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peachdues · 5 months

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COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s 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 Sanemi’s 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 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re 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 he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — 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 he’d 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 — 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 there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — 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 — 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 — 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 hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — 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 don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — 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 he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” 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 Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d 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 couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t 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 he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d 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 vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d 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 he’d 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 — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s 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 —

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.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — 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 Corps’ 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 can’t 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 —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t 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 — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll 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 — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s 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.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

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; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — 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 hadn’t been surprised when you’d 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 he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve 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 you’d 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, she’d 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 he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d 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 parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” 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.

You’d 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 clerk’s 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 isn’t 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.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

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 counter’s 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.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s 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 it’s 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 — 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 he’d 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 he’d not had in your youth — 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.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s 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.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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 — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t 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 hadn’t 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 they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re 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 that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t 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 can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s 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.

—

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 don’t 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 it’s 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 parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — 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 can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — 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 — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t 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 he’d 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.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t 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 Iguro’s 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. He’d 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 doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s 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. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s 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, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” 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 girl’s 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.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

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 day’s 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 he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d 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 he’d 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 he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s 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 bookstore’s 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 doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s 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.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s 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. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re 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 doesn’t 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.

“Fine, here,” 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. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t 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 he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

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. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

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 don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” 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.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

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.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d 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.

You’ve 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 he’d 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 won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s 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. “Fine, here.” 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 Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” 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. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s 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 Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s 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. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

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 you’d 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 he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve 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. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s 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 he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t 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.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d 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, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s 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. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d 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. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

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. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t 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 he’s 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 don’t 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 who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s 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 — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, 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 he’s 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 won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s 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 he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — 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 you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t 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 isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s 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 Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d 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 — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve 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 can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re 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 — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s 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 — 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 he’s 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 he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 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 hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s 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, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d 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 you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s 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 it’s 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 — 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, you’re 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 can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t 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 he’s guilty for.

It’s 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 you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t 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 won’t 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 don’t.

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 hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” 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. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d 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.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve 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 wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

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. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s 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 wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d 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 he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

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. “‘Til next time?”

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.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t 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, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s 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.

It’s 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 you’ve 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 you’re 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 won’t 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 — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t 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 — betray the truth — and that’s 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. He’s 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 — 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 beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — 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 love’s 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 Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s 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 doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d 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.

Sanemi’s 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 you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s 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.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re 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 they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d 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. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re 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.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s 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.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” 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.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

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.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

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.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t 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 there’s 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.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

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 — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re 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 can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d 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.

“It’s barbaric,” 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 aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re 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. “Thank you,” 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. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve 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 — 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 it’s 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 don’t 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. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll 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 can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t 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 don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t 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 Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d 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, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — 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 he’d 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.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — 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 Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d 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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d 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 Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t 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 he’d 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 shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d 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.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d 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 he’d 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 — 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 — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d 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 he’d 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, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” 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. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t 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, it’s 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 — no one — 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 aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s 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 he’s 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 — he’s 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 won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t 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 you’re 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 that’s 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.

You’re 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 you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s 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 — 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 can’t 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.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

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. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then 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.”

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 father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

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 isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s 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 you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s 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 he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d 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. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

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. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

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.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t 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. Sanemi’s 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 you’d 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 Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s 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 he’s 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 you’d 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.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

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. He’d 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 — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” 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 — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

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 he’s 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 — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s 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 — 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.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

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. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” 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 won’t 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. Sanemi’s 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. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” 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.

“Found you,” 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. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s 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. You’re 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 won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll 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, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ 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. You’re 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, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” 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.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” 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.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s 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.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t 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.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

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 he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

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, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s 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 — whether that’s something or nothing — 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, he’s 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.

“Are you sure?”

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 doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d 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 doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t 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, Sanemi’s 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. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

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 you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re 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.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

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.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t 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 “Please.”

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 Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d 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.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

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 you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s 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. He’d 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 you’re 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 doesn’t 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 Sanemi’s 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.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re 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. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

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 can’t 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.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — 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.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

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. Sanemi’s 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.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — 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 you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” 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.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

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. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

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 he’s 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.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

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.

You’re 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.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s 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.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll 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 he’s 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 — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s 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.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” 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. “You okay?”

You don’t 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 he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d 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 aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — 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. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t 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. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” 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. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

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 Sanemi’s 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 he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s 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 can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s 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 you’ve done to yourself, and you’re 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 — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s 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.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n

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godzexperiment · 1 year

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containment measures initiated

Every single part of him could be torn apart and put back together. It often was; the one exception to all that being his wings. The only times they even got the faintest pain was when he pushed his limits. Alone, loops in the space he existed in- using every bit of strength and then some. Until some part of him couldn't take it anymore. Till his form crumpled to the ground, trembling from the ordeal of it and he often couldn't help but just bide his time. Waiting for the shakiness to drift away so he could try harder. An mental record being kept of each and every instance. Of all the times spent messing with the not good enough weapons, or too powerful ones. Working on his ability to make all sorts of micro adjustments to his footing. It served no purpose aside something to do. When the space was empty. Just left to his own devices. And maybe his maker was aware of it or not. Yet never was he really instructed to knock it off; even when silver scars formed on his fingertips from making an mistake. Not taken away- marks left there maybe meant to be an reminder. Yet it just served to not make such an error again, an challenge. And it's no real surprise that freedom didn't change these habits, the behavior of it. Putting gravity into the mix; things like pebbles and hard ground. Space to actually be wounded by different means. New challenges, new limits to push to their breaking points. Hurtling through the sky at speeds he was built for. Controlled falling, accidental crash landings were only some of the results. Feeling his wings catch him as he was about to hit the ground. Or the way they'd move to slow him down so he only bloodied up his knees. Tumbling too hard into the ground and needing time to recover. Little twirls of his boot in dirt, kicking up dirt and at other times making as much an impact he could to make even an little noise. Even if it meant his whole body trembled all that much more from the impact. Did any of it count as showing off- if it was all for him, in the name of improving and learning for no real practical reason?

#long post cw #recklessness cw #heavy cw #<< dream you cannot escape >> drabbles #(that last drabble presented an thought so-)#(nix's theme of pushing his limits being an result of his time in heaven is so interesting)#(from the isolation+treatment from his maker)#(and when he's free? when creation is abandoned- that fact he still clings to isolation & all that is there alongside the rest of it all)#(im having thoughts about the way nix is constantly flirting with/testing gravity and his limits)#(which also he wears super heavy boots not just in the hopes of less stealth but to anchor himself in an way)#(tether himself to the ground beneath him)#(its tragic but it's also pretty fascinating)#(like it's for him especially when he gets to earth & yet its also got an edge of perfectionism/proving himself to it)#(him just enjoying it & finding it oddly relaxing etc aside)

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actual-changeling · 1 year

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crowley avoiding the bookshop like it's consecrated ground is definitely one of my favourite options for how he deals with the break-up but have you considered the opposite?

he returns to tell muriel how to take care of it (don't sell books, get rid of customers, dust, drink tea, read, nothing else), and then he sinks back into his chair. it is still in the same spot as he put it while waiting for aziraphale to return, still catches as much of the sunlight throughout the day as possible, still smells like earl grey, and vanilla, and a hint of cinnamon.

still smells like his angel.

crowley sits down, takes off his shades and leaves them in their usual spot, and then he allows his human form to fade away until a smaller version of the serpent of eden is curled up on the cushions.

muriel knows, of course they do, and as their time on earth forces them to mature like it does with any celestial being staying for an extended amount of time, they ache for crowley. they make sure he's warm and protected, and that is all they really can do.

he doesn't quite sleep, it's more of a hibernation or whatever imitation he can manage, and he waits. maybe it's stupid, maybe it's hopeless, maybe it is useless optimism, but he has to cling to the possibility of aziraphale coming back for him.

crowley dreams of eden. damp earth and lush plants, sweet fruit and humming insects, and an angel offering kindness to someone who fell from grace

edit: continuation here

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce

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soaps-mohawk · 11 days

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 37: The Silence

Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,069 words

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language

A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.

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They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs.

They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside.

Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs.

All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders.

You’re crying.

It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears.

He can’t.

He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain?

Not all of it would have been unavoidable.

You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation.

Shepherd fucked him over too in the end.

Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future.

It’s going to take a lot of work.

“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them.

“About four minutes.” Simon answers.

“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her.

“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.”

Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well.

You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting.

Pain and bliss.

That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.

It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job.

His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you.

You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in.

He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.

Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet.

There’s no freedom.

All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word.

The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.

“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.”

Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door.

“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm.

“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.”

“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.

“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.”

Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen.

“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed.

“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks.

“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says.

“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.”

Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.”

“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon.

Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.”

“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry.

“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.”

Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack.

It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have.

Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was.

He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time.

They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here.

They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days.

Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him.

Little shit.

His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you.

He’s not your alpha.

He almost wishes he was.

He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you.

“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter.

Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.

“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup.

“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her.

“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”

“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea.

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.”

“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”

“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”

“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”

Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside.

It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there.

She’s not the only one that does it.

The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try.

“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

You don’t even turn to look at her.

“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag.

There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there.

You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer.

Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you?

Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would.

You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality.

If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever.

Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on.

When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you.

Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question.

Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair.

You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders.

Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long.

The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it.

He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can.

He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention.

Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail.

“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.”

You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position.

They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen.

John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.

“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon.

Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much.

You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon.

Fuck.

You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.

You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime.

“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table.

None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly.

The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going.

His alpha is screaming.

Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away.

It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you.

“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.”

She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room.

All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed.

“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate.

Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table.

He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad.

He just didn't think they were this bad.

You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie.

His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away.

You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away.

You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea.

He wants to take you.

He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it.

John would have his hide if he left with you like that.

Simon would eat him alive.

He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close.

Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half.

It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get.

He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral.

Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long.

He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise.

He just wants to hear you speak again.

He needs to hear you speak again.

He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were.

Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet.

He might as well be sitting alone.

It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence.

Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down.

John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things.

You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward.

Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen.

Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again.

He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment.

What a good alpha Simon is.

What a failure of an alpha John is.

Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures.

Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence.

It is a scream.

It’s your scream.

NEXT ->

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luminnara · 6 months

Text

Protector | Feyd-Rautha x reader

ANON REQUEST: your marriage to Feyd-Rautha is an arranged one, and your only task is to provide an heir. When you finally become pregnant, your new husband suddenly grows obsessed with you—but does he care about you, or is he simply protective of his progeny?

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, and related talk; canon typical violence

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Your marriage was one born out of duty, not love. You couldn’t even call it a marriage of convenience; there was nothing convenient about leaving your homeworld and traveling across an entire galaxy to marry someone you had never even met before. Yes, the Houses had agreed beforehand that you were to marry Feyd-Rautha, the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and immediately after the deal had been struck you had seen his face and read his writing, but you hadn’t met him until your wedding day.

You had chastised yourself for thinking it could be like the fairytales of Ancient Earth. You, a princess, your betrothed a handsome prince…in the stories of your childhood, he would have whisked you away, off to a great, shining palace full of magical wonders, and you would have lived happily ever after. Instead, your prince had proved to be disinterested in you, busying himself with his arena and his concubines, ignoring you most of the day. The Harkonnen fortress did not shine, nor did it hold any great wonders, and Giedi Prime felt far from magical, with its harsh black sun and polluted landscape.

After your vows, you had naively thought your wedding night would be full of romance. Perhaps you had been holding onto hope as a means to protect yourself, clinging to optimism to distract yourself from your harsh, sad reality. You had been all too eager to shed your dress and veil in Feyd-Rautha’s living quarters, though had not expected them to be ruined by his blade, and you had not expected him to greedily conquer you as if it were yet another battle in the arena. He had slept next to you that night, but had made it painfully obvious that he had no interest in holding you or even touching you, keeping far to his side of the bed while you remained far to yours. In the morning, you had awoken alone, and had realized that it was the beginning of a long and lonely road on your new planet.

Everyone expected an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage, a legitimate heir for the Harkonnen line. Anyone else could have done it—you were of fine breeding, yes, but any of the other Houses could have offered up a daughter to suffer at Feyd-Rautha’s side. Why it had to be you surely came down to the only things powerful men seemed to care about—money and spice. An allegiance with House Harkonnen protected your family, and your small share of spice harvesters on Arrakis added yet another drop into their vast bucket and one less smuggling operation to worry about. Your parents were happy. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was happy.

And you were miserable.

Two months after your wedding, your monthly cycle continued as normal, and you were forced to shamefully inform the na-Baron. After an annoyed sound and a grimace, he bent you over the nearest table and took you for a second time, leaving you to clean yourself up and cry at your husband’s callousness. You didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to care. You supposed he already had everything he could possibly want; wealth, concubines, a throne to inherit…you brought nothing of real value to him, save for the ability to produce an heir.

Time passed, and it became clear that Feyd-Rautha would have to touch you more than once a month if he was to have any hope of fathering a child. You cursed yourself for your apparent inability to conceive—fertility had been one of your parents’ selling points when negotiating with the Baron, and now, you couldn’t even do the one thing that was expected of you. It brought you to tears every night, the stress of being reduced to this and yet still being unable to perform your task. It was maddening, though you knew you were hardly the first woman to find yourself in such a situation. You did worry, however, that you may have been the weakest.

One evening, as Feyd performed his husbandly duties, he noticed a tear slipping down your cheek and paused. You felt a rough hand cup the side of your face and opened your eyes to find your husband staring at you with dark eyes, his head tilted to suggest he was curious.

“Tears?” He asked in his raspy voice that was still so alien to you.

“My apologies, na-Baron,” you looked away from him.

“You are crying.”

You stifled an annoyed sigh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do not worry yourself with me, husband.” You said.

“Tell me.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation you had had since marrying him, and part of you didn’t want it to end. You looked at him once more, finding him still watching you with that unwavering, predatory gaze, and another tear rolled down your cheek and onto his hand.

“I am sorry I have not given you a child.” You whispered.

“Then let me put one into you.”

His tone sent a chill down your spine, frightening and exciting you all at once. That night, Feyd-Rautha did not let you sleep, shocking you with his determination. It was simply because the sooner you conceived, the sooner he could return to his own concerns, you reasoned.

Sure enough, your period did not arrive when expected, nor did the next. A medical test confirmed what you already knew—you were pregnant, with Feyd-Rautha’s child. A Harkonnen child, who would grow up to be just as ruthless and savage as its father, you thought.

Upon receiving the positive result, you immediately set off to tell the na-Baron. He should not be made to wait; you wanted him to know that the entire point of your union was finally achieved, and that you could both go back to ignoring each other as usual. As you walked, you had the worrying thought that he may not even keep you alive after the delivery.

“Na-Baron,” you addressed him upon finding him in his armory.

He looked up from the blade he was sharpening. “Wife.”

“I bring news,” you said, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“Then tell me, before I grow bored of waiting.” He returned to the hunting knife, looking away from you once more.

“I am with child.”

You watched as Feyd-Rautha paused, tilting his head to look at you. “My child?”

“Yes. Who else could it possibly belong to?” You asked, exasperated. “The physicians confirmed it just now. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, looking back at the knife in his hand as he thought. “I see.”

Whatever hopes you had once had for him to suddenly flip his entire personality at the news were quickly dashed by his lack of emotion. You left him there, a hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry, returning to your bed to be alone once more.

-0-

In those earlier days of pregnancy, you were often ill, sprinting from bed to the wash basin nearly every day to be sick. Usually, you were alone; Feyd-Rautha rose early, spending his mornings training and sometimes killing his instructors. Whenever that happened, he would come back, wearing blood and a grin on his face as if he had just won some great contest.

Today, however, he was enjoying a rare occasion of sleeping in. He had begun spending his nights in the center of the bed, crowding you as you attempted to stay away from him. One morning you had even woken up to find his arm throne over you, his body closer than ever. Now, he was sleeping, and you would have been content to let him remain there were you not busy launching yourself over him as you ran to the adjoining wash room.

You missed the way your husband sat up, eyes wide and frenzied as he pulled a dagger from beneath the pillows. When he found the room to be empty and free of danger, he grew confused…until he heard your retching in the next room, and slipped out of bed.

“Wife?” He asked from the doorway.

“What?” You groaned, leaning your cheek on the cool basin.

“…are you alright?”

You sighed. “No, na-Baron, I am not. I mean…I am, I just…”

“You are sick,” he pointed out.

It took every bit of willpower you possessed to swallow down the part of you that desperately wanted to throttle him. “Yes. I am. It’s the pregnancy, the pills from the doctors haven’t been working—“

“This has happened before?” He interrupted.

“Most days, yes,” you felt another wave of nausea coming over you and hunched your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

You never expected to feel a cool hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, nor the feeling of your husband’s chest against your back as he held you.

“Harkonnen women don’t have this problem,” he commented as he held your hair.

It was the least helpful statement he possibly could have made as you vomited once more, and yet it was also quite possibly the best.

“If Harkonnen women have no hair, then what do you pull?” You asked wryly, too ill and too exhausted to hold yourself back.

Feyd-Rautha stared you, unblinking, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “If you are feeling brave, perhaps I will show you one day.”

You let out a laugh as the nausea ebbed, leaning back against him. “Perhaps one day I will finally stop seeing my lunch so many times, and then you can regale me.”

-0-

Your sickness faded as your pregnancy progressed, thankfully, but Feyd-Rautha’s company did not. By the time you were beginning to truly show, he was refusing to leave you alone, demanding your presence wherever he went. As a result, you sat in on many a sparring session, and he made up his mind to abandon the arena until after the baby was born. His sudden change in attitude was shocking; he had never paid so much attention to anything before, and now, his hands were constantly on you.

“I must keep you safe,” he had said when you first asked about it, and had acted as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

You assumed he was protective due to the baby, the precious new heir to the Harkonnen throne. As its vessel, you were afforded some luxuries, but you fully expected that to change after the birth. For now, though, you were content to receive any and all attention your husband saw fit to pay you.

“That went well,” you said one day after the doctor examined you.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Feyd-Rautha growled.

“What do you mean? He’s a doctor,” you laughed, somewhat nervously.

“I did not like it.” His voice was tense.

“I could tell.” You grumbled, dropping your happy façade. He had nearly chased the doctor out of the room, hunting knife in hand. “Examinations are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“No more.”

“But—“

“No more strangers touching you.”

"Doctors help," you protested. "Don't you want your child to be healthy?"

At that, Feyd paused in thought. "...You may have a Harkonnen midwife."

"Because a Harkonnen doctor is too much?" You asked dryly.

He glared at you briefly before looking away towards the door. "Come."

You audibly groaned, one hand on your lower back. "Na-Baron, I am tired. I wish to retire to bed."

He looked back at you, and you caught an expression of distress on his face. "I need to train."

"You train every day."

"Yes." he said it as if it were obvious, but something in his tone suggested more; he made it sound urgent, as if it were something he had to do daily, and missing a single session would be disastrous. "Come."

You heaved a sigh and followed him.

-0-

In the months that followed, your unborn child grew, as did your body. You found yourself becoming large and bloated, your gait slowing as your flexibility waned. New maternity gowns were brought to you, an interesting mix of styles--the flowing, heavy garments of your homeworld meeting the simple, stark aesthetics of Giedi Prime. You found them strange, but at that point, you really didn't care; you would have walked around naked if no one would have stopped you. You spent your days feeling uncomfortable and awkward, with swollen feet and a sore lumbar region. Harkonnen servants brought whatever you needed, and your husband ensured--no, demanded--that all of your food be tasted by someone else while you watched so that there could be no chance of poison passing between your lips.

You wondered if this was simply some aspect of Harkonnen culture that the other Houses weren't aware of or never cared to talk about. Perhaps on a planet as harsh and toxic as Giedi Prime, infertility and infant mortality were more commonplace than the rest of the known universe. Perhaps this possessiveness was common among Harkonnen men, if conception was more difficult for their people.

Whether your theory was correct or not, Feyd-Rautha had certainly become even more attached to you. Not a morning went by when he wasn’t there next to you in bed, and as of late, he had begun waking you up by reminding you exactly how you had ended up like this in the first place. Before your pregnancy, he had acted as though bedding you were a boorish duty he had no choice but to perform; now that you were heavy with child, however, he was more than interested in you physically, constantly touching you with those rough, murderous hands.

You enjoyed the attention, and you enjoyed the way he squeezed and massaged you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t want to break you, you supposed, not right now; after the child arrived, perhaps, but not now. That was a grim thought, and one you had often—what was to come of your after the birth? Would Feyd-Rautha want more children, in case this one died some horrible, brutal, Harkonnen death? Or would you be disposed of, no longer needed after his legacy was secured?

You tried not to dwell on it.

One morning, you roused on your own, without Feyd’s interference. Wondering if he was even still there, you reached out to the side, feeling for him—and you nearly jumped when you felt bare flesh beneath your hand. When you rolled onto your back with considerable effort and turned your head to the side, you saw that your husband was there, still sleeping, and that what you had felt was his exposed chest.

You took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He seemed so peaceful like this, when he wasn’t fighting and killing. You had seen him take lives so quickly that his victims hadn’t even known they had died, and you had wondered how someone could be so dismissive of those around them. The first time you had watched your husband slit a throat, you had nearly vomited, and he had found your revulsion amusing; the most recent, however, you had simply sighed and looked away. You were desensitized, it seemed, just like he was, and now, you slept just as easily after watching him commit horrendous acts of violence as he did now.

Feyd-Rautha was handsome as far as Harkonnens went. His skin was smooth like marble, free of the scars and bruises one might expect to see on a warrior. His face, usually so harsh during the waking hours, was relaxed now, and you realized he was beautiful. You couldn’t keep yourself from brushing your fingers over his lips and feeling how surprisingly soft they were, though in a way, this felt wrong. Feyd-Rautha didn’t strike you as the kind of person who would allow this sort of touch, but when would you have this opportunity again? He always rose first in the morning and slept last at night. You never caught him with his guard down, and you kept your hands to yourself during the day. This was the only time you could marvel at him like this.

As your fingers ghosted across his cheek, he twitched, and you froze. Then, to your horror, an eye cracked open, and you knew that he had been awake all along.

When you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist, then covered your hand in his. He held your gaze for several long, strange moments, and you realized that he hadn’t simply been awake—he had been allowing you to touch his face, to explore him in a way you had never been brave enough to before. It felt like a gift, in a way. In his way.

“I apologize,” you breathed, unable to look away from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep.

“I should not have touched you without permission.”

“I am your husband,” he said. “And you are carrying my child. You do not need permission to touch me.”

Somehow, you knew his words carried a deeper meaning. You knew you were one of, if not the only, one on all of Giedi Prime whom he had said those words to. And for the first time since marrying him, you felt that Feyd-Rautha was truly your husband.

-0-

He was with you when the labor began.

You had been lounging in your shared chambers, enduring the final week of your pregnancy. It felt bittersweet, in a way; you had no way of knowing then if you would ever be experiencing this again, and a part of you desperately wanted to hold onto it while the rest was fed up with feeling massive and uncomfortable every day.

Feyd-Rautha had been agitated all morning. It was as if he had known something was about to happen, and he had spent his time barely containing himself as he paced and sharpened knives, attempting to keep to himself and leave you alone and doing a piss poor job of it. You had been ready to chase him out of the room—or at least attempt to—when you felt your waters go and the panic set in.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, you were in your bed, and a shockingly-diligent Harkonnen na-Baron had yet to leave your side. He had briefly stepped into the corridor to bellow at the nearest passerby and your midwife had arrived very quickly as a result, but after that, he had sat down next to you and refused to go anywhere else.

“Is it agony?” He asked as you stood.

You shot him a glare. “I would not wish this sensation on even you.”

He was taken aback by your tone, impressed, even, by the venom in it.

“A short walk about the room may help,” the midwife suggested. “I will assist—“

“No.” Feyd-Rautha was up and at your side in an instant, taking your elbow. “I will.”

You didn’t care who did what, you just wanted it to be over and done with. The labor was progressing quickly, the midwife assured after another check once you were back in bed, and soon, you were wailing and grunting, your face was sweaty, and the na-Baron was staring in awe. You were focused on the task set before you, one hand on Feyd’s arm as you pushed with all your might, and so you could not see the way your husband was looking at you.

When your son was born and crying at the top of his tiny lungs, Feyd-Rautha cut the umbilical cord with a hunting knife and then he stared. It seemed that the entire time, he was incapable of looking away, his eyes glued to either you or the new Harkonnen heir. You supposed he had been too enthralled to order the midwife out of the room, and the woman was smart enough not to push her luck—she did the necessary examinations as quickly as she could, then handed the baby off to you, busying herself with cleaning what looked like a murder scene and gathering the afterbirth when it came. Then, satisfied with her work and the health of the child, she left, and you were alone with your husband and son.

You cradled the infant, tucking him against your breast and pulling the edge of your robe over him in an attempt to keep him warm. He was born pale, like his father, but with a soft layer of hair that made you wonder how much he might grow to look like you. The midwife had said it before she slipped out, and you had to agree—he was beautiful, and you smiled down at him.

A thud startled you and you turned to see that Feyd-Rautha had fallen to his knees at your bedside, looking at you with a reverence you had never seen in anyone before.

“Feyd?” You asked.

He looked between you and your son, and you saw then that something had changed within him over those many months. Gone was the dismissive, uncaring husband you had wed; this Feyd-Rautha had grown to become a protector, one who would fight until his muscles tore from his bones, who would bleed himself dry for you.

“You are stronger than I knew,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek much the way you had with him all those nights ago.

You felt a lump in your throat. “Come here. Join us.”

He did.

Feyd-Rautha sat with you there, in your bed, the very bed your first child was born in. He watched as your son woke from his peaceful, short nap, and he was privy to the private, intimate moment of his first feeding. He held the baby, staring at him in wonder and what may have been a touch of fear, supporting the both of you as he helped you to the bathing room when you were well enough to stand.

“A son,” he said, watching the baby sleep that night.

“Yes.” You mumbled, exhausted and nearly asleep as well. “Are you pleased, husband?”

“I would have been just as pleased with a daughter.”

That surprised you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him propped up on an elbow, watching your son as he slept in his simple Harkonnen manger. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the child. “I can teach a daughter to fight just as well.” Finally, he looked down at you. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected.” You sighed.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am,” you answered him, sleep already dragging you down.

You barely felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you barely heard his voice as he said,

“I am as well.”

-0-

You had expected Feyd-Rautha to grow cold in the weeks following your son’s birth, but he never had. He was attentive, caring for you in a way that suggested he felt some primal urge to drag back great beasts for dinner every night but modern living prohibited that.

Now, you watched as he stood before one of the massive windows within the Harkonnen palace. It was evening on Giedi Prime, but the black sun casted no shadows over the landscape. Feyd-Rautha held your son, whispering to him, and as you watched, you wished the moment could stretch on forever.

“Husband,” you said, approaching him.

“Wife,” he greeted you, turning.

“On your evening walk together, I see.”

He chuckled. “I am showing him everything he will one day rule over.”

“I am surprised you haven’t taken him into battle with you yet,” you said sarcastically.

“I will strap him to my chest so that he might taste the blood of House Atreides,” he said with a grin.

“The youngest Harkonnen warrior the world has ever seen.” You smiled, leaning in to check on what appeared to be a perfectly happy, albeit possibile bloodthirsty, baby.

“What are you doing walking alone?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“Looking for you.”

“And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?”

You leaned into your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. “Drop the baby off with the wet nurse, seduce you, take you to bed and then have my way with you.”

“You have my attention.”

“I thought you might be interested in trying for a girl this time…”

In a blink, he had spun you around and was dragging you down the corridor, and once the baby was safely tucked in with a nursemaid watching over him, you did indeed have your way with your husband. And again. And again. And you realized, as you retired to bed that night, that you were truly glad to have been arranged to marry Feyd-Rautha, heir to the Harkonnen throne and father of your children.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #TW pregnancy #TW labor and delivery #dune x reader

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alienzil · 2 months

Text

Grandfathered In

There, a job well done. Alfred thought to himself as he put the last grocery bag in the back of the car. Meal planning and shopping for a family as large as his own (and their semi frequent unexpected guests) did take quite a bit of his time but he'd managed to finish a bit early this week.

Alfred was thinking fondly of spending his extra time with a nice cup of tea and a book when he heard a noise from the nearby alley.

He stilled and listened intently. That was the sound of someone in pain. A child in pain if he wasn't mistaken (a sound he would rather he wasn't so familiar with). Well then, the tea would have to wait.

Alfred quietly moved into the alleyway, his hand inside his coat gripping the pistol hidden there. Hurt child or not, it never hurts to be cautious in Gotham.

"Good Heavens!"

There was a boy with pure white hair and bright, barely open, luminous green eyes. He was curled up, partially hidden by the dumpster, clearly barely clinging to consciousness and was oozing bright green blood from a large abdominal wound as well as several smaller cuts and burns.

He approached slowly and held out his hands to try to appear as friendly and non threatening as possible. "You appear to be in a bit of trouble young sir, perhaps I can help?"

The boy nodded weakly and Alfred knelt down and reached to pick him up. Best to get him into the car quickly and make use of his emergency first aid kit to stabilize the boy then get him home for further treatment. The hospital clearly wasn't an option for the young Meta... or alien perhaps? Something to ask once the boy was up to it.

Alfred carefully cradled the child and briskly moved back towards the car. He appeared to be a young teenager but he weighed so little, Alfred almost felt as though he was holding a toddler rather than a teen.

He lay the boy down in the back seat and leaned over to reassure him, gently moving his hair out of his eyes and petting is head in a soothing gesture. "There now, we'll have you right as rain in no time."

"Ha" the injured young Meta tried to laugh. "Might take...some time.. Don't ya think?"

Oh he'd fit right in, Alfred couldn't help thinking. Sassing even as he lay there bleeding. Well, in spirit if not quite the usual appearance, Alfred considered, eyeing the white hair and bright green eyes but-

A bright white suddenly light filled the car. Alfred blinked away the spots from his vision then stared in astonishment at the now black haired, blue eyed boy before him. Well then, fit right in indeed.

*****

Bruce blearily wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table just barely holding in a yawn. He'd been in space on a mission with the Justice League for over 3 weeks and had only just gotten back to Earth in time to crash into bed and get a few hours of sleep before he had to be back up.

He reached for his coffee and looked around the table at his children. Tired as he was, it was good to be home. It even looked like everyone had made it for breakfast, a rare event for their family. Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Damian, Duke and...

"Who's this?" Bruce asked with friendly smile. Did one of his kids make a new friend?

Alfred silently appeared next to him. "That is your son."

"My son?" What was happening? Bruce was too tired for this. He counted again, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Damian, Duke and...he looked closely at the last one. Black hair, blue eyes. Looks like one of his... He had no idea who this child was.

"Your son." Alfred said firmly as he sat some papers next to Bruce's plate.

Bruce looked down. Those were adoption papers.

"Oh. My. God." Stephanie whisper screamed from across the table. "That's where B got the adoption habit from!"

Bruce's attention was diverted from the multiple children trying to shush Stephanie as an uncapped pen was placed in front of him. He looked up as Alfred raised a single eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.

"Right, of course. My son."

He quickly scanned the adoption papers as he signed them then looked over at his latest child.

"Welcome to the family, Danny."

Note: I don't currently have plans to continue this. Anyone can add on if they would like to :-)

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp

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caffeinewitchcraft · 3 months

Text

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

#my writing #second person #you are a blacksmith #found family merges with first family

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sillyblues · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: miguel tells you how annoying you are

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: last and second part of annoying is here!! thank you so much for the huge support yall broke my app my notifications weren’t loading properly lmao THANK YOU! this was supposed to be just a short one but here we are with a part two and a bit bigger word count m’gonna need rest and need more time for the preggo fic

part 1

Wordlessly, you left the team. You returned to your own Earth and did your own thing again. There was a slight tinge of unfamiliarity, knowing that you might never work with other spider people, your friends, again, but you forced the feeling down.

Miguel’s outburst haunted you wherever you went. Even as you fought villains that disturbed the peacefulness of your home, even as you mingled with the other civilians and hung out with your friends, even as you laid down in the comfort of your bed, his words would constantly echo through your head, and they would threaten the fall of your tears every single time.

If Miguel thought you were annoying, what about your other friends? Do they think you were bothersome as well? Maybe, you bitterly thought as you brought your knees to your face. Maybe the civilians don’t like you as well. The thought of the people you treasure and care for so dearly, the people whom you devoted most of your life to save, the people whom you risk getting hurt every day for, hating you, left you breathless.

More tears fell, and you gasped. The ache in your heart was too much to bear and seemed to sting your entire being. You clutched your chest as you laid sideways on your bed, pillows and blanket long scattered on the floor. You tried to muffle your cries, but it was useless, as they still vibrated through the room of your apartment.

Oh, god. Please don’t hate me. Don’t hate me, please. Don’thatemepleasedon’thatemeplease—

“[Name]?” the familiar voice momentarily halted you in your weeping. You slowly rose a bit, supporting yourself on your arm and looked towards the source of it. Peter’s worried look greeted you as he crawled himself out of your window.

“Oh, [Name].” you wavered at his heartbroken voice. He immediately rushed in to hug you. He sat on your bed beside you and embraced you. He rocked you back and forth, one hand on the back of your head that leaned into the crook of his neck, and one hand caressed your back.

“P-Peter, I ca– I can’t,” you hiccupped, and with shaking fingers, you gripped his suit tight. You felt your heart would burst with the way it was beating so fast and hard, ringing in your ears. “I can’t— I can’t breathe.”

“It’s okay, [Name]. I got you. I’m here, okay?” his voice was slightly muffled by the top of your head, but you could still hear him. “I want you to listen to me. Stay with me, yeah?”

You tried your best to respond, but it felt like your body wasn’t listening to you. He pulled back a little and held your face in his hands. You look at his eyes full of undisguised concern overflowing, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hate you too. You gathered what was left of your little strength and nodded weakly.

“Can you tell me three things around your room?” you try to look around as you cling to his arms. You looked away from his eyes and looked around you. Your old lampshade provided you with dim lighting in your dark, cold room. Your messy books were in disarray on the table. You saw a mirror. You saw yourself and how miserable you looked. Your face was wet with tears, and your eyes were red. You also saw how Peter looked at you with such solicitude, and you want to cry all over again.

“Um, lampshade.” You said and winced at the painful scratch in your throat and your hoarse voice. “Books. Mirror.”

“Good job. You did well. Can you move three body parts for me?” you unclasped your hands from his arms and tried to clench and unclench them. You wiggled your head out of his hold, embarrassment starting to creep onto you being seen so sticky and so wet and such a mess. It was fortunate that he understood and he chuckled. You were silent for a moment, and you didn't know what else to move so you settled on headbutting Peter.

“Ow! Of all things, really? Can't believe this is what I get,” he grumbled as he rubbed his forehead. You giggled at his exaggerated expression and unknowingly to you, your tears had stopped flowing, and only hiccups remained.

“Are you feeling better, [Name]? You can talk to me, my shoulder is vacant for you. Or do you want me to just stay quiet? Because yeah, I can do either. Just tell me what to do,” you chuckled even more at that. “I’ll even give you a pass for laughing at me.”

Seeing Peter comfort you like that, there was a sense of relief wash over you. It was obvious he was being genuine with you and if he wasn't, he most likely wouldn't even have the patience to sit with you and let you cry on him.

“It's nothing, um, it's just that,” you sighed as you weakly played with your fingers. The words are lodged in your throat, and you slowly breathe out. He looked at you with encouragement to take it slow, to breathe and you did. “I found out people at the headquarters think I talk too much and they didn’t really like me. Then I made Miguel mad, and I learned how I was annoying him. He probably hates me. And, uh, it got me thinking, what if you and Jess and Hobie think the same way? What if everyone thinks the same way?”

There was an urge to cry again, but it felt like you had cried it all out. There was none left for you to cry anymore.

“Wow, I knew Miguel was all bite and no bark, but I didn’t expect he’d bite that deep. What the hell is wrong with him?” the genuine disbelief made you sputter and chuckle.

“First of all, whoever doesn’t like you is automatically wrong. I mean, who could not like you? You literally make everyone’s day. Jess loves gushing with you about her husband, and Hobie loves talking about how his punk stuff and fighting the literal government which I think it’s really pretty cool of him don’t tell him that he’s going to tell me I should do it as well and I just can’t,” he said. “And I love talking to you because you’re funny and so positive you just know how to make me cheer up. Besides, I’m talking too much now, aren’t I? Always have been. But did you think I was annoying?”

“No! I never once thought you were one.” You replied without a beat.

“Exactly. Us either. Look, [Name], everyone loves you. Trust me when I say that.” He said with confidence and finality that you had no choice but to believe him,

“But, Miguel..”

“He's stupid. I know. Don’t mind what he said because it’s all bullshit anyways.” He grins. “Lyla told me what happened. I’m not taking his side because what he said is just wrong and I get you, you know? Having to hear all of that hurts. But from the bottom of my heart, I think Miguel did not mean what he said. Like, all the pent-up stress got to his head and boom, it suddenly burst out. I’m not saying that it was a valid reason, no. I just wanted to let you know that he doesn’t truly think you’re annoying, you know?”

“Besides, from all the time I knew him, I had never seen him genuinely enjoy his time with someone nor mope so bad when you didn’t come to the headquarters anymore.” He said with a deadpan expression at the end.

“Pfft, really?”

“Yes, really.”

There was a pause, it wasn’t awkward but it made you appreciate him more for coming here for you. He smiled at you and you did too, leaning on his shoulder for support. He hugged you sideways, one arm rubbing the side of your arm and you closed your eyes.

“I missed you, [Name]. We all did.”

“...I missed you all too.”

The decision to come back to the headquarters was a bit hard but you took it slow with Peter’s support. He never rushed you nor forced you to come back which you really appreciated and when you did return, you were sure you didn’t regret it. Jess and Hobie immediately latched onto you, they hugged you tight and told you how much they missed you so bad. They asked you how had you been, if you were alright, if were you hurt, and all that. Seeing their sincere worry for you, you smiled hard enough to hurt your cheeks and slowly you were going back to the old, happy you.

What changed right now was that you avoided Miguel. When you first returned to the headquarters, Miguel was there a bit far away from you. You could feel his earnest gaze at you and you looked at him briefly. The bags underneath his eyes seemed to be bigger and you wonder if he had gotten a bit bigger too. A reminder of his words rang instantly through your head and you breathed deeply silently. You quickly looked away as soon as you laid your eyes on him and that remained true for a couple of weeks.

During the briefing of your missions, he would look at you expectantly as if you would stand beside him like you always did. But you usually stood nearby Hobie who was at the entrance of his office. Sometimes you stood beside Jess and Peter which was a bit near him but not quite so.

“You’re not gonna be near him?” Hobie once asked as he lay down on a flat surface. He nudged his head in Miguel’s direction who was looking at you a couple of times as he talked about the mission details. You smiled bitterly.

“Aight, guess I got more time to catch up with you, huh?” the tip of his lips lifted up, “Wanna leg it and come join the protest in my home?”

“Oh no.” you silently snorted.

“What? It’s fun and we’re doing the right thing, you know.”

“Hobie, are you listening?” Miguel’s voice interrupted you both. You look away, not yet keen on looking at him.

“Yes, big boss. Ears open for you, don’t worry about me,” he stretched his arms before he folded them to lay his head on his clasped fingers. You wondered why he hadn’t called you when you weren’t really listening to him as well. Maybe he targeted Hobie on purpose to make you feel uncomfortable? You bit your lip. No, that can’t be. Peter said Miguel didn’t hate you and you trusted him so despite the voices haunting voices once more, you decided to believe in him.

Sometimes, you two would meet outside the building on his favourite Mexican stand outside the building. Maybe it was a habit formed over the time you knew him that you would buy him his empanadas. Now that you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him just yet, you bought some for yourself. You could not deny that you missed buying his food, only to eat half of it yourself.

“Ah, it’s [Name]! How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!” Mrs. Flores exclaimed as soon as she saw your walking figure towards her. You two have gotten close a bit back then and has since then insisted you to call her ‘Abuela’. “Have you lost weight? You’ve gotten smaller since I last saw you!”

You didn’t think you did but before you could deny she was immediately cooking some empanadas, “Just wait, I’ll cook some for you, okay? No need to pay.”

“Abuela, thank you, but I can’t accept this without payment. Please, let me pay,” you opened your wallet and took some money but she wasn’t having it.

“No! I told you I don’t need any money! Do I look like I need some, huh? Don’t make me angry,” she threateningly pointed her clamps at you. You just sighed, knowing full well that her stubbornness was stronger than any villain you had fought. Suddenly, a figure crept behind you and you paid it no mind, figuring it was some other customer but the voice surprised you.

“Buenas tardes, Señora. Lo de siempre por favor.” You looked at Miguel in reflex. He wore a plain white shirt and trousers and oh, he was so close to you. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something but hesitation dripped from him so you took the opportunity to look away and stepped to your side to create some distance between you.

“Oh, ¿es tú novio, [Name]? ¡Lo sabía! Why didn’t you say so? He’s been the one buying empanadas instead when you were gone.” You choked on your own saliva and embarrassment immediately crept up your cheeks. You coughed it out as she side-eyed you. Miguel was silent and you wonder if he wasn’t going to clear this misunderstanding up.

“You had a fight, didn’t you?”

“No, Abuela, he’s not my boyfriend—”

“He isn’t? ¡Qué hombre más estúpido! Are your eyes not properly working? What are you still waiting for?” she snorted at him. The bubbling noises from the oil fill the silence as you didn’t really know how to respond in this situation.

“Well whatever, you will fix it, won’t you?” she glared at him. In that moment, you felt loved once more and you were starting to truly believe that those who said you were annoying were wrong. You bit your lip. You did not deny to yourself that you were expecting to hear his answer.

“I will.” He replied with such determination and resolution as he looked at you. Your heart throbbed, you saw how much he wanted to fix things right with you and you didn’t know how to feel. Glad? Happy? But you also felt upset at yourself because you almost wanted to smile just because of that and it felt like you were too easy in forgiving him even though he hurt you so much. You quickly dismissed the confusing feelings down and when Abuela gave you the empanadas, you hurriedly slipped some bills while you took the food and almost ran off.

But everything would have to come to an end, including this avoidance of yours of him. You sorted out your thoughts, and your feelings, each day as you avoided him like a plague after numerous encounters because you feared that if you saw him one more time, you would burst out and say things that you didn’t mean like he did.

On the day that you decided to finally stop everything and just talk to him, you were beaten to it by Miguel. You were looking through the windows in the building and stared at the beautiful blue skies and the white clouds that decorated it. The flying cars and the mega train running vertically were like the birds and the beam of sunlight back in your home and you were reminded of the differences you and Miguel had.

“[Name],” his voice was so soft, so unlike the tone he had the day he yelled at you. You admit you had gotten comfortable with the pain you felt since that day that you still wanted to evade his gazes and attempts to reach out to you. But the rational part of you, the one that grew from the pain, knew you had to meet his eyes this time. To let him reach you this time. And so you did. You looked at him, you looked at his eyes that were looking at you so desperately, so hesitatingly.

“Can we talk, please? Just the two of us,” he said but to you, it felt like he pleaded with the way his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw was clenched, awaiting your words that seemed like it would decide his fate.

“Okay,” you breathed out and he did too. The crease on his forehead slowly thinned out and his shoulders moved back. You knew that if someone different saw Miguel like this, they would think he was normal and that he wasn’t acting differently. But you knew better. Despite the tough shell he portrayed, there was a man vulnerable just like you. You just had a soft shell.

You two went to his office and the door closed behind you two. He asked Lyla to not let anyone enter for at least a while so nobody would disturb you both. She saw you and waved brightly at you. She then nodded and finally disappeared.

“Before you say anything, can you honestly answer this one question I have? Just one, please,” you asked him, nerves started to creep onto you and you wanted to look away so bad but you have to search for the truth in his eyes. You have to know his answer to your question.

“Sure, yes. I’ll be honest, I swear.” He promised you.

“Did you ever really think I was annoying? That all I do was nothing but cause trouble for you?”

“Never.”

“Liar.” You were disappointed. You were not as stupid and oblivious as others thought of you. There was a part of yourself that knew that you were bothering them. That you were bothering him. But you couldn’t help it. You cared for him and if talking too much, if bothering him would make him distracted from the grief and the pain he had from Gabriella then you would gladly do it.

“No, I wasn’t lying, [Name]—” you looked away. He couldn’t even be honest with you. Were you that unworthy of honesty? That was all you had asked. You clenched your fist and let your nails dig into your palm. “Listen to me, please.”

You start to walk away.

“[Name], por favor,”

You were nearing the exit.

“I— fuck it, yes! I didn’t like you because you were so annoying. I hated you.” You immediately looked back at him. Disbelief was obvious in your face and tears fell from your eyes. You felt a sense of betrayal at this. If he hated me so much, then why did he let me so close to him? Were you just a show to him? Were you entertaining? He was approaching you and strength had left your legs from the shock at what he said but you remained still.

“I hated the way you talked so much I felt like I was losing a part of myself because I wanted to know more about you and listen to you talk. I hated the way you know so much about me. I felt like you could see through me and I was so scared that you would hate me if you knew what I truly am. I hated the way you cared for me like no other because I cared for you too and I was so terrified to lose you too. I hated the way you’re so reckless, you don’t care if you get hurt as long as it’s for others.” He stopped in front of you and tears were also coming out from his eyes. “I hated the way you captured my whole attention whenever you’re there by my side because I can’t look at anything else anymore. I can’t work properly anymore. I can’t think properly anymore and– and I, oh fuck.”

What?

“You’re so annoying because you distract me so much. I hated you because I fell for you and you’re all I could think about and I just don’t know anymore,” he shakily breathed out. His figure was so big but at this moment, you felt like he was so small. His tears ran continuously like a furious stream and you were sure yours were too.

“When you left, it didn’t feel right anymore. I missed you talking to me. I missed you eating my food. I missed you annoying me. I missed you so much it hurts.” His voice turned hoarse and you finally moved. You caressed your hand on his cheeks and he leaned his face against your touch. “Lo siento, [Name]. I really am. Es la verdad, por favor créeme. Por favor…”

“Are you stupid? Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried out as you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tight. But you couldn’t really blame him. Because he was the same as you. Despite his flying cars and vertical running train and your birds and beam of sunlight, there was still the same blue sky and white clouds. Despite his tough shell and your soft one, you two were just as vulnerable as the other.

“I’m sorry, don’t hate me please…” he croaked out and gripped onto your suit tight. You leaned back a bit to hold his face in your palms. His face was wet, his hair was a mess, and he looked so haggard. You lean your forehead against his.

“I don’t, I promise. I could never hate you and I hate you for it as well,” you giggled amidst your tears.

Really, he was such a stupid man and you were so annoying.

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#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐#spiderverse 2 #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv angst

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suguann · 2 months

Text

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside.

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in.

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink.

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake.

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day.

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp.

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago.

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth.

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t.

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies.

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand.

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both.

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer.

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all.

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put.

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments.

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on.

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach.

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play.

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water.

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times.

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here.

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

#.things i write #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod smut #cod fic #cod x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #cod

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taeghi · 4 months

Text

silver spoons | (m)

🦢 summary : in the shadows of old money elites, you've always felt like an outsider amidst the glimmer of silver spoons and whispered secrets. raised by hardworking parents on society's fringes, opulence seemed a distant dream until a scholarship to Sterling Academy opens the your dream's doors. there, amidst the marble halls and manicured lawns, you encounter jake, the enigmatic heir of one of the oldest and wealthiest families who lets you in in all the high society secrets. just be careful to not indulge in their world too much; since once you are an outsider, you are always an outsider.

🦢 genre : old money, angst, smut ;D

🦢 pairing : scholarship girl x old money!jake

🦢 word count : 29,400

🦢taglist : @criminalyun @hzorpheu @jjklvr9 @yeorns @lhspeachie @hizhu @iikeustar @eloelooo @kookify @meujaeyun @minniejenseo @ak-aaa-li @cha0thicpisces @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @jaeyunluvr @syl-vb @hallaween23 @strxwbloody @nikitaxlee @lhsthinkr @flowerlvrs-blog @willysblog @enhabooks @heeverseblog @skzenhalove @hotsforikeu @sweetlikesugarvenom-fm @tiziamattaga @angelhyj @sunwoniie @hoonmyluv @m3chigo @yunhoswrldddd @kirinaa08 @yongbokified @woniebae @seonghwaexile @missychief1404 @jaklvbub @jaehoonii @koralira-kira @aespie @fakeuwus @jjongsha @suzyhhj @m3chigo @kgneptun @shiningnono @itgirlalisaa @notevenheretbh1 @astralis-is-typing

mdNi

you grew up in the small town nestled right next to Sterling Academy. If you looked out your bedroom window, you could see it amongst the rolling hills in the distance. each fall, as the crimson hues of autumn paint the landscape, the streets come alive with the arrival of students. you’ve seen their parents’ sleek cars glide effortlessly down the winding roads, their polished exteriors reflecting the golden light of the meadows that surrounds the building. limousines and fancy cars, symbols of privilege and prestige, carrying people whose lives seem worlds apart from your own.

your parents were extremely hardworking in your small town. your father was a miner in the mines that were only a few towns over. your mother was a skilled artisan who made all the handmade goods for the people of your town.

you’ve always felt like an outsider from the world of opulence and excess that was just next door to you. while others reveled in the grandeur of the academy and luxurious lifestyles, you remained on the sidelines, a silent observer of a world that seemed to tantalizing out of reach.

you knew that even though there was a small flicker of hope, a glimmer of possibility, that you would be able to live a life similar to the students of Sterling Academy, you would never be one of them. though you dreamed of walking the hallowed halls of the academy, of rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful, of finally belonging to a world that had always seemed just beyond your grasp.

but for now, you remain on the outskirts of Sterling Academy. a silent observer that watches as the seasons and students come and go. as your town remains the same everyday with the same people. you let yourself cling to the hope that one day you’ll be able to be like students who go to the prestigious academy.

during summer, you always found yourself in the garden. surrounded by the rustle of leaves and the sweet flower scent. your hands were always stained with earth and your eyes were determined to finish the garden work you had set up for yourself.

“y/n,” your mother’s voice called out from behind you, soft but still manages to surprise you.

“oh my god, mom you scared me.” you smiled up at her, your hand on your chest. you could instantly tell that your mom was overly excited about something. your dad stood beside her, matching her twisted grin. “what?”

“we have some good news,” your dad grinned, his voice buoyant with joy as he pulled something from behind his back. your heart skipped a beat with anticipation.

“you got accepted into Sterling Academy!” your mother blurted out, her words tumbling forth like a rush of wind.

“what?” you exclaimed, immediately standing up from your position on the ground. you didn’t bother to rub off the dirt on your hands as you grabbed the paper from your dads hands.

sure enough, written on the paper were the words:

Dear Y/n Y/l/n,

It is with great pleasure that we extend our congratulations to you on your acceptance to Sterling Academy this fall through our prestigious scholarship program. We are thrilled to offer you this opportunity to join our esteemed community of scholars. Please see attached for further details inquiring about your tuition coverage, academic requirements and any additional resources available.

Warm regards,

Admissions Committee

Sterling Academy

“but, i don’t understand,” you shook your head at your parents, “i didn’t apply to their scholarship program.”

“we know,” your mother nodded, “we did for you.”

“what? why?”

“because we know how much you’ve always wanted to go there, y/n!” your dad spoke and you could hardly believe what you were hearing.

it’s as if time stands still, your small town around you fading into a blur as you grapple with the news. and then, with a surge or emotion that threatens to overwhelm you, you leaped into your parents’ arms. wrapping their bodies close to your own.

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” you kept repeating to them as they laughed and hugged you back.

there were so many emotions crashing over you at once, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. you don’t feel the tears starting to well up in your eyes, spilling over down your cheeks until your mother asks you why you are crying. but it’s a silent testament to the depth of your gratitude and disbelief.

you were so excited that you hardly sleep the night before you started school at Sterling Academy. despite the heavy weight of exhaustion pressing down upon your eyelids, sleep eludes you, slipping through your grasp like the seeds of petunias you had planted earlier this year. restless thoughts swirl through your mind, a tempest of anticipation and nerves that refuse to be quieted. you toss and turn in bed, seeking refuge from the ceaseless torrent of doubts and fears that threaten to engulf you.

with trembling hands, you check and recheck your bags, ensuring that you haven’t forgotten anything essential for your first day at Sterling Academy.

but no matter how many times you run through the checklist in your mind, a nagging sense of doubt lingers, a whisper of insecurity that refuses to be silenced. it's as if the weight of tomorrow's expectations hangs heavy in the air, casting a pall over your thoughts and clouding your vision of what lies ahead.

the memory of how you finally drifted into sleep the night before eludes you, lost amidst the whirlwind of anticipation and nerves that swept through your mind. but now, as you stand outside Sterling Academy, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the imposing facade of the building, you find yourself filled with a sense of anxiousness and determination.

your parents stand by your side, their presence a reassuring anchor amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces that surrounds you. as you approach the entrance to Sterling Academy, a rush of excitement courses through your veins. the grandeur of the building looms before you like a fortress, its towering spires reaching skyward as if to touch the heavens.

the ivy-clad walls, weathered by time, stand tall against the blue sky, casting shade over the lush greenery that surrounds the building. a row of neatly trimmed bushes lines the path leading to the entrance, their emerald leaves rustling in the breeze. in the center of the courtyard, a fountain glistens in the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters cascading down tiers of stone. as you draw nearer to the entrance, the intricate details of the building come into focus. gothic arches adorn the windows, their elegant curves reminiscent of a bygone era of grandeur and opulence.

you couldn’t believe that you were standing directly in front of the building you had only ever seen from your window.

as you walk down the grand hallway with your parents, their expressions a mix of pride and apprehension, you can't help but feel a sense of wonder wash over you.

the walls are adorned with paintings, their colors vibrant against the rich tapestries and flickering candles. the scent of polish lingers in the air, mingling with the soft glow of chandeliers that cast intricate patterns on the marble floors below. you had thought before that you’d only ever get to see this place in pictures.

"this place is incredible," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you take in the grandeur of your surroundings.

finally, you find your room, the number ‘42’ etched in brass shining brightly against the dark wood. with trembling hands, you insert the key into the lock and turn it, the click of the mechanism echoing through the hallway. as the door swings open, you're greeted by a sight that takes your breath away. the room is bathed in soft light, streaming in through the tall windows that overlook the courtyard below. twin beds sit across from each other against separate walls, their crisp white linens inviting and pristine. a mahogany desk and matching chair occupy each corner, while a cozy reading nook with plush armchairs beckons from another.

as your parents stand before you, their expressions a mix of pride and bittersweetness, you feel a lump form in your throat. the weight of their impending departure hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room that was once filled with excitement and anticipation.

"we'll miss you, sweetheart," your mother says, her voice soft with emotion.

your father nods in agreement, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "but we know you'll do great here," he says, his voice steady despite the emotion that lingers just beneath the surface.

you pull them both into a tight embrace, clinging to them as if afraid to let go. the scent of your mother's perfume and the warmth of your father's embrace envelop you like a cocoon, offering a fleeting sense of comfort in the face of impending separation.

with one final squeeze, you release them from your grasp, watching as they turn and make their way to the door, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.

as the door clicks shut behind them, you're left alone in your new surroundings. you lay back on the bed, the soft mattress beneath you so different from your bed at home.

as the door to the dorm room swings open, a girl strides in with purpose, her arms laden with bags that she unceremoniously drops to the floor with a thud. she barely spares you a glance as she begins to unpack her belongings, her movements efficient and methodical.

"hi there!" you chirp, mustering up a cheerful tone despite the girl's indifferent demeanor.

"hi," she mumbles in response, her voice flat and devoid of enthusiasm.

you watch her for a moment, noting the tension in her shoulders and the furrow of concentration on her brow. there's a sense of guardedness about her that you pick up on.

with a sigh, you resign yourself to the awkward silence that hangs between you, that you aren’t sure if only you feel. but as you watch her unpack her things from your spot on the bed, you can’t help but wonder about your new roommate.

she carries herself with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to being the center of attention, yet there's a subtle tension in her demeanor. her long hair cascades down her back in waves, framing her face like a curtain of silk. a brown plaid headband sits atop her head, adding a touch of preppy sophistication. she wears a white blouse that fits her frame, its sleeves rolled up to reveal slender wrists adorned with delicate gold bracelets. a brown, plaid skirt matches her headband and tucks in her blouse. tt's as if she carries herself with a sense of quiet authority, a reminder of the privilege and power that comes with her old-money upbringing.

as suddenly as the girl appears, she quickly disappears. throwing her empty bags into a pile on the floor before she’s opening and closing the door, her long hair blowing as she slams it shut after her.

left alone again in your room, you huff and decide that it’s time to unpack.. you hadn’t thought your first encounter with your roommate would be so dull and brief. but what could you do? maybe you just weren’t as used to the rich lifestyle as you imagined.

with your packing finally complete, a pang of hunger gnaws at your stomach, reminding you that it was almost dinner time.

you realize that you had no idea where the dining hall was once you step outside your dorm room. but decided to follow the crowds of students that are talking and walking together in the same direction. you easily fall into step behind them, anxiousness building up in your empty stomach.

but as you round a corner and catch sight of the dining hall up ahead, a wave of relief washes over you.

you step into the dining hall, the glow of chandeliers casting patterns of light and shadow across the room. large windows line one wall, allowing the soft light of dusk to filter in and bathe the space in a golden hue. the flickering flames of candles add to the cozy ambiance, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

the room has four long rows of tables, each adorned with pristine white tablecloths and gleaming silverware. plates are neatly arranged in front of each chair, awaiting the arrival of hungry students eager to partake in the evening meal.

at the front of the room, a long table sits perpendicular to the rows of tables, its surface adorned with an array of decadent dishes and platters. older adults, probably some staff or professors, are seated around the table, engaged in conversation.

you stand at the entrance, not knowing what to do next.

a man with a scowl etched on his face suddenly appears beside you, his tall figure looming over you. aAre you new?" he grumbles, his voice low and gruff.

"uh, yes sir," you reply, feeling a pang of nervousness at his stern demeanor.

"what year are you in?" he demands, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"second year," you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

the man lets out a sigh similar to an annoyed huff. "second years sit at the second table from the left," he instructs, pointing towards a table where some students are already seated.

"thank you, sir," you mumble gratefully, relief flooding through you as you follow his directions.

you settle into a seat at the back of the table, closer to the entrance doors, where the light spills in from the hallway. The shiny silverware catches your eye, gleaming under the soft glow of the chandeliers above. you reach out tentatively, running your fingers along the smooth surface of the plate before you.

your reflection stares back at you, crisp and clear on the plate. It's a strange sensation, seeing yourself mirrored in such opulent surroundings. you've never encountered plates and forks so expensive before, you were nervous to touch the spoons.

someone suddenly plops down beside you with a perky "hi!" you turn in shock to see a girl flashing you a bright smile. her presence radiating an air of elegance and sophistication that fits perfectly with all the other students you’ve seen.

she has flawless porcelain skin that seems to glow under the soft lighting of the dining hall. her eyes, framed by long lashes, sparkle with warmth and friendliness as she greets you. long, silky hair cascades down her back in gentle waves, adding to her ethereal aura.

despite her glamorous exterior, there's a genuine warmth to minju that puts you at ease.

“i’m minju.” the girl smiles at you, her eyes turning into upside smiles as she does so.

“hi, i’m y/n.”

“ooh, i like that name! but i don’t think we’ve ever met, right?”

you shake your head no, “no, i’m new.”

minju gasps loudly, her hands reaching out to grab your forearm, “oh my god! no way! what school did you go to before?”

“uh, woodcrest springs.”

minju pouts, her pretty features not affected, “i’ve never heard of that one before. how much is tuition?”

you want to smile at her question, but you know she’s being serious. “nothing, i went to public school.”

minju’s jaw drops like you’ve told her the secret to the end of the world. you expect her to get up and walk away from you. but you’re surprised that she stays put, her pretty smile returning to her pretty face.

“really? i’ve never met someone who’s gone to public school before. what’s it like?”

you can hardly believe her words. but you know that her seemingly level of elegance didn’t come from someone who hung out with public school kids all her life. before you can answer her, someone sits down from across you both. you instantly notice that it’s your roommate.

“oh my god, heejin! this is y/n, she went to public school.!” minju nods with a smile as she informs your roommate, heejin, about you.

heejin props her chin on her hand as she glances from minju to you and then back to minju, simply shrugging at minju’s words.

minju tsks from beside you and then turns to you again, “y/n, this is heejin– we’re best friends.”

you make an ‘O’ shape with your mouth as you let out an acknowledgment, “yeah, i met her earlier, we’re roommates.”

“what?” minju’s voice yelled, causing you to jerk in surprise, everyone in the room looking your way except for heejin who seems to be use to minju’s loudness. “heejin, you didn’t tell me you met your roommate.” minju’s voice comes out in a whine.

heejin shrugs again, looking at her freshly painted manicure, “didn’t come up.”

minju pouts at her answer.

“right, we didn’t exactly, talk, the last time we saw each other.” you spoke awkwardly, remembering how heejin barely looked your way.

“i don’t exactly talk to anyone.”

“except for me!” minju sing songs beside you, smiling at heejin who only quirks her eyebrow as she looks at her supposed best friend. minju places her hand against your forearm again, “don’t mind heejin, she’s just mad that we aren’t roommates this year.”

embarrassment suddenly fills you with her words, finally finding out why heejin was so cold to you. “o-oh, i’m sorry, can we change rooms? because you can happily take min-.”

minju laughs, “no no, it’s a new policy that we can’t pick our own roommates,” she pouts, “but this will be fun! we’ll get closer and become friends! right heejin?” you and minju turn to look at heejin, who forces a fake smile and nods to please minju.

a man's voice suddenly booms through the dining hall, drawing your attention away from your meal. you glance up to the front of the room and see a figure clad in a fresh, black suit standing at a podium in front of the tables.

the dining hall has become full, not one table spot is empty across all four tables. the students murmurs fade into silence to listen to the man.

the man steps forward, his voice commanding attention as he introduces himself. "good evening, students. I'm dean kinglsey,"

a collective murmur ripples through the crowd as dean kinglsey begins to outline the rules for the year. "firstly," he declares, "there will be no roommate changes allowed. you've been assigned your roommates for the duration of the term."

"secondly," dean kinglsey continues, "there will be no boys in the girls' dorms, and no girls in the boys' dorms. this rule is non-negotiable."

a wave of groans washes over the students, accompanied by a few muttered complaints.

"thirdly, starting tomorrow, everyone must wear their uniforms,"

"and lastly," dean kinglsey concludes, "we have a three-strike policy. if you break any of these rules three times, you will be expelled. in addition, be sure to be at class on time or you will be served detention if you do not have a late note."

"remember," dean kingsley's voice softens slightly, a hint of warmth infusing his tone, "while rules are important, so is enjoying your time here. have a safe school year, students. keep up with your academics, but don't forget to make memories along the way."

he pauses, letting his words sink in before concluding, "now, I urge you all to have a good dinner and get plenty of rest. tomorrow is a new day, filled with endless possibilities. make the most of it." with a final nod, Dean Kingsley steps away from the podium.

suddenly, a dozen servers emerge from the kitchen, each carrying an array of tantalizing dishes. they begin placing plates atop the already gleaming silverware adorning your table. the food before you is definitely the most luxurious in both appearance and aroma that you have ever seen. there’s vibrant vegetables and delicate garnishes on the plates, something your parents never did.

from the table behind you, a voice calls out heejin’s name, drawing both of your attention. you turn to see a boy from the third year's table, a smirk playing on his lips as he addresses her.

"how was your summer?" he asks, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. then, with a sly grin, “did you finally perfect your resting bitch face?”

heejin’s expression darkens, her features contorting into a scowl as she shoots the boy a glare.

“heeseung, eat your food.” minju whines out to the boy.

“yeah heeseung, eat your food before i knock out your teeth.”

heeseung grins at heejin’s answer before turning around so his back is to you guys again.

“who was that?” you ask them, shocked by how rude he was.

heejin groans from across you at your question.

“lee heeseung,” minju speaks, “heejin’s brother.”

“half brother.” heejin clarifies before stuffing her mouth with her fork.

“right,” minju nods, “half brother.”

from the corner of your eye, you catch the dining hall door open, the heads of the sitting students turn subtly in the direction of it. all of them watching a boy who saunters in late. the loud chatter then mixes with whispers as the boy approaches the tables. he moves with nonchalant as he’s dressed in the most casual attire you’ve seen today.

he approaches the tables and casually greets heeseung behind heejin who could care less about the boy who has everyones head turning. with a nod, heeseung gestures for a guy at your table to move so the boy could sit there instead. there’s a grunt of protest from the other guy, but he begrudgingly moves to sit closer to the front.

the boy sits down into the seat so he’s diagonally back to back with heeseung. the boy shakes his head at heeseung, his voice is low when he murmurs, “you didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“what?” heeseung reaches to grab the boy on the shoulder, “c’mon jake, i haven’t seen you all summer. you don’t want to sit close to me?”

the boy– jake, rolls his eyes at heeseung before he picks up the fork in front of him to eat.

from across the table, you feel a shift in the atmosphere, a gentle tug of awareness that draws your gaze to meet jake’s. his soft brown eyes, warm and mysterious, lock with your own, and for a moment, the bustling chatter of the dining hall fades into the background. you find yourself unable to look away from his gaze, by the silent exchange of curiosity passes between you.

his features are illuminated by the soft glow of the room. you notice the gentle curve of his plush, pink lips, sealed tight in a quiet contemplation as he returns your gaze with unwavering intensity.

minju's hand wraps around your arm again, her grip firm yet strangely comforting as she leans in closer. "so, where are you from?" she asks, her words tumbling out in a rapid stream before you have a chance to respond. without waiting for an answer, she launches into a litany of cities she's lived in, her voice a blur of names and memories.

your gaze drifts involuntarily to jake, seated across the table, but his attention is elsewhere. his eyes remain fixed on his plate, his expression unreadable as if you've become invisible to him in that moment.

as minju continues to recount her experiences, you struggle to focus on her words, your mind wandering back to the boy across the table. there's a sense of longing in his silence, a quiet intensity that leaves you yearning to learn more. and as you try to listen to minju's stories, a part of you can't help but wonder more about who this jake boy is.

midway through your breakfast on the first day of classes, as you sit with heejin, minju and minju’s roommate, your attention is drawn to the entrance of the dining hall. a hush falls over the room as jake and a group of boys make their way inside, their presence commanding attention as heads turn in their direction.

you can't help but notice the curious glances and whispered conversations that fill through the room at the sight of jake. there's an undeniable aura of mystery surrounding him, a silent intrigue that seems to follow him wherever he goes.

as you watch from afar, you can't shake the feeling that there's more to jake than meets the eye. and as the buzz of conversation resumes around you, you can’t focus on heejin’s story of her summer vacation in the maldives.

“that’s jake.” minju’s voice speaks from beside you. the mention of his name makes you rip your eyes away from him and onto your new friend instead. her and lia laugh at your shocked expression while heejin only quietly smirks. “you think he’s cute?”

“what? no.” you shake your head, hoping your cheeks don’t go bright red. “it’s just, why does everyone stop and look at him all the time? and whisper?” you notice how all three of the girls seemingly give each other knowing looks that you can’t understand. minju sighs from beside you before she speaks again.

“jake is a year older than us, but last year, he failed a bunch of classes.”

lia nods, “yeah, and then he got three strikes,” her tone grave, “so he was expelled.”

“he should be expelled.” heejin mumbles into her cereal.

you can’t help but ask the obvious question, “so if he should be expelled, why is he here and sitting at the second-year table?”

“well that’s the thing, he shouldn’t be here,” lia remarks, her voice tinged with a hint of disbelief.

minju nods in agreement, chiming in with her own observation. "yeah, you heard dean kingsley, they are very strict with the three-strike policy," she adds, her tone somber.

"but," lia continues, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, "there are rumors about how jake's mom hooked up with the dean so jake wouldn't get expelled."

“what? that’s not what i heard.” minju pouts at lia.

“what? what did you hear?” lia tilts her head in confusion.

“i heard,” heejin says from her corner, “that jake’s mom let dean kingsley stay in their monaco mansion for the summer.”

“yeah!” minju nodded excitedly, “that’s what i heard, too!”

at their rumours, you glance over at jake who’s stood beside the third year table, talking to a group of boys. his face is expressionless as he watches his friends converse amongst each other. the rumors of why he didn't get expelled only fuel your curiosity about him.

“what did he do to get three strikes?” you ask the group of girls. the three of them hold back their laughs, shaking their heads as they continue to eat. “what? c’mon tell me.”

“what didn’t he do?” lia speaks sarcastically.

minju laughs as she turns to look at you, “well one strike was from when he rearranged all of dean kingsley’s furniture in the middle of the night.”

“what?” you ask in disbelief.

“yeah, he put his couch in front of the door so he couldn’t even open it from the hallway.” lia smirked at the memory.

“the second strike was when him and his friends, like heeseung, snuck food out from the kitchen and had a whole feast in the library at midnight.” minju told you, explaining that all the books on the shelf had ketchup on them.

“then, third one, which jake insists he didn’t do,” lia put her hands up, “was spray paint the entire courtyard, the fountain was gushing rainbow coloured water.”

“but what really got him expelled was that he had failed all his classes.” lia stated, “which is weird because he used to be the top of the class during first year.”

you go back into silence as lia and minju start to complain about the uniforms you have to wear. you couldn’t care to complain about the uniform you had always dreamed of wearing. but you also couldn’t stop thinking about jake. his seemingly calm presence was so different from the troublemaker the girls had explained to you. you didn’t understand how the quiet, almost lonely looking boy could have been practically expelled.

the bell rings, signaling that classes are about to start, making you forget about jake for the time being and worry about not getting lost in the long hallways.

but of course you still rush down the hallway, your footsteps echoing against the polished floors, you curse under your breath, knowing you're already late for your first class. pushing open the door, you find the room hushed and all eyes turn to you. your teacher's stern gaze meets yours.

"and what's your name?" she demands sharply.

"Y/N Y/L/N, i'm new," you respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

"well, mrs. Y/L/N, are you going to be late every day? because then you'll be quickly given three strikes," she warns, her tone firm.

"no, mrs.," you murmur, feeling the weight of her disapproval.

with a curt nod, she gestures for you to find a seat, the unspoken threat of consequences lingering in the air as you settle in, determined not to make the same mistake again. “consider this your first and final warning then, mrs y/l/n.”

head bowed, you try to blend into your seat, the flush of embarrassment still staining your cheeks as the teacher launches into the lesson. But just as you start to relax, the door creaks open once more, and your heart skips a beat when you see jake slip in.

"mr. sim, late on your first day?" the teacher's voice is sharp, cutting through the classroom.

"yes, mrs., sorry," jake mumbles, his tone subdued.

"don't say sorry to me, it's your parents who you will have to say sorry to when you're expelled. next time you are late, i'll give you a strike. go and sit down," the teacher retorts, her tone firm and uncompromising.

you can't help but steal a glance at jake as he retreats to a seat, noticing the flicker of annoyance in his eyes before he lowers his gaze, mirroring your own discomfort. he's in his school uniform, but there's an air of rebellion about him—the tie around his neck slightly too loose for the dean’s liking. his hair is tousled, like he had just gotten out of bed. but it was refreshing to see since everyone else was too pristine and perfect looking.

you shift once he settles into the seat diagonally behind you. with a quick glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet his unexpectedly. though strangely, neither of you can look away. it's only when the sharp sound of the teacher slamming a textbook down on her table jolts through the classroom that your eyes retreat, returning to the safety of your desk.

you tell yourself to ignore jake's presence and listen to the teacher. your scholarship would not allow you to be distracted this year. you remind yourself of the importance of focusing on your studies, of making the most of this opportunity that your parents had worked so hard to provide. as much as curiosity tugs at your thoughts, you force your attention back to the front of the classroom, where the teacher's voice drones on about the subject matter.

after what felt like an eternity of being lost in the halls of sterling academy during the first week of school, you had thought you had learnt your way around. but once again, you found yourself rushing through the labyrinthine halls of sterling academy, trying desperately to get to class. once you find your english literature class again, you take a moment to catch your breath, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable reprimand from your teacher.

pushing open the door, you stepped into the classroom, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. all eyes turned to you as you made your entrance, the weight of their scrutiny heavy upon you.

the teacher, a stern-looking figure with a stack of papers in hand, fixed you with a disapproving glare. "and what excuse do you have for being late this time, miss y/l/n?" she inquired, her voice tinged with annoyance.

you offered a sheepish smile, feeling the weight of your tardiness pressing down upon you. "i-i'm sorry, ma'am," you stammered, struggling to find the right words. "i got lost again."

the teacher's expression softened slightly, though her disapproval remained evident. "very well, miss y/l/n," she conceded, her tone stern. "but let this be the last time. we don't tolerate tardiness here at sterling academy. now sit down, people have already picked their partners for the project."

you nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment wash over you. taking your seat, you looked around the classroom, noticing that everyone has in fact found a partner.

just as you were about to accept the fact that you would have to do the project alone, the door swung up again. just like last week, jake walked into english literature late. his tie was even looser this week.

“mr sim!” your teacher called his name in disappointment. “have you really not learnt your lesson from the previous year! you must be in class on time!”

jake was out of breath when he spoke, “i’m sorry mrs, i am, i ran here.”

your teacher sighed over her shoulder, making eye contact with you before she spoke to jake again, “fine, one hour detention tonight, no strike. but you’ll have to partner with the other tardy student, mrs y/l/n.”

a jolt of surprise courses through you at the mention of your name, your heart quickening in your chest. you feel a sudden rush of nervousness, unsure of what to expect as you await jake's response.

across the room, jake's gaze flickers to yours, his expression unreadable. for a moment, the world seems to stand still as your eyes meet, an unspoken tension hanging in the air between you.

then, with a simple nod to the teacher, jake begins to make his way over to where you're sitting. you watch him approach, his movements fluid and deliberate, a sense of quiet confidence exuding from him.

before you know it, he's standing beside you, his presence looming large in your peripheral vision. his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

without a word, jake takes the empty seat beside you. you find yourself holding your breath, the air thick with anticipation as you wait for him to speak. but instead of saying anything, jake simply offers you a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning his attention to the task at hand. as the teacher begins to outline the details of the project.

after the class ends, the echo of the bell fading into the background, you gather your belongings as the rest of the students file out of the room.

out of the corner of your eye, you see that jake is still standing beside you.

when he speaks, he cuts straight to the chase, his voice calm yet direct. "when will you be able to finish your part of the project?" he asks, his gaze steady as it meets yours.

caught slightly off guard by his straightforwardness, you stumble over your words for a moment "uh, pretty quickly."

a faint nod of approval is his response, his expression unreadable as he takes in your answer. "good, i want the project done as soon as possible." he says simply, his words carrying a weight of expectation that hangs in the air between you.

with that, jake turns on his heel and strides out of the classroom, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. you watch him go, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.

later in the week as you walk back to your dorm with minju and heejin, the day's events behind you, minju drops a bombshell that sends a jolt of surprise through your system. "oh, by the way, y/n, jake sim asked me what your dorm number is today."

"what? why?" you blurt out, unable to conceal the shock in your voice.

minju, ever nonchalant, shrugs in response. "i don't know, he was probably just curious."

"curious about what?" you press, your curiosity piqued and your mind racing with possibilities.

"maybe he wants to ask you to the semi-dance!" minju suggests with a mischievous glint in her eyes, shaking your arm in excitement.

"he definitely does not," you retort, dismissing the notion outright.

however, heejin interjects with her usual monotone delivery, "well, I think you're gonna have to ask him what he wants."

"why's that?" you question, genuinely perplexed by their cryptic comments.

bBecause he's currently leaning against our door," heejin deadpans, her annoyance evident in her tone. when you look up towards your dorm down the hall, the sight confirms her words. there's jake, casually leaning against your door, engrossed in a textbook.

as you draw closer to your dorm room, jake's eyes flick up from his textbook, locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. heejin strides past him without so much as a word, she lets the door swing shut behind her with a resounding slam.

meanwhile, Minju greets jake with her trademark bubbly tone, seemingly unfazed by the abrupt intrusion.

"hi, jake! what’re you doing here?" she chirps, her enthusiasm in stark contrast to heejin's personality. your gaze shifts between the two of them, caught between curiosity and apprehension.

jake smiles the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him as he looks down at minju. “y/n and i are partners for a project.”

minju gasps, “what? y/n you didn’t tell me that!” you shrug in response, feeling awkward in between them. “what class?”

“english literature.” jake replies before he looks at you. “do you want to meet at the library tomorrow?”

you unexpectedly look between minju and jake. minju’s bright smile is gleaming in between you and jake. “uh, sure.”

with a subtle nod of approval, jake begins to retreat down the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. you and minju watch in silence as he gradually recedes from view.

minju's cheerful voice pierces the quiet, "bye, jake!" she calls out, her tone infused with genuine warmth as she waves after him with unabashed enthusiasm. jake offers a brief wave in return, a fleeting gesture, before continuing on his way without looking back.

left alone in the hallway with minju you couldn’t help but question if you were grateful or not for being late to class yesterday.

as you bid farewell to minju and step into your dorm room, you find heejin lounging on her bed. with a sigh, you begin to remove your jewelry, catching heejin's reflection in the mirror as she watches you. her eyes meet yours, and she offers a pointed remark, "don't get too obsessed with jake sim."

you scoff lightly, surprised by her blunt comment. "what? i'm not obsessed with him," you retort, feeling a touch defensive.

heejin raises an eyebrow skeptically, her expression unreadable. "right, so what's with that dazed expression on your face?" she counters, her tone teasing yet observant.

glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you notice a hint of preoccupation lingering in your features. frowning slightly, you shake your head in denial. "i'm not obsessed with jake sim, heejin," you insist, trying to convince both her and yourself.

heejin lets out a noncommittal murmur, her response dismissive as she rolls over in bed. "whatever," she mutters under her breath, signaling an end to the conversation as she turns away.

you brush off heejin's words, convinced that she doesn't understand your intentions. her comment about jake sim doesn't sit well with you, but you push it aside. after all, you're not here at sterling academy to obsess over a boy who almost got expelled last year. you're here to focus on your studies and make the most of your education. jake may be intriguing, but he's not the reason you're here. you remind yourself of the countless hours of hard work and dedication that brought you to this prestigious academy.

with that final thought, you decide it's time to call it a night. tomorrow is a new day, and with it, a project to work on with jake sim.

you feel your nerves mix around as you wait for jake to arrive. the library is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of papers and the soft hum of the air conditioning. you glance around, noting the rows of bookshelves and the sunlight filtering in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor.

you tap your pen on the book you’ve been assigned to read. the red nail polish on your fingers serves as a reminder of your nervous habit of picking at your nails when you're stressed. you make a mental note to stop, but find yourself doing it unconsciously as you wait. the color matches the red on the book cover of ‘Rebecca’ by daphne du maurier.

you startle when jake suddenly appears beside you, his simple greeting catching you off guard. pulling your fingers away from each other, you look up to find him standing there, wearing his school uniform with his tie slightly loose. you note that his hair looks more brushed today, a small detail that doesn't go unnoticed.

quietly, you return his greeting with a simple "hi," your voice barely above a whisper. as he sits down across from you, you feel a sense of tension dissipating,

jake pulls out his copy of "Rebecca" and asks if you've read the book.

you nod, a simple "yeah" slipping from your lips. you always have a lack of words when jake speaks to you.

his gaze meets yours, a silent question lingering in his eyes, “when?”

you give a nonchalant shrug, “last year or something."

there's a flicker of something in jake's expression, almost like he's impressed, but he quickly masks it with a casual shrug. he pulls out his laptop from his backpack and sets it on the table.

“have you read it?”

jake nods immediately, “yeah, my dad used to read it to me when i was younger.”

you don’t say anything at the mention of his dad. but you realize that your friends have only ever told you about jake’s mom. not necessarily respectable things about his mom. you lean back in your chair, watching as jake's eyes scan the empty page before you both. he looks so focused, so sure of himself. meanwhile, you can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside you, making it hard to concentrate.

"so, I was thinking we could start by outlining our approach. what do you think?" jake's voice cuts through the silence, and you snap back to attention, trying to push aside your nerves.

"uh, yeah, sure. sounds good," you mumble, your words coming out quieter than you intended, shifting uncomfortably.

"great," he replies, his tone brisk and efficient. "did you have any ideas for how we should structure it?"

you rack your brain for a response, but all you can come up with is a hesitant, "maybe we could... uh, divide the sections?"

jake nods, seemingly unfazed by your lack of input. "Yeah, that makes sense. We can each take a section and then compare notes. How about you work on the first part, and I'll work on the second?"

you hesitate for a moment before nodding in agreement. "okay, sounds good," you manage to say, your voice betraying your nerves.

"perfect," jake says, already turning his attention back to the task at hand. "snd we can meet up another time to put our section together."

"yeah, sure." you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. you watch as jake starts typing away on his laptop, his fingers moving swiftly across the keys.

you and jake work diligently on your project, the rhythm of your typing filling the air around you. as the afternoon wears on, jake suddenly glances at his watch and groans.

"i've got to go, i promised sunghoon i’d help him with his paper." he says, starting to gather his belongings.

you nod in understanding, pretending to know who sunghoon was. "yeah, no problem," you reply, trying to hide your confusion.

before he leaves, jake turns to you with a serious expression. "we'll have to make sure we get a good grade on this, for both of our sakes,"

confused, you furrow your brow. "what do you mean?"

jake hesitates for a moment, then meets your gaze head-on. "i mean, you are the scholarship girl, right?"

you're taken aback by his blunt question, but you nod, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "yeah, i am," you admit, unable to meet his eyes.

jake nods in acknowledgment and continues to pack his bag.

"and you are the boy who should've gotten expelled last year, right?" the words slip out before you can stop them, and you instantly regret saying them.

to your surprise, jake stops and turns his gaze to look at you, a knowing smirk starting to creep onto his face. "yeah, i am,"

you nod and lean back in your chair. he stands up once his bag is re-packed.

“see you later, scholarship girl.” you watch him leave with a mixture of confusion and amusement, smiling to yourself as you gather your own things.

it’s days later when, minju, lia, heejin and you are sitting in the dining hall, textbooks spread out on the table before you as you study while waiting for dinner. the room is relatively quiet, with only a few students scattered around, either engrossed in their own work or engaged in quiet conversation.

minju breaks the silence with a question, her voice soft but curious. "how is your project with jake going?" she asks, glancing up from her notes.

you give a nonchalant shrug, "it's good," you reply simply, glancing over at heejin.

satisfied with your answer, minju nods and returns her focus to her studies. sensing an opportunity, you hesitantly ask, "can i ask you guys something?" drawing their attention back to you. they all nod in unison. you take a deep breath, "do you think it's true that jake's mom did something in order for him not to get expelled?" you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

lia is the first to respond, her expression thoughtful. "i mean, it would make sense that he of all people wouldn't get expelled," she reasons, echoing the suspicions that have been circulating among the students.

you furrow your brow, puzzled by her statement. "what do you mean?"

heejin jumps in before lia can respond, her tone matter-of-fact. "she means because jake's family is the wealthiest family in the state," she explains, “his dad invented some medical imaging technology that advanced the whole MRI machinery.”

"yeah, but then he died," minju states somberly.

“what?” your jaw dropped, looking around the table at your friends’ faces. “how?”

“it was a car accident.”

“yeah, that he did on purpose.” lia states with a firm nod.

heejin only rolls her eyes at the two of them, obviously not caring about the conversation.

“what happened?” you ask them.

lia sighs, “his dads car was found smashed in a river.”

before you can ask more questions, the bell for dinner rings and a large group of students starts to walk in the dining hall. the four of you start to pack away your textbooks, making room for the meal that was about to commence.

as the dining hall starts to fill up, you catch jake’s eye from down the long table, a small smile forming on his lips as he rests his head on his fist. for a brief moment, it feels like just the two of you in the bustling dining hall. but as quickly as it came, the moment fades as the staff brings plates and obstructs your view. when you look up again, jake is engrossed in conversation with the boys around him, as if you're nothing more than a passing thought.

as the noise of the dining hall grows louder, you push aside any lingering thoughts of jake and focus on enjoying your meal.

you're sitting at your desk, the soft glow of your desk lamp casting a warm light on the papers scattered in front of you. you're finishing your homework, the quiet of the evening wrapping around you like a blanket. suddenly, there's a knock at your door, breaking the silence. you glance up, figuring it was minju coming to ask for homework help.

as you open the door, you’re surprised to see jake standing in the hallway, looking slightly disheveled and out of breath. his expression is urgent, and you can tell something's wrong.

"hey," he says, his voice rushed. "i need your help with something."

you furrow your brow, taken aback by his sudden appearance. “sure, what's going on?" you ask, stepping aside to let him in. he entered quickly, his movements hurried. both of you forgetting about the rule of no gender mixing in dorm rooms.

"i accidentally deleted part of the paper we were working on," he explains, his tone frantic. "it's due tomorrow, and I don't have time to redo it. can you help me?"

you sigh, but nod, “sure, sit down.”

jake sighs in relief, sinking onto your bed as he relaxes slightly. "thank you," he says, gratitude evident in his voice.

you glance at the clock, realizing that heejin won’t be back to the dorm for a few hours since she’s at her debate club. you know how mad she would get if she saw jake in her dorm, sitting on your bed.

both of you hunch over your own laptops, fingers flying across the keys as you rush to finish your project. The task at hand is clear, but your mind keeps wandering, drawn to the presence of jake beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you steal glances at him as he sits on your bed, his posture relaxed yet focused. His eyes roam around your dorm room, taking in the details of your surroundings. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in his mind as he gazes at the walls adorned with posters and the shelves filled with books.

A sudden self-consciousness washes over you, and you find it hard to concentrate on the project at hand. jake's presence seems to fill the room, his energy palpable even in the quiet stillness of the evening. You can't help but wonder what he thinks of your space, if he finds it welcoming or if it feels foreign to him.

Despite your efforts to concentrate, your thoughts keep drifting back to jake, his presence a subtle distraction that pulls at your attention.

jake's voice breaks the silence, his words carrying a gentle curiosity as he picks up a framed photograph from the nightstand. "Who are they?" he asks, his eyes lingering on the image of your parents captured in a frozen moment of time.

With a soft smile, you reply, "My parents," the simplicity of your answer belying the complexity of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Setting the photograph back down, jake's gaze shifts to you, his eyes holding a quiet intensity as he asks, "What city are you from anyways?" Your response is straightforward, "The town that's down the street," the familiarity of home echoing in your words.

Surprise flickers across jake's features as he realizes the proximity of your upbringing to Sterling Academy. "Right over there?" he questions, gesturing vaguely in the direction of your hometown. When you nod in affirmation, his expression reflects a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.

"So you've always seen this school then," he remarks, a note of realization coloring his tone. Your affirmative nod only deepens the gravity of the moment, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air between you.

"Did you always want to go here?" jake's question pulls you back to the present, his voice breaking through the quietude of the room.

With a hesitant nod, you acknowledge, "Yes, it was my dream to.”

“why would your dream be to come here?”

“what’s wrong with dreaming to come here?”

jake sighs and lays down on your bed so his feet are still on the floor. you feel your heart pick up pace as he stares at the ceiling.

“i don’t know, i hate this place.”

“so,” you’re hesitant to ask the question, “does that mean that you tried to get expelled last year?”

you watch jake smile at your question, his eyes stay examining your ceiling, trying to find a crack in it to show that this building isn’t as perfect as it seems, but finds none.

“no, i didn’t try to get expelled. i just wanted to have fun. it’s so boring here.”

you glance over your shoulder at him, “i think it’s fun here.”

jake meets your eyes for the first time, “it’s because you’re new, give it another week and you’ll see what i mean.”

“no,” you instantly shake your head, “i’ve always wanted to live like this.” jake sits up on his elbows at your words. a perplexed expression covers his face as he takes in your argument. you can tell he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. “just say it.” you tell him.

“so, without the scholarship, you really wouldn’t be able to come here?”

“no,” you retort with a snort, “i’m broke, jake. this place is perfect.”

“well this lifestyle isn’t as perfect as you think.”

you turn in your chair to look at him, your bodies facing each other now. he looks so comfortable and casually sprawled across your bed, his bangs falling in his eyes as he looks at you.

“what do you mean? you get to live in houses that are basically castles, and wear nice clothes and eat all this fancy food that i’ve never even heard of before.”

just as jake’s mouth opens to respond, you hear the door open behind you. jake abruptly stands at heejin’s unexpected return. as you turn to look at her, you instantly catch the flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she surveys the scene before her, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

you feel a pang of disappointment at the interruption as you meet eyes with jake.

heejin’s disapproving gaze lingers for a moment longer before she continues to walk to her bed, her back facing both of you as she starts to unpack her school page.

you feel a flush of embarrassment rise in your cheeks for some reason. an unspoken acknowledgement of the unspoken boundaries that have been breached. jake, ever composed, offers polite greeting to her, which she ignores. he starts to move to leave, packing his own bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

“see you, y/n.” jake’s hand reaches out and brushes against your shoulder in a farewell. leaving behind a burning sensation on your skin where his fingers touched so gently. you mumble a goodbye as he leaves your dorm room, shutting the door ever so quietly.

you sit down on your bed, glancing over at heejin’s hunched over shoulders, waiting for her to snap at you. but only, her snap doesn’t appear. she just reaches over and turns off her bedside lamp before crawling into her own bed for the night.

you sigh but copy her movements, figuring that she was too tired from debate club that she would just confront you tomorrow. which you were sort of grateful for since you were also tired from having to rewrite jake’s part of the project.

the last thought that crosses your mind before you fall asleep is jake’s pretty lips frowning in confusion at your love of sterling academy.

after your presentation with jake is finished, you didn’t see much of him.

in english literature class, he was quick to come in and leave, never saying much but a quick ‘hello’. still, both of you found yourselves glancing at the other frequently. you wondered if you and jake would ever speak again. there was just something about jake sim that you couldn’t ignore.

one afternoon, you stayed a little longer in class to read over your english literature novel. the rest of the students had left a half hour before. your teacher had told you to make sure the window was closed before you left as she soon followed the students out. when you had had enough of ‘the bell jar’, you closed the book followed by the window and threw your bag over your shoulder.

just as you turn the corner to step into the hall, you stop, a gasp leaving your mouth as a body stands in front of you. you have to turn your head upwards to see who it is.

jake has a quirked eyebrow as he looks down at you, a smirk on his face as he’s amused by how shocked you are. you take a step back since your face was practically touching his chest. you never realized how much taller than you he was.

“oh, hi.” you speak quietly, embarrassed for almost running into him.

“hey,” jake nods, “what were you still doing in there?”

“just finishing this week’s chapter.” you turn the book in your hand over so he can see the title, “are you caught up?”

jake shrugs, “i read it last year, i’m not reading it again.”

“right.” you smile as you look down at the book in your grasp. “what’re you doing back here?”

“i forgot my sweater in the back of the class.”

“oh, okay.” you nod, “i guess, i’ll see you later or something.”

“right, see you later.”

you move around him to start walking to your dorm room until jake calls your name again. you still and turn your head over your shoulder to look at him. “yeah?”

“actually, what’re you doing right now?”

you shrug, “just going back to my dorm.”

jake changes weight on his feet as he thinks for a moment, “do you, want to study for the history test together?”

“sure.”

you followed jake away from the corridors of sterling academy. the noise of students faded into the distance as he took you outside. the soft rustle of leaves crunching with every step you took. the afternoon sun dipped low on the horizon when both of you stopped walking.

you stood in a small clearing at the edge of the school’s property, where a weathered wooden bench stood sentinel beneath the shade of a groove of trees. its age was evident in the worn slats and chipped paint, a stark contrast to the polished elegance of sterling academy.

“what’s this?”

“a bench.” jake replied, settling down onto the far right of it, already zipping open his backpack.

you followed his lead and sat on the far left of the bench as you looked around. from this vantage point, you could still see the sprawling expanse of the school grounds laid before you; manicured lawns stretching into the distant stables where the equestrian club practiced their routines.

despite the unfamiliar area, you found yourself strangely relaxing. you glance at jake beside you, his body also relaxed right into the bench as he flips through the pages of the heavy history textbook.

“you’ve come here before?” you ask him since he looks so comfortable.

“yeah, all the time.”

you jake read some of the textbook as you took in the outdoors. you haven’t been outside for longer than a run for gym class since you left home. when you were home, the only thing you would do was spend your time outside. the feeling of the gentle breeze brushing against your bare skin made you feel a sort of homesick.

“do you like it out here?”

“of course, i love being outside.”

jake nodded in agreement, “yeah, it’s nice being away from the noise and chaos of the school.”

“you really don’t like this school?”

“yeah, i hate it.” jake murmured, his gaze fixated on the building in the distance. “but out here, surrounded by the trees and the sky, and the horse shit, it’s like everything else just fades away, you know?”

you nodded, “yeah, it’s like nature heals you in a way. reminds you that there’s something bigger out there, something beyond our own worries and fears.”

“exactly, a reminder that we’re not alone in this world even if we feel like it sometimes.”

you pick at the edges of your textbook on your lap, not looking at the boy beside you. “i use to be outside all the time when i was at home.”

“really?”

“yeah, i use to garden all the time.”

jake turns his body to face you, intrigued, his textbook forgotten and closed on his lap. “you gardened? i’ve never gardened, we’ve always just had gardeners.”

you tilt your head at the information, “yeah, my mom always let me play in the mud when i was younger- i made a lot of mud pies.”

jake’s eyebrows raised, “really? my mom would’ve killed me. god forbid i got a little dirt on my church’s.”

you smirked at the mention of the brand of shoes, choosing to not mention the fact that you would have never been able to afford a pair. your different childhood memories seemed to be only a brief glimpse into how different you both were. you wondered how you could ever feel so connected to someone who comes from such a different world than you.

“dinner’s gonna start soon, wanna go back?” jake asks from his far side of the bench, his puppy features looking over at you, the sunset behind his head.

“sure,”

you walk into the busy dining hall together and separate to go to your separate groups of friends to eat. both of you ignore the confused expressions of the other students. heejin barely notices your presence as you sit down, but you can tell that minju will definitely want to know why you and jake were late to dinner together. you can only sigh at the thought of her asking for details of every second you were with jake. you only hope that her questions can begin after you have finished dinner.

every day you and jake begun to spend your time on that weathered bench at the edge of Sterling Academy’s property. it became a ritual, a sanctuary away from the bustling halls and echoing corridors of the school. and more recently, the staring and glares from other students.

some days, your laps were full with the weight of your textbooks as you studied silently side by side. only occasional murmurs were shared as you listened to the wind, the birds and the equestrian club/

other times, your voices danced freely in the open air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant whinnying of the horses. in those moments, the bench became more than just a weathered wood and peeling paint, it was a space where you really got to know jake sim.

you looked forward to either occasion, as long as jake was there on the bench with you and despite heejin’s icy stares. you swore you could physically feel the daggers aimed at you whenever you and jake entered the dining hall late.

today, it was a quiet day as you sat beside each other, far much closer together than you had the first day jake had shown you the bench. your thighs were touching his as you both looked down at your work. you were on the last chapter of “Rebecca” as jake scribbled equations in his physics notebook.

you are at the part where the narrator and maxim stand together and look at the ruins of their grand estate, when jake speaks.

“are you excited for thanksgiving?”

you put the book down onto your lap, your thumb keeping the book open and shrug, “not really, i’m just going to be writing my book report. i’m almost done with the book now.”

jake glances at the remaining few pages of the book, “aren’t you going to be glad to see your parents?”

you pretend to keep your eyes on the words of the book as you reply, “i’m not seeing my parents.”

“what? why not?” jake sits up abruptly, his back off of the back of the bench now. you realize today was no longer going to be one of the quiet days spent together.

you close the book in your lap and look at the boy, “my mom has to go out of town to work, my dad’s going with her to make sure she’ll be safe.”

“so what? you’re just going to be alone in your house for the long weekend?”

“no, i’m going to be in my dorm doing my book report and eating dinner with salvador.” your lips curl up in a grin at the thought of sharing a meal with the janitor every student at sterling literally detests. it couldn’t be that bad with him, or so you’ve told yourself to avoid missing your parents.

“y/n no, that’s not happening,” jake shakes his head at you. with your confused expression he continues, “you’re coming home with me for the long weekend.”

your eyes widen at the book in your grasp suddenly feels even lighter. “what? no? jake i couldn’t.”

“why not?”

“because,” you grit out to him like it’s obvious.

“because why?”

you sigh, “because jake, it’s a family holiday, and i’ve never even met any of your family. and i mean, your house and family are, so… different from mine.”

jake shrugged, “so? my family won’t mind you coming, if anything they’ll be happy to see me hanging out with anyone besides heeseung. plus i need you to be there or else i’ll go crazy.” jake could see the lingering doubts that gnawed at you, “please y/n,” his pink lips pout at you.

at his puppy face and another moment of contemplation, you finally hesitant smile, “okay jake, i’ll come.”

you watch as jake stands up and cheers at your answer, smiling his grand smile at you as he tells you how much fun you’ll have together and that now he won’t have to be stuck babysitting his younger cousins alone. as you watch him, you take in the dark sky behind him and immediately stand up in shock.

“oh my god,”

“okay fine, you won’t have to entertain my cousins while i sleep, but you’re definitely going to have to– what?”

“what time is it?”

jake looks down at his patek phillippe, “shit.”

both of you scramble to get your bags and books and start to run across the dark, empty field towards the academy that has all their lights out.

inside, the corridors were shrouded in shadows and a veil of moonlight and silence. you and jake moved with gentle purpose through the halls in order to escape salvador. he always patrolled the halls like a sergeant that had just been discharged from the military. both of you knew that if you were caught you would get punished, jake’s punishment would be far worse than your own.

somehow you were hand in hand with jake as you darted from shadow to shadow. salvador’s blueish flashlight swept across the walls like a lighthouse beacon, casting fleeting glimpses of light that threatened to expose you and bounced off of jake’s cheeks.

you were too nervous to be caught to completely focus on the warmth of jake’s hand clasped firmly in yours, like either of you were scared to let go then the other would disappear. you stole glances at each other and shared silent smiles that spoke your feelings of adrenaline for you.

then, salvador’s flashlight swept perilously close to your hiding place around an open corner. your hearts pounded in unison as you and jake pressed yourselves against the wall. your bodies were inches apart yet tethered together.

despite the anxiety ridden situation, you let yourself ponder on the brief moment of intimacy as you felt the heat of jake’s presence envelop you like a cocoon. his warmth was a beacon of sun in the darkness. your nose was a mere inch away from his strong chest. you could smell his cologne more strongly now than when it would slightly blow in the wind on the bench. you just wanted him to wrap his arms around you.

as salvador’s footsteps faded into the far distance, you and jake emerged from the shadows and ran hand in hand down the empty hall, towards your dorm room. jake let out an airy “shh” as you covered your mouth with a giggle as jake dragged you along, hiding his own laughter from not getting caught.

when you’re both at your dorm room, the weight of the door pressing softly against your back as you looked up jake. his features were bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight steaming through the window, casting gentle shadows across his face that danced with the rhythm of your shared heartbeat.

reluctantly, you let go of his hand, the warmth of his touch was sucking you into him too much. unbeknownst to you, a subtle frown tugged at the corners of jake’s lips as he watched you release his hand.

“that was close,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the stillness of the night. jake smirked in response, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he leaned closer, his presence enveloping you like a cloak of comfort you knew you had to resist.

“yeah i know. what am i gonna do with you?” he teased, his soft laughter mingling with soft tree branches tapping the window behind him.

As you stood there, dazed and breathless from the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, jake reached out, his hand gently cupping your jaw with a tenderness that took your breath away. His touch sends shivers down your spine, his thumb grazing your bottom lip in a gesture that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

"You know," he began, his voice a velvet caress that sent ripples of warmth cascading through your soul, "I've never felt so close to someone before." There was a vulnerability in his words, a raw honesty that laid bare the depths of his emotions in a way you had never seen before.

But before you could respond, a flash of light sliced through the darkness, Salvador's flashlight casting a shadow down the hallway. Your eyes widened in unison, the moment shattered by the intrusion of reality. With a quick and silent exchange, jake withdrew his hand from your jaw, his lips pressing against the back of your hand in a tender farewell before he was off, disappearing into the night like a phantom fleeting into the unknown.

once inside your own dorm room, you were left standing alone in the wake of his departure, you lingered for a moment longer, the memory of his touch lingering like an echo in the chambers of your heart. with a sigh, you push off of the door and walk lazily towards your bed. your thoughts were consumed by the enigma of jake sim and his feelings towards you.

“were you with jake?” heejin’s voice suddenly speaks from across the room, your body stilling for a second as you forgot you weren’t alone in this dorm room. with your lack of response she sighs and rolls over to look at you through the dark room. your eyes had adjusted to the room so you could see your roommate clearly. “he’s not good for you, y/n.”

you sigh and roll flat onto your back, your arms coming up to lay on both sides of your head as you look straight up at the tall ceiling of your ancient room. her words hung in the air and you knew she was right. you and jake came from different worlds, no where should your paths have crossed in this lifetime. but somehow, your souls seemed connected in a way you couldn’t explain. though, you were certain jake didn’t feel the same. “i know that, heejin.” your voice sounded fragile.

“whatever you think is happening between you two– it’s not. wake up y/n, and focus on your studies. we wouldn’t want your scholarship contract to break, would we?”

you gulped at her harsh words and remained silent, your eyes still open. heejin sighs from her bed and rolls over so her back is turned to you.

Left alone with your thoughts, you lay there in the suffocating silence, the weight of Heejin's warning pressing down upon you like a leaden shroud. And as sleep claimed you, you drifted into the realm of dreams, haunted by the specter of unrequited longing and the bitter sting of reality.

you sat in the dining hall with heejin, minju and lia the next morning. your warm oatmeal was steaming out of the bowl in front of you as you ate breakfast together. though your friends were talking, you could only focus on the 3rd year table across the room.

a girl with cascading brown locks, a sleek jaw and pretty eyes sat amidst a group of her peers, her gaze focused upon you with a searing intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"Who's that?" you asked, nodding subtly in the direction of the girl who had captured your attention. Minju's cheerful demeanor faltered for a moment before she responded, her tone tinged with caution.

"That's Kim Nakyoung," she replied, her voice soft but tinged with an underlying tension. You furrowed your brow in confusion, the weight of Nakyoung's piercing stare still lingering in the air like an invisible shadow.

"well why is kim nakyoung staring at me?" you pressed, your curiosity piqued as you searched for answers. the three girls seemingly all look at each other with an expression you couldn’t quite pick up on. “what?”

heejin shakes her head, but lia answers anyways, “well because you were out late with jake sim last night,” she explained, her words hanging heavy in the air. your heart skipped a beat at the mention of jake’s name, the memory of his touch still fresh in your mind. “...and nakyoung is basically inlove with him.”

“how do you know she’s in love with him?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. heejin scoffed dismissively, but minju’s response was gentle.

"Because they're family friends," she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "Their parents went to college together, and they spend every holiday together. And every Valentine's Day, Nakyoung gets a Valentine's Day card from jake."

As Minju's words washed over you like a cold wave, you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease gnawing at the edges of your heart. The warmth of jake's hand on your cheek last night suddenly felt like a distant memory. heejin’s stern words from the night before rang in your mind. and suddenly you understood what she meant.

you were sure multiple girls thought jake sim was in love with them. that they had a special connection with him that they would not be able to find anywhere else. you needed to wake up, just like heejin had said.

you didn’t go to the usual bench in the afternoon. instead you found yourself enveloped in the far corner of the library. you were far too enthralled by your biology textbook to notice the time or the rest of the students fading into the background of the old library.

but suddenly, a hand latched onto the back of your chair and jake’s face swung into view over your shoulder. his puppy expression is so different from the dark expression you saw on the first day of school. his presence caught you off guard and sent a jolt of surprise coursing through your veins.

jake settled into the seat beside you with an easy grin, his infectious laughter echoing through the hallowed bookshelves. “sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, his voice warm and familiar. “i’ve been looking for you. don’t wanna go outside today?”

you shrugged nonchalantly, your gaze flickering back to your textbooks as you struggled to maintain your composure in the wake of jake’s sudden appearance. you knew he was going to press you further according to the concern etched into the lines of his brow.

“what’s wrong?” jake’s voice was soft, tinged with genuine concern as he searched your eyes for answers. frustration welled up within you like a tide. there was a large tangled web of emotions and doubts within your core. you wanted to reach out to him and tell him everything’s fine and that you can’t wait to go to his house for the long weekend. but then the other part of you forced you to remember heejin’s warning and nakyoung’s glare. part of you wondered how many other signs you had missed about jake and how the rest of the school viewed him.

"i'm just trying to focus on my schoolwork," you muttered, your words tinged with bitterness as you struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. "Not all of us have rich families that can pay off our pasts to go to school here."

the words hung heavy in the air between you, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of unspoken truths. And as jake's incredulous gaze bore into you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, you knew in that moment that you had crossed a line that should have never been crossed.

with a scoff of disbelief, jake rose abruptly from his seat, his footsteps echoing like thunder against the polished floors of the library as he stormed out into the hallway, leaving you alone amidst the oppressive silence of your own making. And as the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him, the finality of his departure reverberated through the cavernous space. you tried to ignore the aching feeling in your chest and the stares of the other students as you focused on your biology work, hoping that genetic engineering would distract you for the rest of the night.

it had been days since you had last spoken to jake in the library. he never showed up for your english literature class, the desk beside you always being left empty. the lace in heejin’s aura had seemingly drifted away, but you could still feel kim nakyoung’s glare on you during every meal.

tonight, you were attempting to study in your dorm room. heejin had left for her debate club a few minutes ago, leaving you alone in the grand room. it was dark outside thanks to fall having the sun set so early. the orange lamp on your bedside table was the only light in your room.

there was a soft knock on the door, pulling you away from your thoughts. assuming it was minju, you started to call out, "heejin's not here, min--" but the words froze in your throat as you swung open the door to find jake standing there instead. His school uniform was partially a mess like usual , a few strands of his hair falling delicately over his eyes. There was a faint smile on his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

you stood there in your pink pajamas, feeling suddenly self-conscious under jake's gaze. "Hi," he said softly, and you echoed the greeting, your voice barely above a whisper. The atmosphere was tense, awkward, and you could sense that jake was not his usual self. he was more like the jake you had known in the beginning of the year. He seemed distant, almost standoffish, as if he didn't want to be there talking to you or anybody.

jake sighed, lifting his head to meet your gaze fully. "I want to talk about what happened in the library the other day," he admitted, his tone hesitant.

you crossed your arms defensively over your chest, your resolve hardening, "There's nothing to talk about," you replied curtly.

but jake persisted, his voice growing slightly firmer. "Yes, there is," he insisted. "I want to know what made you so…”

“so what?”

“distant. You wouldn't even look at me." His words struck a nerve, and you felt a pang of guilt gnawing at your insides. You knew you should keep your distance from the boy that was standing only a meter in front of you.

jake's voice was filled with a raw vulnerability that caught you off guard. "Y/n, please, talk to me," he pleaded, his gaze searching yours for some semblance of understanding. "The past few days have been harder than I would've ever thought."

you glanced up at him, surprised by his confession. His words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor. "I'm not... I'm not really used to apologizing or, whatever," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "I don't care for it. But with you, I'm here trying, okay? I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry... And I'm sorry I left like that in the library."

you bit down on your lip, the weight of his words sinking in. A part of you wanted to push him away, to maintain the distance that you knew was necessary. But another part of you longed to open up, to let him in like your soul so strongly craved. "Just tell me what's wrong, and I can fix it," jake pleaded, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and desperation.

"but that's the thing, there's nothing that you can fix," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. jake tilted his head in confusion, his gaze searching yours for answers. You could tell that he genuinely wanted to understand, that he was wanting to listen. "We're just... different, jake," you continued, your words careful and measured. "We live different lives, and we can't pretend that we don't. While we're alone, we're still in reality. And... and I don't know what you're doing or thinking." The weight of your insecurities hung heavy in the air, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire.

"what do you mean?" jake asked, his voice soft and gentle. You felt the tension building within you and with a shaky breath, you forced yourself to voice all your thoughts.

"I mean, why would you want to hang around with me when the whole school is in love with you?" you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

jake's tense posture softened as he stepped closer to you, his movements deliberate yet filled with an underlying urgency. You fought the instinct to step back, the proximity between you sending a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. His eyes, once distant and guarded, now bore into yours with a raw intensity that left you breathless.

"y/n, i don't care that we come from different worlds or wealths or whatever," he confessed, his voice a gentle caress that washed over you like a soothing balm. "none of that matters when I'm with you. I feel like when I'm with you, that's reality, and everything else is just a fantasy forced upon me when you're not around." you felt a lump form in your throat as you listened to him, the weight of his confession settling upon your shoulders like a heavy cloak.

"i've never felt like this with anyone," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "every time I talk to anyone else, it's like all they see is my family and my wealth. but you... you see me for who I am, even though I don't even know who I am."

the vulnerability in his words mirrored the vulnerability in yourself, the walls you had built around yourself slowly crumbling because of his sincerity. you were acutely aware of the golden lights cascading down upon you both, casting a halo of warmth around you.

"I don't care about what the rest of the school thinks of me," jake declared, his voice unwavering in its conviction. "I only care about what you think of me."

“i, i don’t know what to say,” you tell him honestly.

jake shrugs, “you don’t have to say anything, just please don’t go so distant on me again, i hate it.”

“i won’t,” you whispered, the words barely a breath in the stillness of the night. With a surge of courage, you reached out and gently clasped his hand in your own, the warmth of his touch sending ripples of warmth cascading through your soul. "Just promise me something."

“anything.”

"promise me that you'll always be honest with me," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “promise that you’ll never hide anything from me and that you’ll always show me the real you, no matter what.”

jake's gaze softened as he squeezed your hand gently, a silent vow passing between you in the hallowed silence of the night. "i promise," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

as the golden hues of the hallway bathed us in their soft glow, you glanced down at jake's hand, noticing something shiny nestled within his grasp. "what's that?" you asked, curiosity tingling in the air between us. jake's eyes widened in realization, as if he had forgotten he was even holding anything at all. with a sudden movement, he extended his hand towards you, revealing the gleaming cover of a book.

in his palm lay a copy of "The Great Gatsby," its cover adorned with intricate gold detailing that simmered in the dim light. "this is for you," jake said, his voice soft yet sincere. "i remember you saying you ruined your copy, so you can have mine."

you were stunned, your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out to accept the gift he offered. you traced the embossed letters on the cover, marveling at the beauty of its design. “thank you so much jake,” you whispered with gratitude, “ thank you, thank you.”

unable to contain your excitement, you threw your arms around his neck, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you like a cocoon of comfort. his arms instinctively encircle your waist, drawing you closer until there's barely any space left between you. in that moment, everything just feels right.

pulling away from him, “do you wanna come in?”

jake agrees, knowing that heejin won’t be there to give him any glares. he follows you into your room and sits on your bed like he had before, looking around. he takes notice that you’re not in your uniform, but your matching pj set and smiles to himself as how cute you look. you take no notice, too enthralled by your new book. you sit it on your desk and sit beside jake on your bed.

“really, thank you so much for my book, it means so much to me,” you tell him, your hair slightly messy over your shoulders. jake reaches out and twists a fallen strand around his finger gently before dropping it.

“it’s no problem, i wanted to give you something,” he tells you honestly.

“but why?”

jake shrugs, “because i like you.”

“you like me?” you question him, not believing your ears. jake nods, biting his lip playfully as he takes in your reaction. he notices the pretty red start to form on your cheeks, your eyes darting from his face to your hands in your lap.

before jake could stop himself he’s breaking the small distance between you two and gently cupping your chin with his fingers for you to look at him. you open your mouth to speak but instead they are met with jake’s lips. the kiss is gentle, confident but shy at the same time. you’ve never kissed anyone before, let alone a boy who was as beautiful as jake sim.

you both pull away, your lips slightly wet from the kiss.

“sorry, i-” jake starts but you cut him off with another kiss. this time your eyes properly close as your lips meet. your hands shyly wrap around his shoulders to pull him into a deep kiss.

jake pushes you down onto your bed so your head is on your pillow. his body is overtop yours and you’re trying to not panic and only focus on his lips that are moving against yours. his hips roll down into yours and it’s then that you realize he’s turned on. you squeak at the thought and jake instantly pulls away.

“what? are you okay?” jake’s eyes are filled with concern as he looks down at you, “did i hurt you, i’m so-”

your hand covers his before he goes on a ramble, “no it’s okay. you didn’t hurt me it’s just…” you trail off, your hand falling from his face. his hands are quick to catch yours.”

“it’s just what, love?”

the name makes the tips of your ears red, “it’s just that, i’m a virgin, i’ve never done anything before.”

you feel jake’s body relax over yours and he sits up on your bed, you subconsciously follow him up so you’re both sitting again. “that’s okay, y/n, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you or anything. we can do something else, we could read the great gatsby!”

you smile at his politeness, but now that you’ve learnt what it feels like for jake sim to be on top of you, you find it hard to want to do anything else.

“i mean,” you start, a playful, shy smile growing on your face as you look at him, “i could still make you feel good.”

your wide, innocent eyes made jake’s pants tighten. he says nothing as he reaches out and traces your plush lips with his thumb. without thinking, you press your lips over his thumb, letting it enter your mouth. you kept eye contact with him, instantly watching his eyes darken.

“you wanna suck me off, love?”

you whine around his thumb, your way of saying yes.

jake pulls his thumb from your mouth, “get on your knees.”

you almost clumsily scramble to the floor of your dorm. jake’s legs are spread out for you to sit perfectly in between them. you look up at him, feeling so small as you wait for him to let you touch him.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want to, y/n.”

“i want to, jake.”

“you’ll tell me if you want to stop, right? if you get uncomfortable we can stop.”

“yes, jake.”

jake only sweetly nods to you before he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips. his hands unbutton his uniform pants, pulling the fabric down so only his boxers cover his cock. you lay your cheek against his bare thigh, watching as his hand traces over his bulge. you looked so mesmerized by his actions it made a shiver go down his spine.

“you sure you wanna?” jake asked, his voice a bit shaky. you nod your head and jake pulls out his cock so it’s visible to you both. it’s hard, a the tip is slightly leaking with precum. you can see how the tip was starting to turn pink. “hold it like how i am, you can squeeze it a bit if you want.”

you nod again, your hand reaching up and replacing his at the base of his cock. it’s warm in your hand and you try to bite back the nerves you feel as you try not to embarrass yourself in front of him.

at jake’s instruction, you start to move your hand up and down his cock. your movements are slow as you try to navigate what you were doing.

“you can spit on your hand, make it glide better.” jake nods at you. you do as he suggests, your lips pucking before letting saliva drop down onto your palm. when your hand meets his cock again, you can instantly tell that it’s a lot easier to move with it.

you hear jake let out a heavy breath as he watches you stroke his cock a bit faster now that there’s some lubricant. he watches your face so focused on making him feel good. so determined to make him cum.

you suddenly squeezed him tighter as you move up to his tip, your fingers meeting his slit slightly. he reminds himself to keep his hips still as your hand fucks his cock. “fuck,” he lets out a curse as he watches your innocent fingers circle his cock.

“you can,” jake swallows harshly, “you can put your mouth on it, when you’re ready. just, as much as you want.”

you nodded up at him, your eyes wide with curiosity. your hand stops moving as you put his tip in your mouth, your tongue meeting the underside of his cock. jake’s hands dug into your comforter on both sides of his body as he watched your little mouth take in his cock.

“a-and you can uh, hollow out your cheeks, like-” you cut jake off as you do as he says. you begin to suck with the little amount of cock you had in your mouth. your hand staying at the base of his cock. “fuck, just like that, love.”

you continue to fit more and more in your mouth the more comfortable you got at the feeling. hollowing your cheeks out and being careful of your teeth. the salty pre cum fills your tastebuds as you look up at jake, whose bottom lip is between his teeth. his eyebrows are knitted together as he looks down at you. he’s trying so hard to keep his composure so he doesn’t push you too far during your first time.

your hand continued to jerk the base of his cock as your tongue started to explore the veins on his shaft. you took your time, but jake still felt like he was in heaven. the sight of your glassy eyes and swollen lips around his cock made him more aroused than ever before.

“god, you look so beautiful y/n, like an angel.” he compliments you, his chest slowly heaving as he watches you work his dick with your mouth.

jake grabs the base of his cock, your hand and mouth sliding away, a small pout on your face as you look up at him.

“open,” jake says and you do, sticking your tongue out slightly. jake then slaps the tip of his cock against your plush, wet lips, smearing the tip in your saliva. he groans to himself at the thought of your face covered in his cum. “want more?”

“yes please,”

jake only smirks before he starts to ease his cock back into your mouth, letting you close your lips around it before he pulls his hips back again, fucking your mouth. he forces himself to go slow as he continues to thrust into your mouth. he feels his tip just hit the back of your throat before he pulls back. you let out a moan around his cock, the vibrations making his groan out. you were being so good for him.

“it feels so good, love. you’re gonna make me cum.” he tells you honestly. you can only moan more around his cock. your mouth is so warm and wet and you’re letting him fuck more and more into your mouth. there’s spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

jake could feel the coil in his stomach about to burst as he looks into your innocent eyes, your only goal is to make him cum.

he pulls out of your mouth, his hand starts quickly jerking his cock covered in your saliva, “s-so close.”

“no!” you tell him, “want you to cum in my mouth.”

“o-okay, open your mouth again for me, baby.”

jake struggled to keep his eyes open as he slid his pulsating cock right back into your mouth. his hands rested gently on the back of your head as his hips slid his cock in and out of your mouth. it didn’t take long for him to cum, your tongue enticing him to cum way quicker than he would’ve liked.

“oh fuck!” jake moans out, “fuck, y/n, i’m cumming, i’m cumming.”

jake released into your mouth. the liquid shooting right into your throat as you swallowed around him. his grip in your hair was tense as he came. you swallowed the best you could, the taste was new.

when he was done, jake was breathing heavy. he let go of you, falling back onto his elbows, his legs still spread for you to sit between.

“was i good?” you ask him genuinely.

jake only smiled at you, telling you to come lay beside him in your bed. you rushed to lay by his side. your throat raw and lips swollen as jake pulled you in for a kiss, tasting his own cum.

“you were perfect, love.”

as the days passed, you and jake found yourselves drawn to each other like magnets. despite your lingering doubts of his intentions with you, you couldn’t deny the comfort and warmth you felt in his presence. you also craved the feeling of his lips on yours again since the night he gave you great gatsby.

you spent your fall afternoon lazing on the bench together (sitting much closer than before) and studied together. the weight of his presence beside you reassured you that you weren’t the only one to feel this connection. the walls between you and jake seemed to crumble.

you took turns reading the pages of the great gatsby. sometimes he would rest his heavy head on your lap as you read, but you didn’t mind the weight. other times he would read to you with your head on his shoulder, watching the words on the pages as he spoke them.

this time, you chose to be more careful about who saw you with jake. you didn’t need any more snarky comments from heejin before bed. and you enjoyed being more accepted into the friend group with her, minju and lia.

kim nakyoung would still glare at you if you walked past her in the halls, and at every meal you were sure that her eyes were on you the entire time. you weren’t sure if it was because she just hated you, or if she knew that you and jake were still close.

this weekend was thanksgiving, and you were so looking forward to getting away from all the prying eyes of sterling. though you were anxious to see what jake’s apparent magnificent house looks like, you were scared. his family was in a much higher class than you would ever be in your life. you were nervous to find out what his family would think of you. you were continuously asking minju tips on how to properly use each utensil and napkin during dining hours.

you made sure to stay in your dorm until you were sure your friends had left for the whole weekend. you had told them that you were staying in sterling for the weekend because your parents were out of town for the holiday (which was partly true). you just didn’t want to hear any more warning about how a girl like you shouldn’t be hanging out with a boy like jake.

when jake knocked on your dorm room door, you felt your hands start to shake and your heart pick up pace. when you swung open the door, jake was stood there in loose beige pants, a white button up shirt with a brown belt. his hair was styled into a proper slick back for once. you gulped as you looked down at your outfit. you tried to pick out an outfit that seemed well put together, but you could only wear your white, loose pants and a square neck blue tee that you had borrowed from lia.

“you ready to go?” jake tilts his head at you, his usual smile on his face when he asks,

“uh, yeah, sure.” you reply and swing your bag over your shoulder, following him down the halls.

the whole ride to jake’s family estate you felt like you were on the verge of throwing up. jake had tried to reassure you that everything would be fine and that you would totally fit in with his family. but the hour-long drive to an apparent mansion while sitting in the backseat of a sleek black, retro cadillac with a chauffeur who referred to jake as “mr sim” didn’t really enforce the reassurance.

As the Cadillac glided up the long gravel driveway, the imposing black gate swung open with a quiet hum, granting passage into a world of opulence and grandeur. A sense of anticipation tingled in the air as you caught your first glimpse of jake's family estate, an expansive mansion that seemed to rise majestically from the earth.

The mansion, a symphony of beige and brown hues, sprawled before you, its grandeur evident in every detail. Numerous large windows adorned its façade, offering glimpses into the luxurious interior beyond. At the center of the circular driveway stood a magnificent fountain, its waters glistening in the sunlight like liquid diamonds.

Two towering oak trees flanked the entrance to the estate, their branches reaching skyward as if to touch the heavens. Delicate white detailing adorned the edges of the house, adding a sense of refinement to its stately exterior.

the meticulously manicured grounds surrounding the mansion were a sight to behold. the grass was a vibrant shade of green that stretched out in all directions like a lush carpet. it was the greenest grass you had eer seen. the hedges that encircled the property were perfectly rectangular.

As you gazed out the car window at the breathtaking sight before you, a sense of awe washed over you. The estate was more magnificent than anything you had ever imagined, a testament to the wealth and power of the Sim family.

you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into for the next five days.

you follow jake out of the car, briefly thanking the chauffeur before heading up the steps to the mansion. as jake swings open the large door, the grand foyer of his family estate fills your eyes. the house is so beautiful, so clean, so white and so fancy.

an elegant figure enters the room and stands before you. you recognize her from the pictures you had seen of the sim family. it was jake’s mother’s sonya, who seems to simply exude grace and sophistication by just standing there. she is dressed in a stunning ensemble, with a tailored silk blouse and sleek pencil skirt. you can’t take your eyes off of all the exquisite jewelry that’s hung off her neck, earlobes and wrists.

with a warm smile, sonya extends her hand in greeting, her eyes sparkling with genuine warmth as she welcomes you. “it’s so great to meet you. i’m glad jake had made a friend besides heeseung,”

“mom!” jake’s slightly flustered appearance from his mother’s welcome makes you chuckle.

“it’s so nice to meet you too,” you smile back at sonya, “thank you for letting me stay this weekend.”

sonya scoffs, “oh it’s no problem! any friend of jake’s is welcome here!”

two women, who could only be maids for this household, enter the room dressed in crisp uniforms. their demeanor is respectful and attentive and they can hardly look at sonya in the eye. they inquire about her luggage, and sonya instructs them with poise, “the second bedroom in the west wing please.” her authority is evident as she addresses the staff.

you offer sonya and the maids a grateful nod, expressing your appreciation for their hospitality and aid as you follow jake and the maids up the grand staircase. the mansion smells like fresh flowers and polished wood. your eyes marvel at the exquisite chandelier that’s hung from the ceiling as you step closer to it on the stairs.

the maid with your luggage stops in front of a door with a golden handle and pushes it open. th eroom inside takes your breath away. the walls are painted in a soft, creamy hue, contracted by dark wooden paneling and trim. a smaller crystal chandelier hands from the center of the ceiling. the bed is massive, with a canopy of sheer, flowing fabric and the pillows look like you’ll sink right in.

across from the bed there’s a fireplace framed by an intricately carved mantle, adorning an arrangement of fresh flowers. above the mantle, an ornate mirror reflects the room’s grandeur. to the left of the fireplace, on the far wall from the door, there’s two tall windows, draped in heavy silk curtains that allow you to view the estate’s immaculate gardens. a writing desk and a chair sit nearby, but you can’t take your eyes off of the backyard through the window.

the maid places your bag neatly by the wardrobe before leaving you with a polite smile. you stand in awe as you try to take in where you are.

jake’s voice pulls you from your reveries, “what do you think?”

you turn to find him standing in the doorway, a small amused smile playing on his lips.

“this room is so beautiful, jake,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief, “i think i should sleep outside.”

jake chuckles, the sound familiar and comforting in this unknown palace, “you’re not sleeping outside. come on, follow me.”

curious, you follow him out of the room and down another hallway. he stops in front of a pair of double doors and pushes them open to reveal another stunning room. this one is larger than your own and even more impressive. it’s adorned with dark wood and deep blue accents. a large, comfortable looking bed dominates the space, flanked by elegant bedside tables. instead of having windows on the far wall, he has a set of glass doors that are open to a balcony.

“this is my room,” jake says to you with his arms spread open, he walks backwards to his bed and flops down on his back. you stand in the doorway, not being able to take in that this is a bedroom. jake laughs at your shocked expression, “you can look around if you want, it’s nothing special.”

usually you would mock him for calling a room like this ‘nothing special’, but you’re too in shock. slowly you start to walk around his room. there’s bookshelves from floor to ceiling adorned with books– some new and some old. the desk looks like it’s never been used and the pens and books on it are just there for decoration. on one of the bedside tables is a picture of heeseung and jake, both of whom are definitely younger and smiling. you place the framed picture back on the table and head to the balcony, the silk curtains of the doors are gently flowing from the fall breeze outside. It seems so much warmer at jake’s estate than it does at sterling academy.

“this place is like something out of a dream, jake.” you tell him, not looking behind you on the bed as you stare out into the backyard.

“well i’m glad that you like it. i want you to feel comfortable here this weekend. it means a lot to me that you’re here.”

you turn at his sincerity, walking to his bed and sitting down on the edge beside his laying figure. “i’m happy to be here, thank you for inviting me.”

jake’s eyes take in your sitting figure as he looks up at you, the daylight from the opened balcony windows cascades like an aura around you. his head tilts when a thought pops into his head, “i’ve never had a girl in my room before.”

you scoff and get up from his bed, choosing to walk around his room and examine more of the decorations, “yeah right, i’ve literally seen girls exit your room before.”

jake sits up behind you, “that’s different, i’ve never had a girl here before.”

your finger slowly brushes over the back of one of the older books, taking in the provided information. you choose to ignore the small butterfly in your stomach fighting it’s way up into your heart as you glance over your shoulder and lightly smile at him.

after jake had toured you around the majority of the mansion (you were shocked when he told you there’s still wings on the east side that he could show you), a bell rang for dinner. you quickly washed up, trying to not get lost in the halls as you found jake again and he led you down to the dining room.

The dining room is a masterpiece of elegance and grandeur, dominated by a long, dark wood dining table that gleams under the soft glow of the chandeliers above. The table stretches nearly the length of the room, surrounded by a multitude of high-backed chairs, each upholstered in rich, burgundy fabric that complements the deep wood tones.

Sonya sits at the far end of the table, jake leads you to the seats on her right, pulling out a chair for you before taking the one beside you. Across from you sit two women who are introduced as jake’s aunts, their refined manners and sophisticated appearance adding to the room’s stately atmosphere.

As you settle into your seat, the maids glide into the room, their movements precise and graceful. They begin to serve dinner on fancy white plates edged with a delicate silver lining. The aroma of the dishes is enticing, a blend of familiar and exotic scents that hint at the culinary delights to come. Servers move around the table, filling glasses with ice-cold water that glistens in the crystal goblets. One offers you wine, but you politely decline, opting instead to stick with water for the evening.

Your eyes are drawn to the array of utensils flanking your plate. There are so many forks, knives, and spoons, all silver and polished to a mirror-like shine. You hesitate, unsure of which one to use, but a quick glance at jake gives you a clue. He casually picks up the second largest fork, and you follow his lead, hoping to navigate the formal setting without a misstep.

Dinner proceeds smoothly, with Sonya leading the conversation, her voice carrying a warm, welcoming tone. The aunts join in, their voices blending in harmonious conversation that flows effortlessly from one topic to another. You listen attentively, occasionally contributing when you feel comfortable, and you’re relieved to find that jake’s family is interested in getting to know you.

jake’s presence beside you is a constant source of comfort. He offers you encouraging smiles and quiet reassurances, subtly guiding you through the more intricate aspects of the formal dinner. You realize that while the setting may be unfamiliar, the genuine hospitality and kindness from jake makes it easier to feel at ease.

As the first course is served, you take a moment to appreciate the effort and care that has gone into every detail of the evening. The food is exquisite, each bite a testament to the skill of the chefs. Despite the grandeur of your surroundings, you begin to feel more at ease.

“so y/n,” jake’s aunt rose asks, “what do your parents do for work?”

you notice jake tense beside you, glancing at you as if telling you that you don’t have to answer. but you ignore him and continue, “my dad’s a head miner and my mom’s an artisan.” you notice jake’s aunts pause their eating at your answer, glancing at each other before smiling at you with what you couldn’t notice was fake.

“what type of artisan is your mother?” sonya asks, her voice normal as she glances at you over her silver spoon as he puts more tomato soup in her mouth.

“pottery.” you state with a smile, thinking of all the beautiful dishes and vases your mother has made back home.

you’ve never had such good food before, and you thought the food at sterling was to die for. the chef seemed pleased that you enjoyed his food so much when he came out to check that everything was alright.

“it’s like the girl is starving,” aunt evelyn joked under her breath to her sister.

you could tell jake also heard his aunt since he placed his hand on your knee under the table. you glanced at him with a smile and you made a mental note to eat more slowly.

when the servers came to clear all the empty dishes, you couldn’t help but notice that every other plate still had some food on it while yours was basically licked clean. the server even seemed shocked when you gave her your plate, but hid it with a quick smile.

when the evening winds down and teh estate begins to settle into the night tranquility, a maid helps prepare your room for bedtime. she offers to run a bath for you. politely, you decline, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the attentiveness and luxury that surrounds you.

jake lingers in the doorway of your room once the maid leaves. his presence a comforting anchor in the unfamiliar environment. his fingers brush lightly over your hair when you walk up to him in your doorway, sending a shiver down your spine. “you can ask them for anything you need.” he says softly, referring to the maids.

“i’m not used to that,” you admit, shaking your head with a faint smile.

jake chuckles, the sound rich and genuine, “i wish i could live as you for one day.”

“how can you say that after living here, like this? i’ve only been here a few hours and i don’t ever want to go back.”

his expression shifts, his brow furrowing, “don’t say that. your parents do everything for you and love you.”

you sigh, feeling the weight of his words, “yeah i know. it just feels so different being here. good different.”

jake’s smile returns, “i’m glad to here that. tomorrow we’ll have more fun.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead, the gesture tender and filled with affection. he glances both ways down the hall before pressing his lips to yours ina soft lingering kiss that makes your heart race, “i wish you could sleep in my bed with me,” he whispers the words a quiet confession that sends a thrill through you.

you push him away gently, your cheeks warm, “night jake. see you tomorrow.”

the last thing you see before you swing the door closed was a pout on jake’s lips that matched his puppy dog expression.

as you lay down in the bed, which feels like it belongs in a luxury hotel, you can’t help but feel a sense of wonder and displacement. the room is exquisitely decorated, with plush pillows and silky sheets that cocoon you in comfort. yet, there’s an undercurrent of unfamiliarity that keeps you from fully relaxing.

the first night at jake’s your dreams transported you to a fantastical realm where you are a princess in a tower. the tower is grand, but there’s a sense of foreboding as darkness approaches. crows circle the tower, their cries eerily mimicking the voices of your parents, disapproving of your decisions for the kingdom. the dissonance leaves you feeling uneasy as you toss and turn throughout the night.

You wake to the soft, insistent knocking on your door. A server's gentle voice breaks the morning silence, "It's time to wake up for breakfast, miss. Guests will be arriving soon." You blink away the remnants of your dream, the vivid images of towers and crows fading as you return to the reality of the opulent room.

"Thank you," you murmur, stretching and rubbing your eyes. The server nods and leaves you to get ready. You take a moment to admire the luxurious surroundings before stepping into the adjoining bathroom, where everything gleams with polished marble and gold fixtures. The shower is refreshingly warm, and as you wash away the night, you can’t help but think about the day ahead and the unfamiliar social dynamics you’ll have to navigate.

Dressed and ready, you make your way downstairs, the rich aroma of breakfast guiding you towards the dining room. The house is alive with the quiet bustle of staff preparing for the day. You reach the dining room to find jake, his mother Sonya, and his two aunts already seated at the grand dark wood table. The table is set with an array of dishes, from fresh fruit and pastries to more elaborate breakfast options.

jake looks up as you enter, his face lighting up with a welcoming smile. "Good morning," he says warmly, gesturing to the seat beside him. You sit down next to him, feeling a bit more at ease with his familiar presence beside you.

"Good morning, everyone," you greet them politely. Sonya and the aunts nod in acknowledgment, offering you polite smiles before returning to their conversation. Their voices are low and refined, discussing matters that feel both mundane and impossibly sophisticated.

jake leans in slightly, his hand brushing yours under the table in a small gesture of reassurance. "Did you sleep well?" he asks quietly, his eyes full of genuine concern.

"Yes, thank you," you reply, giving him a small smile.

As the servers deftly clear away the remains of breakfast, you notice Sonya and jake's aunts leaning in slightly towards one another, their conversation growing more animated. The topic shifts to the wine-tasting event planned for the evening.

"The Kims will be here soon," Sonya remarks, her tone carrying a note of anticipation.

At the mention of the Kims, you see jake tense beside you. His easygoing demeanor vanishes as he leans back in his chair, a frown forming on his face. "They are coming tonight?" he asks, his voice barely masking his displeasure.

Sonya's gaze sharpens as she looks at her son. "jake, be polite," she admonishes. "The Kims are our guests, and we will treat them with respect."

jake groans softly, but his mother's stern look silences any further protest. Sonya turns her attention back to her conversation, her voice a mix of reproach and resignation. "No groaning, jake. Now go get changed. We need to pick apples and pumpkins from the backyard for the event tonight."

You rise from the table alongside jake, curiosity piqued. As you both head up the grand staircase to change into warmer clothes, you can't help but ask, "Who are the Kims?"

jake sighs, running a hand through his hair as you walk down the hall together. "kim Nakyoung and her family. They come over for every holiday event. Her mother always manages to spill everyone's secrets at every year's wine-tasting event."

you separate into your separate bedrooms, changing into warmer clothes. the maids had carefully laid out a set of fleece leggings and a vest on your bed. you glance at yourself in the mirror, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. the outfit was perfectly tailored and undeniably expensive and feels both foreign and comfortable. you knock on jake’s door and find that he’s waiting for you and is similarly dressed in attire that screams opulence. He had noticed the tension in your expression when he had told you that nakyoung and her family would be joining tonight.

“i need a smoke before we go,” jake speaks and you follow him out onto his balcony where he lights a cigarette, a familiar scent mingling with the crisp fall air. the view is breathtaking, but your mind is preoccupied. as he takes a drag, his voice is soft, “i won’t leave you alone with her,” referring to nakyoung, “just ignore her.”

You nod, but the anxiety lingers. when his eyes look away from you you finally voice the question that's been gnawing at you since the first day of school.

“What is it between you and Nakyoung?" you ask, your voice tentative.

jake exhales slowly, the smoke curling around him like a ghost. "She's always had a crush on me," he begins, glancing at you. "And it's partly our parents' fault. They used to joke when we were kids that we'd marry someday. It was never serious, but they wouldn't be against it either."

"Why don't you date her then?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He scoffs, pretending to gag. "I'm being serious, jake."

He sighs, flicking ash off the balcony. "Nakyoung doesn't know how privileged she is. She's so closed-minded to any world besides this one, and it always gets to her head. She has this fantasy of hers, where she's in a huge house, wealthy, with a husband and kids. More often than not, I'm the husband in her fantasy world."

You stay quiet for a moment, processing his words. "That doesn't sound too bad."

jake scoffs again, his frustration evident. "I don't want to be in some fantasy land where everything is the same every day and I have no choice. I've never had a choice my entire life."

The weight of his confession hangs between you. Your fingers reach out and overlap with his quietly, offering a silent gesture of understanding. jake looks down at your entwined hands, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the somber conversation.

“i don’t think i’d be able to handle this weekend without you. being here with you makes this hell… bearable.” his voice is low in the late morning.

“don’t worry, i’m here for you, jake.”

jake nods, his expression softening. "Thank you. For understanding, for being here. It means more than you know."For a moment, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble. jake leans closer, his voice a tender whisper, “race you to the pumpkin patch.”

not a second later, he’s running away from you, through the mansion that you barely know, but you’re running right after him, not wanting him to win the race.

the autumn air was crisp and filled with the scent of fallen leaves and ripe apples as you and jake wandered through the sprawling orchard in his backyard. the sim’s pumpkin patch was a sea of vibrant orange, each pumpkin a potential canvas for carving. beneath the multiple appeal trees, you plucked the reddest apples that you thought would taste the best. as the afternoon sun settled in, you shared a quiet moment as you counted the apples you both had placed into the wicker basket. jake’s warm hands brushed yours as he helped count.

a maid welcomes you back into the house and servers come to help you carry the pumpkins and wicker basket inside to clean them. the guests will be arriving shortly for the wine tasting event, so the maid let’s you and jake go shower off the dirt from the pumpkins.

the bathroom that jake pointed you towards was just as luxurious as the rest of the house. the marble tiles gleamed under the soft glow of ornate sconces. the shower had gold fixtures and a rain shower head that cascaded the water like a gentle waterfall. shelves lines the inside of the shower with fancy soaps and shampoos that smelt like lavender and vanilla, similar to the way jake’s hair smelt.

afterward, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy, white towel that felt like a cloud against your skin and headed towards your bedroom. you briefly forgot that anyone else lived here until you saw a dress laid out for you on the bottom of your bed. it’s fabric was simmering softly in the chandeliers light. your fingers trace the delicate embroidery, feeling the intricate patterns. it’s so beautiful you’re unsure if you should even dare to wear it.

as you stand there, lost in thought with yoru eyes glued to the dress, the door creaks open and the maid from earlier enters, “you should wear it.” she says gently, a warm smile spreading across their face.

“i don’t know if i can.” you shake your head looking between her and the dress.

“of course you can, mrs sim picked it out just for you. thanksgiving is special.” her words and the sincerity in her voice persuades you, and with a deep breath you decide to wear it, embrace the sim lifestyle for thanksgiving.

you step down the grand staircase, the dress flowing around you like a cascade of moonlight. each step seems to echo with the distant hum of conversation and laughter from the gathered guests below. the maid had worked her magic on your hair and makeup, making you feel somewhat pretty.

at the bottom of the stairs, jake stands waiting, his suit impeccable and his presence relaxed as he talks with guests. when he turns and sees you, his reaction is immediate and heartfelt. his jaw slackens, eyes widening in awe as he takes in the sight of you. the room seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this moment of quiet reverence.

"you look so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine admiration as you reach him. the words send a warm flush to your cheeks, and you feel a surge of emotion in your chest.

his hand reaches out, steady and inviting, and you grasp it gratefully, feeling the strength and warmth of his touch. with his support, you navigate the last few steps, your heart beating a little faster with each one. as you reach the bottom, jake doesn't let go of your hand, instead, he gently squeezes it, grounding you in the midst of the swirling evening.

“oh my, y/n,” sonya speaks from beside you, “don’t you look gorgeous?”

you blush harder realizing that all the unfamiliar guests were now looking at you, “thank you, thank you for letting me borrow this dress.”

“it’s no problem at all, i think you look better in it than i ever would!” a few guests laugh at sonya’s joke and return to their own conversations, some of them following sonya into the living room.

as everyone leaves the foyer, you spot kim nakyoung standing in the middle of the room. her sharp eyes narrowing as they land on you. she approaches you and jake with a predatory grace, her perfectly coiffed hair and designer gown a stark contrast to your own borrowed elegance. "what’re you doing here?" she asks, her tone dripping with disdain.

before you can respond, jake steps in smoothly. "i invited her," he says, his voice firm and unapologetic. his protective presence beside you is both comforting and reassuring.

nakyoung’s eyes flicker with something unkind, a smirk curling her lips. "why? she's just a scholarship girl. doesn’t really fit in with the rest of us, does she?" her words are like daggers, aimed to wound.

jake’s expression hardens, his gaze locking onto nakyoung's with a steely resolve. "she belongs here just as much as anyone else," he says, his voice steady. "maybe even more so, considering what she’s accomplished to be here."

her smirk falters, and she shoots you a venomous look before turning away. jake’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, a silent promise of support. he guides you towards where the rest of the guests are mingling, but before you can follow, nakyoung steps closer, her voice a low hiss in your ear.

"just because you're in that dress doesn't mean you should be," she whispers, her tone laced with malice. "you don’t belong here."

her words sting, but you take a deep breath, refusing to let them see you falter. jake, unaware of the exchange, leads you into the unfamiliar crowd. you straighten your shoulders, determined to prove nakyoung wrong. you do belong here, and tonight, you will not let anyone make you feel otherwise.

the wine tasting event is a whirlwind of activity, the room filled with laughter and animated conversations. the guests, draped in expensive attire, swirl their glasses and speak in a language of wealth and privilege that feels foreign to you. you smile and nod, pretending to understand the nuanced discussions. you understood why the sinwine tasting event would be a big hit around thanksgiving.

you manage to avoid nakyoung and her family for the entirety of the night, but you could feel her daggered eyes on you when one of the guests would laugh at one of your jokes, or when you would attempt to help the servers.

as the evening progresses and the guests begin to take their leave, , jake appears at your side, his eyes sparkling with mischief. before you can ask what he’s up to, he grabs your hand, and with a quick, conspiratorial glance around, he snatches a bottle of wine from a nearby table.

"come on," he whispers, his excitement contagious. he tugs you along, and you follow him, stifling your giggles as you both tiptoe through the hallways. his playful shushing to your noises makes you want to laugh louder.

you reach his bedroom, and he pulls you through, continuing to his balcony. the night air is cool and refreshing, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded ballroom. you step out onto the balcony, the fairy lights around the grand backyard were like a blanket of stars underneath you.

“god, i couldn’t be in there any longer,” jake says, a playful grin on his face. he uncorks the bottle with a flourish, pouring the wine into two glasses he’d stashed nearby. the rich, fruity aroma fills the air, mingling with the scent of night-blooming flowers from the garden below.

you clink glasses and sip the wine together. you feel a sense of belonging start to settle within you in this moment. jake’s presence, his easy laughter and the warmth in his eyes makes you feel like you do belong here, alongside the opulence and luxury.

"thanks for this," you say softly, glancing at him. his gaze meets yours, and there’s a tenderness there that makes your heart flutter.

"anytime," he replies, his voice equally soft. “

"forget what nakyoung said," jake murmurs, his eyes earnest and comforting. "she’s just jealous."

you frown, looking away. "i don't know why kim nakyoung would be jealous of me."

jake tilts his head, studying you with a gentle smile. "what do you mean? you're smart, kind, and you have so much empathy she could never understand. you’re genuine, and that’s something money can’t buy."

his words warm your heart, and you want to believe him. yet, as you glance down at the simmering dress you wear, you can't shake the feeling of being an imposter, inadequate amidst the glittering world around you.

jake’s soft chuckle takes you from your insecure thoughts. he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you know,” he begins, his voice low and hushed as if someone could hear you from up here, “that dress looks even more stunning in the moonlight. it’s like this dress was made just for you.”

his words send warmth flooding through you, and you can't help but meet his gaze, your heart fluttering in anticipation. There's a pause, a charged silence between you, as if the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for what comes next.

then, jake leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours for a second, to see if you would be opposed to kissing him this time. he closes the distance between you when he watches your eyelids close. his lips meet yours in a tender, lingering kiss. you melt into his embrace, you can’t help but feel like you belong attached to him like this.

jake doesn’t hesitate to slide his hands down your sides, pulling you even closer so your chests are touching. he deepens the kiss with his plush lips. you’ve wanted to feel his lips on yours so passionately like this since the first day you saw him in the cafeteria. there’s so much want and need in the kiss that neither of you stop to breathe. so much want and need that’s built up since the first day of school when you heard all the rumours about jake. you never thought that you would be making out with him so aggressively and carefree on his grand estate’s balcony.

“i wanna make you feel good, love.” jake pulls away, breathless. you instantly feel warmth spread on your cheeks, hopefully the night sky dims the colour a bit. jake chuckles at your shyness, “only if you’ll let me, only if you want.”

you bite your lip as you look up at him, “i want you to.”

jake’s fingers brush over the bottom of your jaw, “want me to what?”

“i want you to make me feel good.”

jake doesn’t hesitate to get on his knees, gently pushing you back so your back is leaning against the balcony’s railing. his warm hands slide up the sides of your legs, bunching your dress up at your waist.

“wait, right here?” you ask him, look down at him.

“just like this, i can’t wait any longer, i wanted you since you came down those stairs,” jake practically groans as he pulls down your panties to your ankles, his brown eyes darkening. “fuck, you’re already so wet.”

you want to close your legs at the comment, becoming self conscious as jake is face to face with your pussy. you couldn’t even lie and say you weren’t since you were so turned on since you saw him. “what? you look good in your suit…”

jake smiles at you at your compliment, “do i?”

you can’t answer him since he starts to press feather light kisses onto your core. your fingers grip the balcony railing behind you, the cold metal a reminder that anyone could see you if they looked out a window or went outside. the thought briefly worries you until jake’s slips his tongue to easily in your folds. it pushed any worry out of your mind.

“fuck, jake,” you mumble out as he continues to experimentally movie his tongue up and down your folds.

your body was getting insanely hot in the autumn wind. you could feel jake’s warmth pressed against your entire core as your legs buckled around his neck and shoulders. jake kept his hands on your upper thighs to sturdy himself and you.

“you taste better than i ever thought,” jake pulled away for a second to speak. you moan out in response, your eyebrows pulled together as you look at the boy between your legs. “thought about tasting your pretty pussy since the day i saw you.”

suddenly you weren’t able to focus on anything except for the pleasure jake was giving you and the fact that he also wanted you the second he saw you in the cafeteria. the information only increased the pleasure you were feeling.

your one hand slipped from the balcony and pushed itself into jake’s brown hair that you always wanted to brush out of his face. his smooth forehead now visible to the moonlight above your head. jake’s tongue starts to circle your clit, making you have to bite down on your lip to be quiet. you never thought a tongue could feel this good.

your pussy feels so warm and wet and jake’s groans into your core only push you closer to the edge, never feeling anything like this before. you start to become a whimpering mess, trying to not let your moans become too loud.

jake’s able to read your body language, the way your thighs start to tense and the grip you have on his hair tightening. he slips his index finger into your pussy, making you cry out way too loudly for your liking (jake only smiled). his finger starts at a steady pace, different from how fast his tongue and lips were moving on your clit. jake feels his chin and cheeks start to get soaked from your juices and his saliva, but it only makes his cock on his pants harden some more.

jake starts to work in his middle finger alongside his index, pumping them faster to match the speed of his mouth. you start to clench around his digits, feeling your stomach start to tighten and your eyes struggle to remain on his from your feet. jake bends his fingers in all directions, focused on finding your g spot, focused on making you cum.

“oh god!” you cry out, your hand in his hair coming to cover your mouth once his fingers find it. “fuck, jake.”

“c’mon love, cum all over my mouth, wanna taste all of you so bad.”

and it doesn’t take long for you cum so messily over his mouth. you’re shaking and moaning his name and curse words into your mouth. jake slides his fingers out of your pussy, sucking on them before he licks your core clean, wanting every drop.

“good girl, y/n, did so good.” jake mumbles as he presses kisses into your legs, pulling up your panties and pulling down your dress as you try to regulate the pulsing between your legs and your breathing.

jake stands up, his hands coming onto your waist as he puts his forehead against yours, grounding you as you are forced to look into his warm, playful eyes. “you okay?”

“better than okay,” you tell him, a smile cracking onto your lips as you think about what just happened.

“good,” jake smiles as he pecks your lips, making you taste yourself, “because you have to let me do that again.” you push him away gently, rolling your eyes at him.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom quickly,” you tell him.

jake grabs your hand as you try to move away from him and pulls you into him again, “okay but hurry back,” he presses his lips to yours.

“i’ll try.” you kiss him again before walking into the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom.

jake leans his back against the balcony railing, his elbows leaning on the railing behind him as he lights a cigarette in his mouth, he slaps the lighter closed and breathes in the nicotine as he glances into his room. it’s then, that he sees nakyoung standing in the small space of his bedroom door. a scowl on her usual pretty face.

jake smirks as he takes the cig out of his mouth and exhales the smoke, almost chuckling to himself as he realizes nakyoung probably watched at least some of the show.

he can almost hear nakyoung’s pout from across the room before she closes his bedroom door, leaving him alone to smoke in peace before you’re back.

on your third day at the sim estate, jake, his aunts, sonya, nakyoung and her family, and you gather near the stables at the back of the estate, excitement twinkling in your eyes. The sound of horses fills the air as you prepare to go horseback riding on the trails around their property.

you think that finally, there’s something familiar here besides jake as you mount the dark brown horse. it’s a skill you’ve honed since you were a child, a passion passed down to you from your father.

“you handle yourself in the saddle like a seasoned rider, y/n. it’s clear you have a talent with horses.” nakyoung’s father compliments, his voice deep and eyes impressed as he watches you on the horse. Nakyoung's glare is sharp enough to cut through steel, but you meet it with a serene smile, refusing to let her animosity dampen your spirits.

Curiosity sparks in Aunt Rose's eyes as she watches you effortlessly guide your horse, her voice warm with interest. "How did you come to be such a skilled rider?" she asks, genuine intrigue coloring her tone.

You share a soft laugh, the memories of your father's patient teachings flooding back. "My dad used to ride professionally when he was younger," you explain, a fond smile gracing your lips. "He taught me everything I know."

The revelation draws murmurs of admiration from the group, their eyes shining with newfound respect. jake's smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds, his pride in you evident as he watches you lead the horse down the trail.

But amidst the praise and admiration, Nakyoung seethes with resentment, her jealousy palpable in the air.

later in the afternoon, sonya announced that it’s tea time for the ladies. The maids bustle about, their movements precise and purposeful as they prepare tea, delicate cups and saucers clinking softly against each other. The scent of freshly baked scones wafts through the air.

As the ladies gather in the day room, you take your seat among them, feeling a mixture of nerves and anticipation fluttering in your chest. It's like stepping onto a stage, completely improvising your role yet, the audience has no idea that you don’t know what you’re doing. you mimic their actions, delicately arranging a napkin on your lap and ensuring your elbows don’t rest on the table.

the older women turn their attention to you, their questions gentle and probing as they seek to unravel the layers of your personality. sonya seems to genuinely curious about you and the warmth from jake’s aunts and nakyoung’s mother follow sonya.

Even Nakyoung's mother, typically reserved and aloof, surprises you with her interest, her questions probing deeper, seeking to understand the challenges you've faced as a scholarship student. It's a stark contrast to Nakyoung's cold indifference.

nakyoung’s presence fades into the background during tea time. no one bothers to pay her glaring self any attention since all eyes were on you. with all the polite conversation and shared laughter, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. that you belonged to a part of this world that once seemed so distant and unattainable.

after dinner, jake and you slip away from the crowded dining room, seeking solace in the quiet beauty of the evening. Hand in hand, you stroll through the sprawling gardens, the cool night air whispering secrets as you walk. you notice an extra pep in your step as you walk, a smile never leaving your face as you look around the beautiful estate.

You glance at jake, "I haven't had this much fun in so long," you confess, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

jake's grin widens, his hand squeezing yours gently. "Good, because I feel the same way," he admits, his voice soft but sure. "I didn't think I could have fun while being home, but you make it fun. You make anywhere fun."

You playfully roll your eyes at his cheesy declaration, but your laughter rings out into the night, a melody of shared joy. jake tugs on your connected hands, pulling you closer until you're pressed against his chest. His lips meet yours in a sweet, tender kiss, you don’t worry about anyone catching you since you’re far out into the backyard.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, you rest your foreheads against each other, the moment stretching out like an eternity. jake's gaze is soft, his eyes searching yours with a depth of emotion that steals your breath away.

"I want you to sleep in my bed tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

You hesitate, a flicker of worry crossing your mind at the thought of jake's mother discovering you together. "You know we can't do that," you remind him, your voice tinged with regret. "Your mom would be so mad if she found out."

But jake's grin turns mischievous, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Who says she'll find out?"

jake's grip is firm yet gentle as he pulls you up the grand staircase, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of determination and vulnerability. the hallway blurs as he leads you to his bedroom. the door closes behind you with a soft click, sealing you both in secrecy. he lays you down on his bed, the plush covers enveloping you as his gaze softens.

jake leaned over top of you, his whole body pressed against yours. his hands gently reach out and cup your jaw and press soft kisses into your lips. your legs wrap around his waist, keeping his clothed crotch against your own. your fingers confidently combed through his hair, gently tugging at the nape of his neck. jake groans into your mouth, grinding his currently stiffening cock against your core.

“let’s get this dress off you,” jake suggests, pulling the expensive fabric from your legs up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. you’re left in your panties and bra and jake doesn’t hesitate to start presses kisses into the exposed part of your chest.

you were beginning to feel exposed and insecure, never being so close to completely bare in front of anyone before. jake could sense your anxiety and gently held your wrists to your side, moving down your body with soft kisses, wanting to calm you, wanting every part of your body to be touched.

jake hooks his finger into your panties once he reaches further down your body, “it’s okay if i take these off?” you nod in response, humming when he presses a kiss under your belly button. he pulls off the garments in a second, throwing them on the floor.

before jake could press his fingers against your core, your grab his face in both of your hands, looking down at him between your thighs, “i want you, jake.” jake’s eyes softened in subtle confusion, “i want all of you, want you inside me.”

jake swore he almost came right there in his pants. your usual shy self speaking such dirty words to him, only for him, “are you sure? we don’t have to if you aren’t ready.”

you smile at his politeness, your fingers caressing the side of his soft face, “i’m sure, jake. i only want you.”

jake leaps up to press his lips onto yours. this time, the kiss is much more feverish and lustful. his hands slide behind your back, unclasping your bra. you let it fall down your elbows, jake pulling it off your arms for it the meet the rest of your clothes. now you were completely bare for him, as he was still completely dressed. you let his eyes wander over your bare body, watching them fill with adoration and need.

“fuck, you’re so, so beautiful.” jake groans, leaning down to suck on your neck. his teeth subtly biting the skin there, sucking on the spot, making you writhe your bare core against his.

“i wanna see you, too, jake.”

jake pulls away from you, unbuttoning his white shirt, button by button, until his bare core and shoulders are able to be seen. his skin is tan and strong, his muscles are visible and you can’t stop yourself from your hands reaching out and touching the skin. it’s so soft and the muscles are so hard. there’s no imperfections, just as you thought.

jake slides two fingers inside of you, pushing them in and out, preparing you for his cock that is pulsating in his pants. you moan out his name when his thumb starts to press circles into your clit. your hips start to move in rhythm of his fingers, wanting them deep inside of you.

jakes other hand was massaging your breasts, tweaking your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger. jake knew exactly where your g spot was, his fingers making sure to hit there everytime he thrusted them inside of you. you were starting to squirm underneath him, the pleasure becoming too much too quick. the excitement of what was going to come was turning you on so much.

“close already, love?” jake asks, taking your shaking breaths as a sign.

“a-almost there,” you whined out to him, your hand grabbing his shoulder for support.

“that’s a good girl, cum on my fingers, then, wanna see you cum,”

jake continued to hit your g spot at the quick pace he had set. his thumb moving on your clit quicker and quicker. your moans getting louder, forgetting that any one else was nearby. forgetting that it wasn’t just you and jake.

with a call of his name, you come undone all over his fingers just like he wanted. he watches as your jaw drops, a quiet cry escaping as the pleasure rushes throughout your body.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” jake says, pulling his fingers out of you and immediately pressing his lips onto yours. he makes out with you as you come down from your high, your body coming back to its senses. your hands pull on his locks, wanting him as close to you as possible.

you pull away from him, “want you inside of me, jake, please, need it so bad.”

“fuck, okay, okay, baby.” jake nods and starts to pull down his trousers, his boxers going with so his erect cock is springing upwards.

before jake could lay down again, you push him onto his back, his head in his pillow. you swing your leg over his crotch so your bare cores are just over top of each other.

“are you sure, y/n?” jake asked you, his hands on your waist to still you from moving any more.

you nodded, your hands resting on his lower abdomen, “i want you, jake. i’m sure.”

you slide you hand in between your bodies, holding his cock in one hand to line it up with your pussy. slowly, you start to sink down onto his cock. your core is so wet from your previous orgasm that the stretch isn’t as bad as you thought it would be for the first time. you both moan at the feeling of jake’s cock stretching you out. jake’s lip is caught inbetween his lips as he watches himself bottom out in you.

you took a deep breath once he was snug inside of you. both of you waiting for the uncomfortable feeling to subside. jake started running his hands up and down your bare thighs, distracting you from it.

“okay,” you mostly told yourself once the feeling was gone. the pain had turned into pleasure.

jake on the other hand swore he was in heaven. the girl he was enamored with was above him, starting to bounce on his cock. his hand slid down to start rubbing circles on your clit again. you let out a loud moan, the oversensitivity from your previous orgasm was making this feel so much better. your senses were heightened as you continued to move up and down his cock. your walls tight around his cock.

you could feel every vein of his cock inside of you, your juices mixing with his precum. jake could feel your walls start to pulse around him. your elbows on his stomach started to buckle as your orgasm was approaching quickly.

“i’m gonna cum, jake.” you cry out, your eyebrows pulled together as you look down at him.

“please cum, love, wanna see you cum. i’m so close,”

you let out curses mixed with his name as you cum for a second time that night. your hips moving around his cock quickly as all the nerves in your body tense with pleasure.

“fuck baby, that’s it, that’s it!” jake calls out, groaning as his grip on your hips tightens. his own orgasm only a few thrusts behind yours. his cum shoots inside of you, coating your walls with his white release. both of you moan at the feeling of you being so full.

you let yourself drop on top of jake. your head in his neck and shoulder as he cock softens inside of you. both of your chests are heaving against each other as you try to catch your breaths.

jake brushes your hair out of your face so he can see you, a laugh leaving his lips as he sees you. you can’t help but smile back at him, tiredness washing over you.

“i think that was the hardest i ever came,” jake speaks his mind to you.

“really?”

“definitely.”

you smash your lips against his, wondering when you’ll ever feel this good, again.

as the day of thanksgiving unfolds, sonya surprises you with a thoughtful gesture, insisting on taking you to get your nails done and insisting on paying.

As you gaze down at your newly manicured nails, a sense of awe washes over you. They've never looked more beautiful. For the first time, your nails resemble those of the other girls at Sterling Academy.

Later that evening, as you prepare for Thanksgiving dinner, you find yet another beautiful dress laid out at the bottom of your bed. The fabric simmers in the soft light, the intricate design whispering of elegance and sophistication. Without hesitation, you slip into the dress, the smooth fabric draping over your curves like a second skin.

There's no trace of self-consciousness as you admire yourself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at you, a vision of confidence and grace. In this moment, you feel a sense of empowerment, as if this dress was made for you. As you take one final glance in the mirror, you can't help but smile.

As you settle down beside jake at the Thanksgiving dining table, the atmosphere is alive with the sounds of laughter and conversation. The table is laden with a feast fit for royalty, an array of dishes that tantalize the senses with their rich aromas and vibrant colors. Family and friends mingle around the table, their voices blending into a symphony of warmth and camaraderie.

Nakyoung sits across from you and jake. but you refuse to focus on her and your mind paints her into the background.

Throughout the evening, the maids and servers flit about, their movements graceful and efficient as they refill drinks and bring out more food. But amidst the flurry of activity, you find yourself lost in the spell of jake's touch. His hand rests reassuringly on your thigh, a silent anchor in the sea of chatter and laughter.

With each whispered word, jake's affectionate murmurs send a shiver of anticipation down your spine. He tells you how beautiful you look, his words a gentle caress against your ear. And as he expresses his desire for you, his voice laced with longing, you feel a surge of warmth spread through you, igniting a fire that burns bright in the depths of your soul.

Despite the distractions and the prying eyes around you, you lean into jake's touch, craving the intimacy of his presence.

As dessert is served, you reach for the fork beside your plate, only to hear Aunt Rose's voice ring out across the table, tinged with surprise and disapproval. "Wow, I can't believe Y/N is using her salad fork for dessert," she exclaims, her words carrying a bit too loudly in the suddenly quiet room. Instantly, you feel the weight of everyone's attention shift towards you, the conversation dying down as all eyes seem to bore into your being.

With a gulp, you swallow the piece of dessert in your mouth, feeling the sting of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. Hastily, you set down the incorrect fork and pick up the proper one, mumbling a hasty apology under your breath. It's a small mistake, but in this moment, it feels monumental, a glaring reminder of your perceived inadequacies.

For the first time since arriving at the estate, you feel like everyone is truly seeing you, but not for the person they believe you to be, but rather for the outsider that you are. The room is heavy with silent judgment, the unspoken question lingering in the air: why are you here?

Before you can gather your thoughts or summon a response, Nakyoung's interruption pierces the steady silence like a sharp dagger. "I told you that you don't belong here, Y/N," she declares, her voice laced with venom. her mother's reprimand is swift, but Nakyoung pays it no mind, her focus locked on you with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

"Oh please," Nakyoung continues, her gaze boring into yours with unbridled disdain. "Don't act like that wasn't what everyone was just thinking." And then, her words turn even more cutting as she directs her attention to Sonya, her accusation hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "She's just using you for a little fun getaway, Sonya."

Nakyoung's words cut through the air like a knife, piercing the fragile bubble of illusion you've been living in. In an instant, you're jolted back to reality, the stark truth of your situation crashing down upon you like a tidal wave. You don't belong in jake's world, not really. No amount of fancy clothes or lavish surroundings can change that.

With a heavy heart, you mumble another apology, the words feeling hollow and inadequate as they leave your lips. The sound of your chair scraping against the floor echoes loudly in the sudden silence, drawing unwanted attention to your retreat. You can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on you, their silent judgment suffocating in its intensity.

jake's voice, soft and pleading, calls out your name, his hand reaching out in a futile attempt to stop you. But you can't bear to face him, to see the disappointment and confusion in his eyes. With a sharp intake of breath, you pull away, your heart hammering in your chest as you turn and flee from the dining room. you head up the multiple stairs to not your “bedroom”, but the room they let you stay in.

The dress feels like a suffocating shroud, constricting around you like chains as you struggle to breathe. In a sudden burst of desperation, you tear at the fabric, ripping it away from your body. With trembling hands, you reach for the clothes you had packed, the familiar weight of them grounding you in the chaos of the moment. Hastily, you pull them on, the fabric familiar and comforting against your skin. As you move around the room, gathering your belongings into your bag, a sense of urgency propels you forward, driving you towards escape.

But before you can make your exit, a familiar voice calls out from beyond the door, the sound of it both comforting and agonizing in its plea. "Y/N? Are you okay?" jake's voice is laced with concern, his words a desperate plea for you to return to the dinner table. "Please come back to dinner. Nakyoung's just being an asshole. Don't listen to her, please!"

You pause, the sound of his voice tugging at your heartstrings, but our mind is set on one thing and one thing only: leaving this fantasy behind as quickly as you arrived.

jake knows that you won’t answer and suddenly the door is swinging open behind you. jake's heart sinks as he sees your bag packed, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. "What're you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern and confusion.

"I'm leaving, jake," you reply, your voice steady but tinged with sorrow. His heart clenches at your words, a sense of panic rising within him. "What, why?" he asks, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I shouldn't be here," you explain, your words echoing in the silence of the room. "So I'm leaving." Despite his protests, you continue to pack, your movements swift and decisive. jake tries to stop you, his hands reaching out in a futile attempt to halt your departure. But it's no use—your mind is made up.

"Y/N, please, just stay," he pleads, his voice desperate and pleading. But when you refuse to meet his gaze, he takes matters into his own hands, gently grasping your upper arms and guiding you to face him. As your eyes meet, he can see the tears welling in your eyes, a silent testament to the pain you're feeling.

In that moment, as you stand before him, both of you are flooded with memories of all the moments you shared together—the laughter, the smiles, the stolen glances filled with unspoken longing. He remembers the way your eyes lit up when you were together, the warmth of your touch sending shivers down his spine.

the tears fall down your cheeks and jake pulls you into his chest. you take in his lavender smell and you know deep down that this will be the last time you’re this close to jake sim. he shushes you silently into your hair. his arms cascading down your back, keeping you close to him.

in that moment, jake realizes that he can’t bear the thought of losing you.

Tension crackles in the air like lightning as you and jake pull apart.

"I have to go, jake," you say, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "I don't belong here, and you know it."

jake's eyes darken with emotion, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Is there anything I can do to make you stay, please!" he pleads, desperation lacing his words. "I can't see you go like this!"

But you shake your head, the resolve in your heart unwavering. "It's not about you, jake," you explain, frustration creeping into your tone. "It's about me and where I belong. And it's not here."

His jaw clenches as he struggles to find the right words, the air thick with unspoken tension. "You're making a mistake," he insists, his voice rough with emotion. "We can figure this out together, I promise."

But you shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I can't," you whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I have to go."

And with that, you turn and reach for the handle of the room, preparing to call a taxi and never set food on sinestate again. But before you can take another step, jake's voice cuts through the silence like a knife, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"I love you," he declares, his words hanging in the air like a delicate thread. Slowly, you turn to face him, your heart heavy with sorrow.

"No, you don't, jake," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes widen in disbelief, hurt flashing across his features like a storm cloud. "What? Yes, I do!" he protests, desperation lacing his words. "You're the only one who's ever understood me! I love you."

"No, you don't, jake," you repeat, your voice trembling with emotion. You can see the pain in his eyes. He reaches for you, his hand outstretched in a silent plea, but you raise your own in a gesture of finality.

"Please, jake," you implore, your voice breaking with emotion. "Just let me go, please." His shoulders slump in defeat, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he watches you turn and leave the room. And as you disappear from his sight, leaving him alone in the house he's always hated, he can't help but wonder if he’ll ever get to hold you again.

the last thing you see of the sim estate, is kim nakyoung’s manicured fingers waving at you from the front door through the taxi’s window.

back at Sterling Academy after the thanksgiving long weekend is no longer a dream, but hell.

As you step through the familiar halls, a sense of relief washes over you at the sight of your friends and the comforting familiarity of your surroundings. Heejin, your grumpy but lovable roommate, greets you with a half-hearted smile, her eyes betraying the exhaustion of the past few days.

But amidst the warm welcome from your friends, there's an undercurrent of unease lingering in the air. The rumors of your mysterious disappearance over the weekend have spread like wildfire, leaving a trail of whispers and speculation in their wake.

It's not long before Minju, lia, and Heejin corner you in the dormitory common room, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern. "Is it true?" Minju asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Did you really spend the weekend at jake sim's house?"

You nod, unable to meet their gaze as a flood of emotions threatens to overwhelm you. "Yes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I did."

“oh my god!” lia squeals, and even heejin fails to hide her amusement at the information. “you have to tell us what happened!”

“yes! yes!” minju shakes you playfully, “every detail!”

before you can even start the story of how you wound up at jake sim’s house, the floodgates open, and tears begin to stream down your cheeks. The weight of the past few days crashes down upon you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath in its wake.

Without hesitation, Minju, lia, and Heejin rush to your side, enveloping you in a tight embrace. They hold you close, offering silent support and understanding as you struggle to find the words to explain the whirlwind of emotions that have consumed you. you fail to recognize in the moment, but now you know that that was where you belonged in, surrounded by people who truly love you.

"Heejin, I'm sorry," you whisper, the words heavy with remorse as you finally confront your roommate after weeks of avoiding the inevitable. Heejin's eyes soften at your apology, her expression mirroring a sense of understanding that you never knew existed between you.

"It's okay, Y/N," she replies, her voice gentle and reassuring. "I just didn't want to see you hurt like this. I wanted to protect you."

Tears well in your eyes at her words, the weight of her sincerity washing over you like a soothing balm. For the first time ever, you see Heejin in a different light, not as the grumpy roommate you've grown accustomed to, but as a friend who has always had your best interests at heart.

The first week back at Sterling Academy feels like walking through a maze of curious gazes and whispered rumors. You can practically feel the weight of judgment bearing down on you, as if every pair of eyes in the room is scrutinizing your every move. It's as though no one understands how a scholarship girl like you ended up spending Thanksgiving weekend at the lavish estate of jake sim, one of the wealthiest students at the academy.

jake's persistent attempts to reach out to you only serve to exacerbate the tension between you. He shows up at your dorm room each night, but you can't bring yourself to face him. As the days pass with no communication, you and jake drift further and further apart. And so you avoid each other, pretending as though your shared past is nothing but a distant memory.

But deep down, beneath the layers of hurt and resentment, there's a part of you that longs to bridge the divide between you and jake, to recapture the connection you once shared. to forget that neither of you could belong in one world. the thought of jake being at your small home with your parents made you laugh. the boy with so much luxury wouldn’t be able to last a day in your hometown where luxury was the rarest thing of all.

As the days pass and the distance between you and jake sim grows, you do realize that you do love him. His caring nature, his playful demeanor, and his vulnerability beneath the facade of wealth and privilege all tug at your heartstrings. But as much as you adore him, you can't ignore the stark reality of the world he belongs to—a world that looks down upon those who aren't born into wealth and luxury. It's a divide that neither of you could ever truly bridge, a fundamental difference that would continue to drive you apart in the future. And so, as much as it pains you to admit it, your love may be doomed from the start, destined to wither beneath the weight of societal expectations and cultural differences that neither of you can overcome.

You decided to shift your focus away from jake sim and onto your schoolwork and friendships. It became clear to you that perhaps you and jake were never meant to be together, and dwelling on it only brought unnecessary pain. Slowly but surely, as you poured your energy into your studies and spending time with your friends, you began to feel a weight lifting off your shoulders. With the looming threat of your scholarship hanging over your head, you knew you had to prioritize your academics to maintain your financial stability. So, you threw yourself into your studies, determined to excel and secure your future. In between study sessions, you found solace in the laughter and companionship of your friends, their support serving as a constant source of comfort and joy. As the days turned into weeks, you started to feel a newfound sense of happiness and contentment, realizing that there was so much more to life than pining over someone who may never truly understand or appreciate you.

As you trudge back to your dorm room after a long night of studying, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders, you absentmindedly glance out the window into the moonlit backyard of Sterling Academy. What you see there stops you dead in your tracks, freezing the breath in your lungs and sending a shockwave of disbelief coursing through your veins. There, on the bench where you and jake used to sit, sits jake sim himself, his lips locked in a passionate embrace with none other than Kim Nakyoung.

The textbooks slip from your fingers, crashing to the ground with a deafening thud that seems to echo through the empty hallways. The sound jolts jake and Nakyoung apart, their guilty eyes meeting yours in a moment of stunned silence. Panic seizes you, and you scramble to retrieve your books, your heart pounding painfully in your chest as you feel the sting of tears pricking at your eyes.

Ignoring jake's desperate calls of your name, you turn on your heel and flee down the dimly lit corridor, the world around you a blur of pain and confusion. The betrayal cuts deep, slicing through the fragile facade of hope you had built for yourself, leaving behind nothing but a raw, gaping wound in its wake.

the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, you hear hurried footsteps behind you, growing closer with each passing moment. You steal a glance over your shoulder and see jake sim, his figure swaying slightly as he catches up to you. His eyes are glassy, clouded with the haze of alcohol, and his words tumble out in a slurred rush as he tries to explain himself. "Y/N, wait!” you don’t wait, “It didn't mean anything, I swear. You mean everything to me.”

You stop abruptly, turning to face him, your heart heavy with a mixture of anger and sorrow. you can immediately smell the alcohol off of jake as he stands in front of you. his bangs longer than ever before as they rest in his eyes as he looks down at you. “i don’t care who you fuck, jake. do what you want.”

jake reaches out and grabs your arm, spinning you around to look at you, “y/n i know, i’m so sorry. but i don’t want to fuck anyone! i just want you!”

you sigh, “jake, it's over, whatever this,” you point between your bodies, “was. We're too different. We don't belong in each other's worlds."

But jake's expression is one of desperation as he reaches out to grasp your hand, his touch tingling against your skin. "No, Y/N, please," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "I want to be in your world. I want to be with you."

Tears blur your vision as you pull your hand away, shaking your head in resignation. "But you aren’t and you can't be, jake," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. “stop pretending you aren’t privileged and wake up. you say you don’t want to be in a fantasy but you pretend that you aren't wealthy jake and that we could ever be in the same world. so that’s it, it’s done.”

“no.” jake says, his head shaking and eyes full of sorrow as he looks at you in almost disbelief, “no y/n you can’t do this, you can’t say this to me.”

“it’s time to stop pretending for both of us jake.” you start to walk away backwards, your face looking at him as youg et slowly farther down the hall.

“no, y/n. i’m not pretending,” jake’s voice is exasperated when he speaks, “i’m not pretending that i love you! i love you, y/n!” you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from responding. only closing your eyes and walking away from him in the empty hallway. when he can’t see your face you let the tears fall. you listen to him calling your name, telling you to come back and that he’ll do anything for you. you so badly want to turn around and run into the familiarity of his arms. but you know that it would be no use, you and jake could never be together. so you tell yourself that these are the last tears you’ll ever spill for jake sim. the son of the wealthiest family at sterling academy.

after that last night in the hallway with jake sim, the days at Sterling Academy passed by in a blur, devoid of any interaction with him. it was as if he had vanished from the halls of the prestigious school, leaving behind nothing but rumours of his troubled behavior. despite the lingering curiosity about him, you found solace in the companionship of your friends minju and lia, and your roommate heejin, who had become the best part of your time at Sterling Academy.

as the school year drew to a close, you knew that you would have to either renew your scholarship or choose not to. and though the memory of jake sim lingered in the recesses of your mind, you found comfort in the bonds you had forged with your friends and the knowledge that you were on the path to a brighter future. your parents and your professors were so impressed by your determined nature with your school work.

for too long, you had lived in a dream, navigating the halls of Sterling Academy with a facade of belonging, all the while feeling like an outsider looking in. the scholarship that had once been a beacon of opportunity now felt like a shackle, binding you to a life that didn't align with you. you longed for true authenticity, for a sense of belonging that transcended the confines of wealth and privilege.

though it was once your dream, you chose not to renew your scholarship at Sterling Academy for the following year. tt was a decision made for you to be able to embrace the world where you truly belonged, surrounded by people who accepted you for who you were, without the need for pretense or facade.

as the final days at Sterling Academy drew near, the bittersweet reality of parting ways with jake sim lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the once vibrant halls of the prestigious academy. You and jake, from starkly different worlds yet inexplicably drawn together by the threads of fate, stood at the precipice of separation, each poised to embark on divergent paths that would lead you far from one another's embrace.

as you said goodbye to Sterling Academy forever, you carried with you the imprint of jake's presence upon your heart. though your paths diverged, you knew that the bond forged between you would endure your lifetime. even as you live your lives differently, you remain forever intertwined, tethered by shared memories and experiences.

in the end, you had both learned a lesson about the nature of life, social classes and love. as the echoes of your time at Sterling Academy faded into the distance, you embraced the promise of new beginnings, knowing that no matter where life took you, your connection with jake sim would endure, an eternal reminder of love and hope in a world filled with uncertainty.

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

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