks further at you using his title. Interesting.
For now, he carries you into his personal bathroom, setting you down and beginning to fuss with the shower. Your eyes spy the empty towel rack, and you have a realization. âLaw?â
âYes?â
âDo you have any towels not covered in blood?â
âIâhm.â He leaves for a moment, returning with another clearly stolen towel. The crew is going to have a bad night once showertime rolls around, but you canât bring yourself to care too much, still caught up in your sudden relaxation after your day of suffering. In the shower, Law pampers you thoroughly, refusing to let you lift a finger to do anything for yourself. His fingers are gentle as he washes your hair, your face, your body. He wraps you tenderly in a towel once all is done, even helping you dress once youâve dried. He only stops pampering you once heâs tucked you tightly into his bed, heating pad and pain meds ready on his nightstand just in case. And in a very rare treat, instead of rushing off to work, he lays down next to you.
âYou arenât going to leave?â You canât keep the tentative hope from your voice.
âNot until youâre asleep.â He pulls your head into his chest, and you happily make a home there.
âIâll have to stay up to keep you here.â Even as you say it your eyes are drooping, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh.
âYou can try.â He runs his fingers carefully through your hair.
You lose quickly, falling into an easy sleep, surrounded by warmth and care, and pain far away from your mind.
â sub! soobin, dom! reader, slightly dark content !!!, dubcon technically bc baby trapping, toxic behaviors (baby trapping is not okay you guys!!), riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, milking, use of the nicknames "angel" (extensive use) and "bunny", nipple play (like a lot)(both receiving), tit sucking, breeding kink
â soobin is worried that one day he'll have to choose between his relationship and his career. you make sure that he never has to
// heyyy...how's everybody doing? (ÂŽâïœïŒ)
you should be ashamed of what youâre about to do, for what youâve been doing. throwing away the condoms and riling up your poor little boyfriend all day so that when you tell him not to cum, you know youâre setting him up for failure. his desperate cries of âplease please pleaseâ doing nothing as you grind down on his pulsating cock.Â
âcome on, angel. you can do better than this, canât you?â you ask softly, raking your nails over his chest and hard nipples. he writhes underneath you at the touch, letting out weak noises as he shuts his eyes in a desperate attempt to concentrate. it prevents him from seeing your smug expression at his struggle, sighing contentedly as you grind your clit down into his pelvis.Â
âcanât,â he pants, bunny lips red and slick from all the foreplay and subconscious biting he does while trying to quiet himself down. âplease, I really donât think I can,â soobin whimpers, opening his glossy eyes to look up at you. you groan at the sight, the blonde so pretty and pathetic underneath you that it makes him cry out when you roughly grind your hips down again.Â
âyouâre gonna cum already?â you ask, watching as he quickly nods, lashes fluttering when you donât even stop your pace to talk to him. âbut Iâm not gonna cum yet,â you sigh, rotating your hips in a slow circle. you reach a hand down to card through soobinâs hair, pushing the sweaty bangs on his forehead out of the way. âyou have to get punished if you donât do what I tell you, you know this,â you patronize, grabbing a fistful of the strands so that you can lightly shake his head side to side.Â
he whines at both your words and the slightly disorienting feeling, desperate to please but so desperate for release after what youâve already put him through. he recognizes the word punishment, and if he wasnât crying already, heâs sure he wouldâve teared up because heâs trying so hard to be good. it feels so unfair, and he doesnât even know that itâs because you made sure it would be unfair for him.Â
knowing that heâs being set up for failure makes something inside you bask at the control. itâs bad that youâre lying to him; itâs even worse that youâre making such a big decision without even considering what he wants, but isnât it for the better? heâs been growing so much as an idol, more and more of your shared time spent on rescheduled dates and rushed intimacy.Â
you know heâs been stressed; you can help with that. but you also know that lately heâs been growing less and less confident that heâll be able to still be the love of your life, along with being a successful idol.Â
youâd never make soobin choose between you and his dream. instead, you decided to make sure that he wouldnât be able to choose. your sweet boyfriend, sweet soobin who would probably condemn himself to the furthest circle of hell before he abandoned his girlfriend and child. sweet soobin, who wouldnât think of leaving you or your kid because heâs just too good of a person to do it.Â
it just makes sense; it was the only other option besides forcing soobin to quit his true passion (which probably wouldnât work in the first place), and you just didnât have the heart to do it. besides, even if being pregnant would be a less than wonderful experience, youâd be able to do it if it were for soobin. youâd go through the weeks with only facetime calls and the texted âi love youâs for him and your future child.Â
imagining your baby with soobinâs bright eyes and adorable dimples makes your heart fond. knowing that he'd be forced to forever come back home to you makes you determined.Â
âdonât want a punishment, wanna be good,â soobin whimpers out from beneath you, causing you to sigh in mock pity. you let both your hands fall to hold his face, his cheeks wet with both dried and fresh tears. heâs always been a pretty crier.Â
âbad boys have to get their punishment,â you explain softly, not being able to stop the small smile on your lips when soobin only responds with a high-pitched and needy whine. âeven if theyâre trying to be good,â you hum, letting your hands trail down his neck as you continue the moment of your hips. âsurely youâre not trying to get out of your punishment,â you suggest, adding a tiny mocking gasp to your words.Â
quickly, the blonde shakes his head. ân-no, would never!â he exclaims, eyes squeezed shut as your nails rake down his shoulders and slip to his collarbones. âwanna be good, wanna be reallyââ the words get caught in his throat the moment your hands trail down from the dip of his collarbones to his perky nipples.Â
the reaction is immediate. a sob of anguish is ripped from his throat, his back unintentionally arching as his hips thrust up to meet yours. "no, no, no, please,â he tries to plead, head thrown back, and the hands that somehow found themselves on your waist leave a bruising grip. you ignore his cries, rolling his sensitive nipples under the pads of your thumbs.Â
âif I didnât know any better, iâd think you were about to cum, angel,â you say casually, only receiving a choked noise from soobin as he thrashes underneath you. itâs amusing, the way you bounce on top of him as a result of his desperate attempts to escape. he's so fucked-out that he doesnât even realize that heâs working against his own interests, slamming harder and deeper into your warm cunt every time you come back down.Â
â[your name], please, i canâtâi canât!â he doesnât even manage to finish forming his words before heâs shaking underneath you, the hands on your waist holding you down firmly as he thrusts up one last time. a chorus of moans and whimpers make their way to your ears as you watch Soobinâs face. his eyes are shut tight, a few stray tears making their way past his pretty lashes from the force.Â
you feel him shoot warm ropes of cum inside you. itâs messy and gross, and itâs just the way you wanted it as you stop your ministrations on his nipples. tutting and shaking your head, you bring a hand up to tap his cheek.Â
soobin opens his eyes at the cue, his pathetic gaze pleading and apologetic as he stares at your faux frown. your brows furrow as you look down at him, sighing dramatically as you pull back to sit down properly on his now-softening cock. âlook what you didâŠâ you scold, already feeling the way his cum is trickling out of you to form a disgusting mix of fluids at the base of where the two of you meet.Â
âiâm sorry,â soobin chokes out, lips trembling as you smooth your fingers over adamâs apple.Â
âi know,â you respond simply, placing your hands back on his tits. He shudders as you resume playing with his nipples, letting out a whimper when you start to ride him without warning. his hands fall from your waist, and soobinâs embarrassed to think about how the way youâre using him like your own personal fuck toy is making his sensitive dick harden all over again.Â
âtell me what youâre thinking,â you breathe, soft pants leaving your lips as you adjust your pace to finally chase after your own orgasm rather than soobinâs. a strangled noise builds up in soobinâs throat at the sight of your tits bouncing, and the hand that you end up placing on his thigh for a better angle heats up his skin.Â
âsensitive,â he manages to say after a few moments, struggling to process the pleasure that leaves his spine tingling. his dick is hard again, struggling to keep up with how your pussy swallows him, uncaring of what heâs feeling as you grind your clit onto him for the friction. âmâ not gonna last,â he tries to warn you, voice climbing into a higher pitch when you abandon the bouncing to roll your hips back and forth.Â
âthatâs okay, baby,â you reassure him, grabbing his hands and moving them so that his palms are full of your breasts. âyouâre not supposed to,â you simper, groaning in satisfaction when Soobin obeys your silent demands and starts to play with your nipples. he swallows thickly, dick twitching inside of you as the flesh of your breast spills out between his fingers.Â
âi donât wanna get punished,â he insists, thumbing over your nipples despite his conviction. you smile at his words, cooing softly as you place your palms back on his toned stomach. your shadow looms over him, and like this youâre given a clear view as to how soobinâs gaze seems transfixed on your breasts, the pervert.
âbaby, your punishmentâs already begun,â you inform him, voice sweet despite your intentions of milking him dry. this information finally snaps soobin out of his daze, brown eyes catching yours with an almost comical look of shock and dismay.Â
âbutââ
âmm-mm, no buts,â you chastise, placing a hand over your boyfriendâs mouth to halt his complaints. âyou get what you deserve, you take what I give you,â you remind him coldly. you can feel the way Soobin chokes on a tiny sob underneath your palm, his saliva slicking up your hand and no doubt making a mess out of his mouth as he struggles not to buck up into the overstimulating pleasure of your warm cunt.Â
âthatâs it,â you praise as he goes pliant and silent underneath you, minus the whines and groans that get muffled. âyouâre gonna let me milk your pretty little cock, since apparently all youâre good for is cumming inside and making a mess,â you tell him, removing your hand from his mouth and wiping the mess of saliva on the bed sheets next to you.Â
ânot all Iâm good for,â he whines in protest, making you hiss in pain when he accidentally squeezes your breasts too hard.Â
âyeah? what else are you good for?â you ask tauntingly, raking your nails down the expanse of his stomach and enjoying the small mewl that slips past his lips at the pain. âgood at looking pretty and fucked out? good at laying down and letting me have my way with you?â you list off, endeared by the small glare soobin manages to give you through his teary eyes.Â
âall you have to be good at right now is taking your punishment and making me feel good. is that too much to ask for?â you huff, leaning down to brush your lips against his cute ones.Â
âis that too much, angel?â You ask, hands reaching up to hold on to his shoulders.Â
âno,â he groans in response, leaning up to capture your lips with his in a way that distracts you with fondness. normally a sweet kisser, soobin is messy. his saliva wets your lips as he barely manages to keep the two of you together, some of his own drool making its way down his chin. itâs adorably pathetic, the way it takes so much effort just to kiss you while you fuck him dumb.Â
âi'm already close again,â he whines pitifully into your mouth.Â
you donât respond, sliding one of your hands back down to meanly grab one of his nipples and twist, and itâs all it takes before soobin cums with a cry. his hands fall off your chest, one grasping desperately at the pillow under his head while the other twists in your sheets. heâs hiccuping through each breath, and all you can think about is how youâd do anything to keep him all to yourself forever.Â
you hum in appreciation as you watch himâthe way his eyes screw close and his nose scrunches as his back arches off the bed. his cum is still warm inside of you, and you wait for his body to stop shuddering and drop back down before you grip his shoulders and start to chase your own release.Â
soobin gasps in sensitivity at the movement, warm hands flying up to grab at your waist in a futile attempt to slow you down.Â
âwait, âm sensitive, [your name] please, it hurts,â he cries, and it's all in vain as you do your best to milk him for a third.Â
you ride him with just a bit more desperation than usual. itâs already been too many weeks since youâve been off birth control. you donât even realize how hard youâre staring at soobin, as if youâre trying to memorize every detail of his face in the case that all your efforts go out the window and this is the last time you see him. thatâs until another tear slips out of soobinâs eye, and you know that youâd never let that happen, idol career be damned.Â
cooing, you lean down and lick the tear off his cheek, your pretty little boyfriend whining at the wet sensation. âi thought i put your hands somewhere,â you comment offhandedly, watching soobinâs eyes flutter in confusion before his brain catches up to your intentions. with a small groan, soobinâs hands are back on your tits, and you laugh at the way his cock twitches in your cunt.Â
âthink you can you give me one more?â you ask sweetly condescendingly, placing a wet kiss on the same cheek youâve already defiled. soobin can only pout, giving you a quivering nod as his thumb covers your nipple, eyes fixated on it.
determinedly, you pick up your pace on soobinâs cock. heâs semi-hard, but heâs whimpering and whining and heâs twitching from overstimulation, despite the fact that he still makes a valiant effort to get hard again. his stamina was pretty decent, but youâre set on milking a third out of him.Â
âjustâjust go a little slower, please,â he begs, limbs growing heavy and heâs struggling to keep a solid grip on your tit as you bounce.Â
âif you have the mouth to complain, you might as well suck on them,â you scowl, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair just to hear soobinâs gasp when you yank his head up.Â
âcanât be a good little breeding bitch when all you do is complain instead of cum,â you add on, soobin whimpering at the harsh words. his lips are in a wobbly frown, and with much effort he lifts himself high enough to sloppily take your nipple into his mouth. he desperately kneads the other with his hand, and you let yourself moan at the disgusting visual of soobinâs drool running down his chin and onto your chest.Â
âso messy,â you comment, using both of your hands to keep soobinâs head up to your chest as you ride him. sometimes you pull the strands of his hair to see him jerk, guiding him to your other nipple as your thighs burn and your speed begins to slow.Â
heâs hard inside of you, and thereâs an embarrassing amount of cum frothing at the entrance of your cunt. thereâs fluids all over soobinâs cock and pelvis, and you canât help the way you drag your clit through the wet filth as you slow your hips into a grind.Â
âangel,â you gasp, pulling Soobin off your nipple with a loud âpopâ so that he can look at you with his fucked-out gaze. he hums in acknowledgement, going pliant in your hold once your hands slide down to cup his face in both palms.Â
"help me cum,â you demand, and soobin only needs a few seconds before heâs wordlessly dragging a thumb over your clit as you pick up your pace. you lean down to kiss him, taking a lip between your teeth and tugging as his eyes threaten to flutter shut once more.Â
and it only takes a few more moments with the dizzying drag of soobinâs thumb over your puffy clit before youâre moaning into his mouth and riding through your orgasm. soobin answers you with his own soft moan, the noise breaking into a weak sob as your pussy clenches down on him. he cums inside of you for the third time with a weak pulse of his cock, giving you one more peck on the lips before he falls back onto the sheets tiredly.Â
you huff in amusement as you straddle him, catching your breath before you roll over to drop down next to him and let him slip out of you. thereâs a wet squelch that follows, but youâre too busy trying to catch your breath before a cuddly soobin quickly begins to latch onto your side. your heart aches at the affection, and you turn to face him so that he can bury his face under your chin. his hair tickles your nose.
âgood job, baby. took your punishment so well,â you praise softly, running your fingers through his hair to try and soothe the way you kept tugging on it earlier. soobin hums in contentment, an arm wrapping over your waist to tug you closer.Â
âyou called me your breeding bitch,â he pouts into your shoulder, making you chuckle.Â
âyou like it. maybe youâll even get me pregnant,â you joke, dead serious. soobin snorts at the implication, still unaware of the fact that you two are actually trying with every time you fuck him into the mattress.
âmaybe. weâd have cute kids,â he shrugs, and you hold onto him just a bit tighter.Â
âyou think so?â
â'course,â Soobin yawns. âcanât go wrong with my genes,â he brags cheekily, and you give him a light smack on the shoulder that he whines about.Â
when you actually tell him around 4 weeks later that youâre pregnant, soobin swears that the world around him goes completely quiet. then heâs a stuttering, disbelieved, and stressed-out mess over the phone.Â
âwhat do you mean you're pregnant? i thought you were on birth control?â and you lie easily, telling him that this mustâve been one of those rare cases where the medication didn't work.Â
then thereâs a long pause, and youâre worried that soobin might actually make you march up to a clinic and correct this mess of a situation before youâre met with the telltale hiccup of soobinâs ugly cry. you immediately hush him and reassure him that itâs alright, that everything will be fine.Â
soobin feels terrible; he feels so guilty that he hadnât been mindful enough about cleaning up and showering after sex. he feels like heâs ruined your youth and that heâs burdened you with a child, even though the two of you arenât even married yet. you tell him itâs ok, that you donât blame him and that youâre willing to make this work. soobin promises to come see you as soon as he can and promises to faceTtme the moment he gets off work to properly talk about all thatâs going to happen. heâs calmed down with your words and reassurance, but you can tell heâs still frazzled.
the last thing you say to him is âi love you,"Â but before that, you canât help but joke that, hey, at least our babyâs guaranteed to be cute with your genes.
Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 3; final part)
Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader
Summary: Just minutes after discovering his secret identity, itâs time for you and Jason to clear the air about how the two of you actually met.
Word count: 3.4k
Your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute when you make it back to your apartment. And not just because of the five sets of stairs you have to walk up, although that's pretty bad.
You make sure that your roommate isn't home, then usher your cat out of your bedroom and open the window. You sit on the edge of your bed, nerves twisting in your stomach.
No, you can't stay still.
Also, your cat's scratching at the door, furious that he's been locked away.
You decide to wait in the living room instead.
His approach is soundless. You donât hear him come through the window, or when he opens your bedroom door, but your cat meows happily and you turn around to see your six-foot-two lying boyfriend looming in your apartment.
âIs your roommate here?â he growls through the mask. Your cat yowls at his feet, wondering why Jasonâthe Red Hoodâhasnât begun to lavish him with attention yet.
âNo, so you can take that off.â
Youâre a little pleased with yourself for figuring out his identity so quickly. Unfortunately, youâre much less pleased with him for messing with you. Youâre not mad that he didnât tell you his vigilante identity; youâve known each other about a month, which is nothing in the grand span of a lifetime. Youâre not a pessimist, but you are realistic, and youâre not sure if your relationship is going to work out yet after a week and a half of dating. Any disgruntled ex-girlfriend could reveal his secret identity to the pressânot that youâre that type of person.
No, itâs smart to be cautious with his identity.
So wearing a costume that displays one of his most unique features isnât the brightest.
Also, now that you think about it, Jason wandered into the library the day after the Red Hood walked you home.
So youâre not exactly worried, but you are a bit cautious. Youâve seen that Netflix show You, where that perfectly charming man kills every woman heâs in a relationship with. If it came down to that, you wouldnât be able to beat Jason in a fight.
Also, you donât want to fight in front of the cat.
With a click and a hiss, the maskâmore a muzzleâcomes off, and there appears your handsome boyfriend, a little disheveled and sweaty from the five-story climb to your window after stowing his bike. Heâs still beautiful, and itâs such a shame. He could have been the one, had he not stalked and lied to you.
You think.
Youâre going to find out.
Jasonâs eyes dart to your dominant hand, which is hidden behind your back with your trusty pepper spray ready to go at the slightest sign of aggression. âI take it Iâm in trouble,â he says, light, almost joking, and bends to pick your cat up. The little bastard squirms every time you do that, but he settles right down in Jason's arms and gets to purring.
âJasonââ You start, then falter, because you donât actually know his last name. Or his middle. âJason,â you say again through gritted teeth, trying to make it as menacing as possible. âI think we have something to talk about, donât you?â
âY/N,â he sighs, running a hand through his hair. âYes, I am the Red Hood. I couldnât tell you becââ
âI donât give a shit that youâre the Red Hood,â you interrupt.
Jasonâs mouth clicks shut. He gives you an odd look.
âWell, that you didnât tell me,â you amend. âWeâve known each other a month. It would be pretty pathetic if you couldnât keep the secret that long. Everyone in the city would know by now.â
âOkay,â he says slowly. âSo what are you mad about, exactly?â
âThat I was right!â You exclaim. âYou were stalking me! I thought you just liked coffee and reading, but you were following me the whole time. You even offered to beat yourself up. What else about you is a lie?â
âOkay, whoa,â he says, holding his hand up, and if you werenât mad before, youâre getting there now. He has no right for you to motion to calm down. âOkay, Iâll admit it. I guess I kind of did start this all out by following you.â
Your hands fall limply to your sides. Now that heâs admitted it, all the wind is out of your sails. Youâve never been so disappointed to be right. Secretly, you were hoping he would write it all off as a freak coincidence so thoroughly that youâd have no choice to believe it, all the way up until he strangled you. âOkay,â you say calmly. You hear your own voice, but itâs from very far away. âAre you going to hurt me now?â
âWhat?â He looks aghast at the very thought. âNo, no, I wonâtâwhy would IâNo.â Heâs so firm in the reply, so utterly certain, that your grip loosens on the pepper spray. He might be a really good liar⊠or he might be telling the truth. âNo, Y/N, I really like you, which is why I asked you out, and even if I didnât, I wouldnât hurt you anyway because youâre my friend. And youâre a good person. The Red Hood punishes criminals; heâs not some crazy serial killer.â
âI mean, you kind of are,â you mumble. Youâve seen the statistics. He ruled through fear for several years. But, like heâd said earlier, heâs reformed himself. He still kills people, though, but you find that it doesnât bother you as much as it should.
âI am notââ Jason stresses, looking you right in the eyesâ âthe kind of man that hits women.â
Thereâs a story there, in the way he says it, but itâs not the time to ask. Youâre not sure that your fledging relationship is ready for it, either, but youâre still curious. Youâre also curious about why he killed so many people when he started out. Youâre curious about everything about him. You think you could listen to him talk for hours about himself and you still would only touch the surface of everything that makes up Jason.
âOkay,â you say. His eyes track your hand as you set the pepper spray down on the counter.
He repeats it like a question. Youâre a little surprised, too, butâ âJason, I wouldnât have agreed to be your girlfriend if I wasnât sure that youâre a good person. But I need you to tell me about how we met.â
âYou mean the robbery?â He looks confused. âThat really was just a coincidence. I heard that something was going down and stopped by. I had no idea who you were before that night, I swear.â
âOkay. So why did you follow me to the library?â
âOh.â Jason coughs. âYeah. Okay, well, the first day, I actually was following you.â
You slap the counter with an open palm, triumphant. Your cat hisses at the sound. "I knew it!"
"Wait, wait, just hear me out. I was following you to make sure that you didn't die of blood loss. Or sepsis. Or gangrene. Orâ"
"So you were stalking me... because you cared?"
"It's how my family shows love," he shrugs.
Your eyes widen. Because you hadn't considered it, but if he's a Batâand he is, judging by the red shape on his chestâthen his family is the Batclan. "Oh, my God. Batman is your dad."
Jason folds his arms over his chest like he's self-conscious about the symbol. "Yeah, and I've got the weird attachment style to show for it."
"Wait," you blurt out. "The brother you were supposed to meet in the coffee shopâwere you supposed to meet Red Robin?"
"Um..."
You can't believe you were almost in the same place as the actual Red Robin. "Wow. Is his civilian identity as cool as his superhero one?"
"Please don't tell me you're a Red Robin fan," Jason says, his voice pained. "We might actually need to break up."
"Do you think I could meet him sometime?" you whisper.
"He's a huge loser," Jason tells you. "He's short and scrawny and actually pretty ugly beneath the mask. He looks like a troll. Also, I think he watches Andrew Tate videos and moderates Reddit forums in his free time. You really don't want to meet him."
You can't stop grinning. "There's no need to be jealous, Jason. Red Robin's way too young for me, but I think it's cool that he uses his brain to fight crime."
"What, and I don't?" he scoffs.
"Okay." You hold up a hand, determined to get the conversation back on track. "So you wanted to make sure that I wasn't actively dying. Why'd you keep coming back?"
"Well, then I thought you might be a supervillain," he said casually, like that's a normal thing to spring on someone.
You just gape at him.
"You treated a gunshot wound like it was nothing!" he defended himself shrilly. "Most civilians would be a little more concerned about an open wound in their side."
"I'm a medical student. Doctors make the worst patients."
"Yeah, well, Gotham has a pretty bad track record of doctors becoming supervillains, so excuse me for trying to curb a new one before she had the chance to turn."
You cross your arms. "What did you think would happen, Jason? I'd accidentally take a dip in Gotham River and the bacteria in there would travel from my side to my brain and make me go crazy?"
"I mean, yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened with Harley Quinn."
Well, shit. He's got you there.
"Okay, well then why approach me at the coffee shop?"
Jason raises his eyebrow. "You were the only one there and I had a spare coffee. Am I not allowed to do nice things?"
"It was right after I told the Red Hood that I thought I was getting stalked. Did you do that on purpose?" you accuse.
"No, I swear. I didn't even know that you liked that place. Red Robin mentioned liking it.â Oh, my God, you and Red Robin like the same coffee shop. âI just⊠kept showing up after I saw you there the first time." He must be scratching your cat too hard, because he wiggles out of Jason's arms and runs over to his food bowl, looking at you pleadingly like he's been starving for a hundred years, even though your roommate texted you earlier saying that he'd already fed him. "I was planning on disappearing from your life and telling you as Hood that I'd, I don't know, threatened the dude or whatever, but..."
"But what?"
He shrugs. "You're pretty, Y/N. You're smart. And you were funny when I talked to you as Hood. Is it a crime for me to want to make a friend?"
"Just a friend?" You squint at him.
"Yeah. Just a friend." Jason tousles his hair again, and this time you let yourself admire the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms flex at the motion. "Believe it or not, I've never been in a relationship before. This wasn't what I was expectingâI never expected anythingâbut I'm happy. You're happy... aren't you?" He's pleading now, and it tugs on your heartstrings.
You sigh, but take a step closer to him. "Yes, I'm happy, Jason." It's definitely not the most conventional way to start a relationship, and most other people would be running for the hills by now, but this is Gotham. You moved here and stayed here because you fit in with the crazy. "I just need you to tell me one thing." Step. "One honest thing."
"Of course," he says immediately. Big green eyes pleading for you to bridge the gap between your bodies, to forgive him.
"What's your last name? I can't date someone whose last name I don't know."
For some reason, he grimaces. "Uh... my full name is Jason... Peter... Todd." His voice gets quieter with every word, until you're straining to hear his surname.
That rings familiar with something in your memory. You frown. "Jason Todd... not like Jason Todd Memorial Library?" Usually with memorials, the person they're named after is dead, but Jason's real and in front of you. Also, wasn't Jason Todd the kid that Bruce Wayne adopted several years ago?
The corners of Jason's lips turn down. "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled with your choice of study locations at first. But it is quieter than my apartment. B adopted too many fuckin' kids, and they always find my place, even when I moveâ"
"Does Red Robin hang out at your apartment a lot?" you ask, just to see him scowl.
"No, he's never there, and I'm going to dropkick him off a roof the next time I see him unless you stop talking about him."
"Okay," you say. You're close enough now to put a hand on his forearm, so you do. "I'll stop talking." You have to get on your tiptoes and pull the back of his head a bit, but you kiss him, and somehow it's even better than the first time.
Jason's lips are a little dry, but not chapped, soft and pillowy. He blinks when you rest back on your heels, looking dazed like someone hit him over the head with a frying pan. "Am I forgiven now?"
"Mmm..." You pretend to think it over. His hands snake around your back and pull you flush against him, stomach to stomach. "I think so," you say through a gasp, which might be embarrassing if he didn't bend to kiss you before the words had fully left your lips.
You kiss for a little while after that, shivering when his hands slip beneath your jacket. Not quite up your shirt, but getting there. He's got huge hands, and he grips your waist firmly, using his thumbs to gently rub at your hipbones as he pulls you even closer. That small contact, so gentle yet also a little greedy, heats your body from the inside like an inferno.
You're starting to bend backwards now, and the hand on the back of his neck is less there to pull him down and more there to keep you up. Are you lightheaded? You might be. You breathe in through your nose, but it doesn't help.
Jason may be inexperienced, according to his own testimony, but he doesn't kiss like it. He kisses with his whole body. He keeps leaning forward, moving his lips against yours with the single-minded intensity that took you by pleasant surprise the first time you kissed. Soft but firm, pressing against you, in a way that makes you think he'd really like to crowd you against a wall and cage you in. Not that you want to escape.
When you're bent over, you take Jason's chin in your hand and slowly push his head back. He resists at first, eyes fluttering as he chases after your lips, but you're about to fall over, so you murmur, "What's the plan here, babe?"
"No plan," he says, voice low and gravely in a way you've never heard before. Jason looks at you from beneath his long lashes. A heat flashes in his eyes. Something flutters in your stomach, bigger than butterflies. Maybe birds? Maybe robins.
And then you feel his hands on the bare skin of your back when they slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp and jerk away on instinct because his hands are so warm, so calloused, but he's got a good grip on you; you're not falling anytime soon.
Then your entire world shifts as Jason yanks you upright, at the same time pulling the hem of your jacket and shirt up enough so he can see your wound.
"Oh, my God," you groan, embarrassed and a little amused. "You little pervert, were you doing all that to distract me?"
"No." Jason's voice is still gravely. He looks at your hip, then stares at your mouth like he's making a decision. He kisses you again, a firm press, and nips at your bottom lip before he leans back to squint at the scar. "Is it still bruised?"
"Yes," you sigh, covering your eyes. You're embarrassed for reasons you can't quite explain. Maybe because he's pulling your shirt up and you're not quite as firm everywhere as he is. You're pretty sure champion bodybuilders aren't as firm as he is. "It's gotten much better, though. See? No infections or anything like that."
He measures the scar against his hand: it's about two fingers wide, and one finger long. It scabbed over a while ago, and now that the scab's gone, it's just a shiny pink patch of skin.
"You could have stitched it anyway," he sighs.
"I don't care." You grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. "I don't care about scars. Mine or yours. Most of the time, they're sexy. And apart from me, you're the only one seeing it." His hands clench your waist at the words, then loosen. He sends you an apologetic look. You continue, "So as long as you don't mind it, then nobody does."
"I wish it had never happened to you," he sighs.
"Well, it did. But it wasn't your fault and we can't change the past."
Jason's still mulling over your words when you start to work at his belt. He makes a choked noise and grabs your hands. Doesn't push them away, just holds them still right where they are. "What are you doing?"
"Well, I showed you mine." You grin up at him. "It's only fair that you show me yours."
He snorts. "You don't trust your own handiwork?"
"It's a follow-up appointment," you say. "To make sure everything's healing normally. Now take off your shirt, Mr. Todd. This veterinarian's apartment does, after all, moonlight as a strip club."
He undoes his belt buckle with one hand, and you have to make sure that your mouth isn't open. That was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. "You ready?" he grins, cocky in the way he only gets when he's flirting with you. "One look at me and you'll forget all about Red Robin. Forever."
"God, don't bring up your little brother while we're making out," you groan.
"Good to know that you plan on kissing me some more tonight," he says casually. Then he peels off the skintight gray shirt, and every thought wipes from your mind.
His muscles have muscles. And, somehow, despite your apartment's shitty lighting, he's glowing. His pants sit low on his hips like he's a model or something.
How has no one ever dated him before? He's actually perfect.
The longer you stare without saying anything, the more uncomfortable he looks. Finally he says, "I know I've got a lotta scars," his native Gotham accent bleeding through a little, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He's warm and firm and soft, just like you thought he would be.
"My God," you whisper. "You're beautiful."
Jason goes beet red.
"And the one I stitched is healing up nicely," you continue, tracing your fingers lightly over the slightly raised line.
His whole body shudders. He swallows almost violently, eyes clenched tight like they're in pain. Then they fly open, and you gasp, because they're glowing green. Not metaphorically glowing. Like, actually glowing.
Jason kisses you again like he's trying to herd you. You don't know where's all right for you to touch, so you cup his face with both your hands and pour everything that he gives you right back at him. Warmth, affection, something bright that you can't name.
Then you lean back. Your lips disconnect with an audible pop.
"Hang on. Is Bruce Wayne Batman?"
Jason's chin drops down to his chest. He groans, deep, and you pretend that warmth doesn't pool in your stomach at the sound. Voice thready, he says, "You know, talking about my dad really kills the mood."
"Oh, my God, he is." You pump your fist in the air. "I'm two for two. Who's the world's greatest detective now, Batsy?"
"If I kiss you again, will you shut up about Batman?" Jason asks.
You grin. "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to find out."
He does.
And you do.
You've decided that the Red Hood is your favorite superhero, anyway.
~~
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