#I CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS CHAPTER

[sturnslcver]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ virulent love (series) ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

— chris sturniolo x fem reader —

— warnings, drinking, smoking, pills!

a/n: couldn’t figure out what i wanted to do for chris and y/n’s meet cute so it is heavily based off of a real life book i read, but ive already finished the rest of the story/chapters and it is all my own original ideas! enjoy! :)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

i creep up the stairs in search for my brothers apartment door. this place seems more like a historic hotel than an apartment complex, with its expansive columns and marble floors. when arlo said i could stay with him after hearing about another one of moms manic episodes, i had no idea he lived like an actual adult. I thought it’d be more similar to the last time i visited him, right after i graduated from high school, back when he had first started dealing. however, that was four years ago and a two story skimpy complex ago. that’s kind of what i was expecting. i certainly wasn’t anticipating this orderly area in the middle of downtown massachusetts. I spent all of last week packing up everything i own from mom’s house back in florida. luckily, i don’t own much. but after taking a five hundred mile drive alone today, my exhaustion is pretty obvious in my reflection. my hair is in a unsecured knot on top of my head, held together by a pencil, since I couldn't find a hair tie while I was driving. i reach into my purse to find chapstick, hoping to recover my lips before they end up as weary-looking as the rest of me. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up my messages to arlo.

i can't remember which apartment number he said was his. it’s either 1372 or 1374. maybe it's 1372? i come to a stop at 1372, because there's a guy passed out on the floor of the hallway, leaning against the door to 1374. please don't let it be 1374. i find the message on my phone and cringe. it's 1374. of course it is.

i walk slowly to the door, hoping I don't wake up the guy. his legs are sprawled out in front of him, and he's leaning with his back propped up against arlo’s door. his chin is tucked to his chest, and he's snoring. "excuse me" i say, my voice just above a whisper. he doesn't move. i lift my leg and poke his shoulder with my foot. "i need to get into this apartment." he rustles and then slowly opens his eyes and stares straight ahead at my legs. his eyes meet my knees, and his eyebrows furrow as he slowly leans forward with a deep scowl on his face. he lifts a hand and pokes my knee with his finger, almost as if he's never seen a knee before. he drops his hand, closes his eyes, and falls back asleep against the door. great. arlo won't be back until tomorrow, so i dial his number to see if this guy is someone i should be concerned about. “y/n?" he asks, answering his phone without a hello. "yep," i reply. "made it safe, but i can't get in because there's a drunk guy passed out at your front door." "thirteen seventy four?" he asks. "you sure you're at the right apartment?" "positive." "are you sure he's drunk?" "positive." "weird," he says. "what’s he wearing?" "why do you want to know what he's wearing?" "if he's wearing a yellow shirt and goggles on his head he’s probably the janitor. the janitor in our complex is homeless" this guy isn't wearing any type of goggles, but i can't help but notice that his jeans and black hoodie do fit him very nicely. "no goggles," i say. “can you get past him without waking him up?" "i’d have to move him. he’ll fall inside if I open the door." he’s quiet for a few seconds while he thinks. "go back downstairs and wait in the lobby until someone can let you in" i sigh, because ive been driving for six hours, and going all the way back downstairs is not something I feel like doing right now.

“just stay on the phone with me until I'm inside your apartment" i like my plan a lot better. i balance my phone against my ear with my shoulder and dig inside my purse for the key arlo sent me. i insert it into the lock and begin to open the door, but the drunk guy begins to fall backward with every inch the door opens. he groans, but his eyes don't open again. "it’s too bad he's wasted," i tell arlo. "he’s not bad-looking." "can you just get your ass inside and lock the door so i can hang up." i roll my eyes. i’m hoping things will be different between us now that mom’s in the hospital. she was always turning us against one another. for example, by the time i was eleven, i’d saved up three hundred dollars so that i could finally get a pet hamster. she ended up stealing it and spending it on pills. she told me arlo stole it.

i wrap my purse around my shoulder, but it gets caught on my suitcase handle, so i just let it fall to the floor. i keep my left hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob and hold the door shut so the guy won't fall completely into the apartment. i take my foot and press it against his shoulder, pushing him from the center of the doorway. he doesn't budge. “arlo, he's too heavy. i’m gonna have to hang up so I can use both hands." “no, don't hang up. just put the phone in your pocket, but don't hang up." i look down at the oversized shirt and leggings I have on. “no pockets. you’re going in the bra." arlo laughs as i pull the phone from my ear and shove it inside my bra. i remove the key from the lock and drop it toward my purse, but it misses and falls to the floor. i reach down to grab the drunk guy so I can move him out of the way. “okay" I say, struggling to pull him away from the center of the doorway. "sorry." i somehow manage to prop him up against the doorframe to prevent him from falling into the apartment, and then i push the door open farther and turn to get my things.

something warm wraps around my ankle. i freeze. i look down. “let go!" i yell, kicking at the hand that's gripping my ankle so tightly I'm pretty sure it might bruise. the drunk guy is looking up at me now, and his grip sends me falling backward into the apartment when I try to pull away from him. "i need to get in there” , he mutters, just as my butt meets the floor. he makes an attempt to push the apartment door open with his other hand, and this immediately sends me into panic mode. i pull my legs the rest of the way inside, and his hand comes with me. i use my free leg to kick the door shut, slamming it directly onto his wrist. “fuck!" he yells. he’s trying to pull his hand back into the hallway with him, but my foot is still pressing against the door. i release enough pressure for him to have his hand back, and then i immediately kick the door all the way shut.

i pull myself up and lock the door, the dead bolt, and the chain lock as quickly as i can. as soon as my heart rate begins to calm down, it starts to scream at me. my heart is actually screaming at me. in a deep male voice. It sounds like it's calling my name. arlo. i immediately look down at my chest and pull my phone out of my bra, then bring it up to my ear. "hello!" i wince, then pull the phone several inches from my ear. "i’m fine," i say, out of breath. "i’m inside. i locked the door." “okay" he says, relieved. "you scared me. what the hell happened?" “he was trying to get inside. i locked the door, though." i flip on the living-room light and take no more than three steps inside before i come to a halt. i slowly turn back toward the door after realizing what ive done. “arlo?" i pause. "i left a few things outside that i need. i would just grab them, but the drunk guy is still trying to get in, so there's no way I'm opening the door again. what do i do?” he’s silent for a few seconds. "what did you leave in the hallway?" i don't want to answer him, but i do. "my suitcase...and purse." “why the hell is your purse outside?" "i also left the key on the hallway floor." he doesn't even respond to that one. he just groans. "i’ll call chris and see if he's home yet. give me two minutes." "wait. who’s chris ?" "he lives across the hall. whatever you do, don't open the door again until i call you back." arlo hangs up, and i lean against his front door. i’ve lived in massachusetts all of thirty minutes. my phone rings. i slide my thumb across the screen and answer it.

"hey." "y/n?" "yeah?," i reply, wondering why he always double-checks to see if it's me. he called me, so who else would be answering it who sounds exactly like me? "i called chris." “good. is he gonna help me get my stuff?" "not exactly," arlo says. "i kind of need you to do me a huge favor." my head falls against the door again. i have a feeling the next few months are going to be full of inconvenient favors, since he knows he's doing me a huse one by letting me stay here. "what?" i ask him. "chris kind of needs your help." "the neighbor?" i pause as soon as it clicks, and i close my eyes. "arlo, please don't tell me the guy you called to protect me from the drunk guy is the drunk guy." arlo sighs. "i need you to unlock the door and let him in. let him crash on the couch. i’ll be there first thing in the morning. when he sobers up, he'll know where he is, and he'll go straight home." i shake my head. "what kind of apartment complex is this? should i prepare to be groped by drunk people every time I come home?" long pause. "he groped you?" "groped might be a bit strong. he did grab my ankle, though." arlo lets out a sigh. "just do this for me. call me back when you've got him and all your stuff inside." "fine." i groan, recognizing the worry in his voice.

i hang up on arlo and open the door. the drunk guy falls onto his shoulder, and his cell phone slips from his hand and lands on the floor next to his head. i flip him onto his back and look down at him. he cracks his eyes open and attempts to look up at me, but his eyelids fall shut again. "You're not arlo," he mutters. "no. i’m not. i’m your new neighbor." i lift him by his shoulders and try to get him to sit up, but he doesn't. i don't think he can, actually. how does a person even get this drunk? i grab his hands and pull him inch by inch into the apartment, stopping when he's just far enough inside for me to be able to close the door. i retrieve all of my things from outside the apartment, then shut and lock the front door. i grab a throw pillow from the couch, prop his head up, and roll him onto his side in case he pukes in his sleep. and that's all the help he's getting from me. when he's comfortably asleep in the middle of the living room floor, i leave him there while I look around the apartment.

the living room alone could fit three of the living rooms from arlos last apartment. arlo said he'd be back in the morning, so i’ll leave that to him. normally, i would be nervous about the fact that there's a stranger in the same apartment I'm in, but i have a feeling i don't need to worry. arlo would never ask me to help someone he felt might be a threat to me in any way. which confuses me, because if this is common behavior for chris, i’m surprised arlo asked me to bring him inside.

i head back to the living room to turn out the lights, but when ive rounded the corner, i come to an immediate halt. not only is chris up off the floor, but he's in the kitchen, with his head pressed against his arms and his arms folded on top of the kitchen counter. he’s seated on the edge of a bar stool, and he looks as if he's about to fall off it any second. i can't tell if he's sleeping again or just attempting to recover. "chris?" he doesn't move when i call his name, so i walk toward him and gently lay my hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. the second my fingers squeeze his shoulder, he gasps and sits up straight as if I just woke him from the middle of a dream. or a nightmare. immediately, he slides off the stool and onto very unstable legs. he begins to sway, so i throw his arm over my shoulder and try to walk him out of the kitchen. "come on." he drops his forehead to the side of my head and stumbles along with me, making it even harder to hold him up. we make it to the front of the couch, and i start to peel him off me. "okay, chris. whoever you are. just go to sleep." he falls onto the couch, but he doesn't let go of my shoulders. i fall with him and immediately attempt to pull away. i gently push him back into the couch, yanking my hand away. i lay his pillow down and urge him onto it. "go to sleep, chris," i say gently.

his eyelids are heavy and watering when he drops to the pillow. he grabs my hand and hums. his eyes fall shut again, and he releases a heavy sigh. i stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until he's quiet and still. i pull my hand away from his, but i stay by his side for a few minutes longer. even though he's asleep, he somehow still looks as if he's on edge. his eyebrows are furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern. when he makes another half conscious effort to reach for my hand, i finally give in. i place my cheek on top of our hands and lean into the couch. i fall asleep on the floor next to him.

@sturnsmadison @ryli3sworld @sunnysturniolos @ariologyy @sturncakez @sturnsxplr-25 @nickmillersn1gf

[sarawoweeee]

Hi I’m sorry if this isn’t specific enough but can we get a little fic abt Jesus hair era Reid in an enemies to lovers kinda fic with the reader?

"Don't be a jerk."

YESS OFC I LOVE LONG HAIR SPENCER!!!!!! Thank you so much for the support on the last chapter I really appreciate it!!! If you have any requests, questions, or advice pls let me know <33

(Also couldn't rlly find a good gif of Jesus Reid oops sorry)

Your first case in the field! The team is getting closer to you, and everyone really likes you except Spencer. Next chapter is going to be the actual case lol

Warnings: none

Wc:893

After my first day, I couldn't sleep. I thought about Spencer and thought of every possibility of why he could hate me. The next morning, I woke up early, a little too early, the birds just waking up, softly singing. I get up from bed groggily, walking to the bathroom. I take a quick shower, washing my hair and body. I then spend extra time on my appearance, doing my hair, makeup, and picking out a nice outfit. I finally leave and have enough time to drop by my favorite coffee shop.

I walk through the door, the little bell gently ringing. It was pretty much empty this morning except for the few old ladies and soccer moms. I order an iced latte and sit down to wait, cracking open my new novel.

The little bell dings, and I look to see who walks through the door.

My breath catches in my throat when I see him. It's Reid. I try and act casually, continuing to read my novel.

"Y/n..?. Reid looks back at me and grabs my coffee, walking over to my table.

"Stalking me I see." He grumbles.

"I was here first," I grab my drink from him as he sits down across from me. "Thanks." I put my book down onto the table, facing me, and take a sip from the coffee.

"What book..?" He asks, not making eye contact. I turn the book around towards him.

"Ah, Inferno by Dante Alighieri. I remember reading that a couple of years ago." He looks down at the cuffs of his shirt and rolls them to above his elbow.

I slightly nod, mildly confused about why he's talking to me, kind of hoping he would've just pretended to ignore me and go about his day. adjust in my seat and fix my hair. I lean on the table, resting my head on my hands.

"Why don't you like me?" I asked, but it came out more like a statement than a question, monotone.

He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He runs his hands through his long hair (bob is fye ❤️). He opens his mouth to say something.

"Spencer..?" The barista calls out. He takes the opportunity to get out of the situation, grabbing his coffee and walking out the door.

I sigh, starting to hate this little game, and it's barely started. I finish my coffee and make my way back to the BAU.

I walk into the office and notice everyone is gone, then I hear muffled conversation from the conference room. Shit.

I knock on the door and walk in. The team turns their head towards me and I can feel my cheeks flush.

"Sorry.." I say softly. JJ clears her throat.

"Its alright, y/n, we didn't start without you." She smiles and I smile back at her.

"Okay," she continues. "A small suburban town called Willowbrook, two women have been kidnapped and found murdered a week and a half after their capture. Law enforcement can't find any connections in the victims, and we need to be there soon. The time period is almost up, and another body should be found in 2 days." She finishes.

"Leaving in 30." Hotch orders.

I'm a little nervous about my first case. I already have my to go bag, and I'm the first in the jet. That is until Spencer walks in. I'm sitting on the couch, and I'm finishing the novel I was reading at the coffee shop. I don't look up at him, but I feel him sit down next to me on the couch. I put the book down into my lap and let out an annoyed sigh.

"Hm." I look up at him.

"I... uh." He coughs awkwardly. "I don't hate you," He waits for my reaction.

My brows furrow and I nod slowly. "Okay, well why don't you like me?"

"You.. I can tolerate you." He clears his throat.

"Alright then." I pick my book back up and the rest of the team gets into the jet. Spencer groans and gets up sitting further away from me. Emily returns in his place and I look up smiling at her putting down my book. "Hey Emily,"

"Hey y/n, how are you settling in..?" She smiles back.

"Uhm." I shoot Spencer a dirty look and return my gaze to Emily. "Great, I could get used to it." I fiddle with my hands nervously, picking at the skin.

"Is everything okay with..." She pauses "the genius and you? He's not giving you any hassle is he??" She notices the look I gave Spencer.

I bring my voice down to a whisper. " Yeah, a little. I'm not really sure why." I avoid eye contact with her and clear my throat.

She lowers her voice also as to not alarm Spencer. "He's not exactly the friendliest to new recruits," She chuckles. "I would know. Hey, just give him some time he'll get used to you." She gives me a soft smile and places her hand on my shoulder. "The rest of us love you, alright? We already consider you apart of the family."

I smile at her appreciatively. "Thanks, Emily."

She nods her head in acknowledgement. "And don't let him intimidate you he's just a six foot something twig. He's not as scary as he makes himself out to be."

@iniyalovesall

[kentobb]

PRESAGE | CHAPTER NINE

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: In a couple of hours there will be four more chapters as an APOLOGY for my delay 😭 (Currently in 🇩🇪).

Ushijima walked with purpose through the dimly lit streets towards your apartment. The sounds of the city at night filled his ears, but his mind was focused entirely on the conversation ahead. As he approached the door, he could hear the faint sound of cartoons playing inside, immediately knowing Asahi was watching TV in the living room. He took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened, and you greeted him with a warm, if slightly nervous, smile. "Hey, come in," you said softly, stepping aside to let him enter. Ushijima nodded in thanks and walked in, his eyes immediately finding Asahi, who was curled up on the couch, his small chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

You noticed the look in Ushijima's eyes and understood. Gently picking up Asahi, who stirred slightly but didn't wake, and carried him to his bedroom. You laid him down on the bed, tucking him in carefully. After closing the door quietly, you turned to Ushijima, who was waiting in the living room.

You could see the seriousness in his eyes, and it made yourheart beat faster with anxiety. "Let's talk in here," you whispered, leading him to a small dining table in the corner.

Once seated, Ushijima took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I spoke with my management," he began, his voice low but steady. "I told them about Asahi, about you, and about the idea of moving you both to Tokyo with me."

You listened intently, hands clasped tightly in you lap. "What did they say?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"They understand the situation," Ushijima replied. "They know how important this is to me. I need you both with me in Tokyo. I can't be away from Asahi any longer, and I want us to be a family, to give him the stability he needs."

Your eyes filled with tears, but you held them back. "It's a big decision, Ushijima. Moving to a new city, leaving everything behind... It's not something I can decide on my own."

Ushijima reached across the table and took your hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring. "I know it's a lot to ask," he said earnestly. "But I'll be there to help every step of the way. I'll handle the logistics, the move, everything. You don't have to worry about any of it. I just need you to say yes, to give us a chance to be a family for Asahi."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and determination there. You knew he was serious, that he wouldn't ask this if he wasn't committed to making it work. You took a deep breath, mind racing with thoughts of the future, of the changes this move would bring.

"Alright," you said finally, voice trembling slightly. "I'll move to Tokyo with you. But we need to tell Asahi, and we need to make sure this transition is as smooth as possible for him."

Ushijima's face softened with relief and gratitude. "Thank you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll tell him tomorrow, together. And I promise you, I'll do everything I can to make this easy for both of you."

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and hope. "Okay," you whispered. "Let's do this."

Ushijima stood up and walked over to you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Thank you for giving me this chance," he murmured against your hair. "I'll help you with everything, the move, finding a new place, settling in. You don't have to worry about anything."

You nodded against your chest, feeling the strength and warmth of his arms around you. "I know," you said softly. "We'll make it work."

You stood there for a moment, holding each other, both silently contemplating the new start.

Yamamoto walked into the conference room where the Schweiden Adlers team members were gathered, a folder clutched tightly in her hand. Her usual calm and professional demeanor was intact, but those who knew her well could see the strain in her eyes. As she approached the head of the table, the room quieted, all eyes on her.

Hirugami leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "So, what's the big news, Yamamoto?" he asked casually, trying to lighten the mood.

Yamamoto took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I have an important announcement regarding Ushijima," she began, her voice firm but slightly strained. "He won't be able to join us for the next few games and interviews."

A murmur of surprise and concern rippled through the room. Hirugami leaned forward, his casual demeanor dropping. "Why? What's going on?"

Yamamoto hesitated, her gaze dropping to the folder in her hands before looking up again. "It's a personal matter. Ushijima recently discovered that he has a son. He's decided to take some time to be with his family and to bring them to Tokyo."

The room fell into stunned silence. Hirugami's eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. "So my joke was true after all," he said, his voice filled with a mix of shock and disbelief. "I can't believe it."

Yamamoto managed a tight smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, it seems your joke had some truth to it. But this is a sensitive matter, and I need everyone to be discreet. It's important for Ushijima and his family to have some privacy during this time."

Hirugami studied her closely, noting the way her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the folder. "Are you okay, Yamamoto? You seem... affected by this."

She straightened her posture, her professional mask slipping back into place. "I'm fine. It's just unexpected news for all of us. We need to support Ushijima in any way we can and ensure that his transition back is as smooth as possible."

Hirugami leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, this is going to be interesting. But don't worry, we'll keep it under wraps. Right, everyone?" He glanced around the room, receiving nods of agreement from the other team members.

Yamamoto nodded, relief washing over her. "Thank you, everyone. Your cooperation is appreciated." She turned to leave, but Hirugami's voice stopped her.

"Yamamoto, if you need to talk or need anything, we're here for you too," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

She paused, offering him a grateful nod. "Thank you, Hirugami. I'll keep that in mind."

As she exited the room, the weight of the announcement settled heavily on her shoulders. She couldn't shake the image of Ushijima talking about his family, the word still echoing painfully in her mind.

Hirugami watched her leave, his brows furrowed in concern. "Who would've thought?" he muttered to himself. "Ushijima with a secret family...”.

Kageyama nudged him, a grin on his face. "Looks like your joke hit a nerve, huh?"

Hirugami chuckled, though it was half-hearted. "Yeah, but it's no joke to Yamamoto. She likes him, you know."

The other player raised an eyebrow. "Really? I never noticed."

Hirugami shrugged. "She's good at hiding it. But it's there. I just hope she doesn't get hurt more than she already is."

Dinner at your apartment was a quiet affair. You, Ushijima and Asahi sat around the small dining table, the aroma of a home-cooked meal filling the room. Asahi was chattering excitedly about his day at kindergarten, his little hands animated as he recounted every detail.

"And then, Mama, guess what? We painted pictures of animals, and mine was a tiger! Mrs. Tanaka said it was really good!" Asahi beamed, his eyes sparkling with pride.

You smiled, heart warming at your son's excitement. "That's wonderful, Asahi. I can't wait to see it."

Ushijima listened, a small, rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at you, catching your eye. It was time. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, drawing Asahi's attention.

"Asahi," Ushijima began, his deep voice gentle, "There's something important we need to talk to you about."

Asahi looked up, his curiosity piqued. "What is it, Dad?"

Ushijima paused, glancing at you for support. You nodded, giving him the courage to continue. "You know how I've been visiting you and Mama lately?"

"Yeah, it's been so much fun!" Asahi grinned, his innocent excitement tugging at both their hearts.

"Well, I want to be with you every day," Ushijima said softly. "And to do that, we need to make a big change."

Asahi's smile faltered, his young mind trying to grasp the implications. "What kind of change?"

You reached out, taking Asahi's small hand in yours. "We're going to move to Tokyo, Asahi. Dad works there, and he wants to be with you all the time."

Asahi's eyes widened, and he looked between his parents, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. "But... but what about my friends? And Aunt Asami?"

Your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. "I know it's hard, sweetie. You'll miss them, and they'll miss you too. But we'll still be able to visit them, and you can call and video chat with them whenever you want."

Ushijima leaned in, his large hand gently resting on Asahi's shoulder. "I understand it's a big change, Asahi. It's okay to feel sad. But we'll be together, and you'll make new friends in Tokyo too."

Asahi's lower lip trembled. "But I like it here. I don't want to leave Aunt Asami."

You hugged him close, feeling his small body shaking slightly. "I know, baby. It's a lot to take in. But Aunt Asami will always be a part of our lives. She loves you very much, and she'll come visit us too."

Ushijima watched, his heart heavy with the weight of his son's sadness. "You know, Asahi," he said softly, "In Tokyo, we'll be able to do so many things together. We'll explore new places, and I can take you to my games. You can see me play volleyball."

Asahi's eyes lit up at that. "Really? I can watch you play?”

Ushijima nodded, a small smile on his face. "Yes, you can. And we'll have a new home where we can all be together every day."

Asahi sniffled, wiping his eyes with his small hands. "Will I still get to see my friends sometimes?"

You nodded, voice soothing. "Of course, sweetie. We'll make sure you stay in touch with them. And you'll make new friends too."

Asahi looked down, his little mind processing everything. After a long moment, he looked up at his parents, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. "Okay," he said quietly. "But I want to come back and visit Aunt Asami and my friends."

Your eyes filled with tears, and you hugged him tightly. "Of course, Asahi. We'll visit often. I promise."

Ushijima reached out, gently stroking Asahi's hair. "Thank you, Asahi. I'm really happy that we'll be together."

Asahi looked at his father, a small smile starting to form. "Me too, Daddy. I want to be with you."

You felt a surge of relief and gratitude, heart swelling with love for your son and the man beside you. “We'll make it work, Asahi. We'll all be together, and we'll make lots of new memories."

Asahi nodded, his spirits lifting a little. "Okay, Mama.”

The days leading up to their move to Tokyo were a whirlwind of packing and preparations. Ushijima had taken time off from his rigorous schedule to help you and Asahi, determined to make the transition as smooth as possible. The small apartment was filled with boxes, bubble wrap, and the sounds of bustling activity.

Tendo was there to lend a hand, his cheerful presence adding a much-needed dose of levity to the situation. Asami was there too, her efficient nature balancing out Tendo's playful antics.

"Asami, do you always pack this slowly?" Tendo teased, watching her carefully wrap a set of dishes. "At this rate, we'll be moving to Tokyo next year."

Asami shot him a withering look. "I’m just making sure everything is packed correctly. Unlike you, I actually care about not breaking things."

Tendo grinned, unfazed. "Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure? A few broken dishes never hurt anyone."

"Maybe not," Asami retorted, "but it’s not my fault if you have to eat off paper plates for the next month."

Ushijima, overhearing their banter, couldn’t help but smile as he moved another box into the growing stack near the door. Amidst the chaos, a photo slipped out from a pile of papers and fluttered to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was a picture of him and you from high school, taken during one of the many dates. Both of you laughing, faces close together, the innocence of young love radiating from the image. Ushijima felt a pang of nostalgia and a deeper appreciation for the journey that had brought him to this moment. He quietly slipped the photo into his pocket, a small piece of the past to carry with him.

As he looked up, he saw you across the room, carefully packing some of Asahi’s toys into a box. There was a softness in your expression, a quiet determination as you moved through the motions of packing up your lives. Despite the chaos around them, you looked beautiful, presence grounding him in a way he had almost forgotten.

"Hey" he called softly, walking over to you. You looked up, a small smile playing on your lips as you saw him approach.

"Hey," you replied, voice warm despite the weariness of the day.

"Need any help?" he asked, gesturing to the box in front of her.

"Actually, yes," you said, handing him a stuffed animal that had seen better days. "This one’s Asahi’s favorite. Can you make sure it goes in the box marked 'essentials'?"

Ushijima took the toy, his large hand almost engulfing it. "Of course," he said, gently placing it in the box.

He watched you for a moment, admiring the way you moved, the care you took with each item. He felt a swell of emotion, a mixture of gratitude and affection that made his chest tighten. He reached out and touched your arm lightly, drawing your attention.

"I’m very thankful for this opportunity, do you know that?" he said, his voice low and sincere.

You blushed, ducking your head slightly. "I’m just trying to keep everything together," you said modestly.

"No," Ushijima insisted, lifting your chin so you would look at him. "We are going to keep everything together.”

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, the hectic packing process faded into the background. Both of you stood there, in the middle of the cluttered apartment, sharing a quiet, intimate moment.

"Thank you, Wakatoshi," you whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Before either of you could say more, Asahi came running into the room, a toy airplane clutched in his small hand. "Mommy, Daddy! Look, I found my plane!" he exclaimed, his face lit up with excitement.

Ushijima scooped Asahi up into his arms, making him giggle. "That’s a great find, buddy," he said, his heart swelling with pride and love for his son.

Asami and Tendo paused their bickering to watch the scene, both of them smiling despite their differences.

Asami nudged Tendo. "They seem happy.”

Tendo nodded, a rare serious expression on his face. "Yeah, they do."

The moment was fleeting, but it was enough to reaffirm what Ushijima already knew: he wanted to be a part of this family, to share in your lives, your joys, and even your struggles.

The day wore on, filled with more packing, laughter, and the occasional teasing from Tendo and Asami. By the time the sun began to set, most of the apartment was packed up, leaving only a few final items to be taken care of.

You, exhausted but happy, looked around at the progress you had made. You turned to Ushijima, who was just finishing taping up a box. "Thank you, Wakatoshi. I couldn’t have done this without you."

He smiled at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "We’re a team. We’ll always be a team."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. Despite the uncertainty of the future, you knew that with Ushijima by your side, Asahi would have a better life.

As you prepared to call it a night, Ushijima caught your hand, pulling you gently into his arms. "We’re going to make this work," he promised, his voice steady and sure. "For Asahi, and for us."

You looked up at him, heart full. "I believe you," you said softly. "I really do."

Both of you stood there for a moment, holding each other, letting the promise of a new beginning wash over you.

[bubblebisk]

Come out Baby

What happens when you get bratty with your boyfriend and lash out? Obviously he's gotta remind you who's allowed to hit who.

Disclaimer: this is in no way me trying to promote hitting ur partners especially without consent and if they don't have a kink for it. Also this isn't proof read sorry I'll fix it later.⭐

Tags: spanking, slapping, spitting, heavy degradation, gn!reader × bangchan, no protection (please don't do that wear a condom) , face fuckin, choking, edging, ruined orgasms, etc.

Part 1

You feel your nerves spiking from anticipation and fear. Surely he's not thinking what you think he is? You've talked about this happening in theory but never thought it would happen so soon.

Fuck man, you can physically feel yourself dripping in arousal as you watch your boyfriend pick up a flogger.

"legs open." That's all it takes for you to know what he's about to do.

Chan rubs his hands on your inner thigh while slightly tapping the flog on ur most sensitive part. "Ready baby?" He's asking sincerely but he's expecting a specific answer.

You respond with a simple yes sir and that's all it takes to feel the sharp heat between your legs. You moan out feeling the pain fade into pleasure as you feel yourself ache and drip more. The second hit comes with his hand on your throat and him bending over you abandoning the flog to rub you.

"Do you know how fuckin disrespectful you are?" Of course you do after all you're in this situation aren't you?

He starts increasing the speed of his harsh rubbing and you buck your hips earning another slap. Moaning earns you a wet feeling on your face which you come to realize is his spit. "You're really starting to piss me the fuck off." He's seething.

He stops what he's doing and grabs the lube from the table top before lubing up his cock and aligning it with your hole. "You can take me like this right? Whores don't get stretched out they just take whatever they're given don't they."

He slams into you knowing you can handle the sudden intrusion as long as there's some kind of lubricant. As he bottoms out you clench around him earning a dragged out fuck.

You feel so full and restless that you start grinding back on him.

"Stupid bitch can't even wait for me to bottom out fully?" He grabs your hips and starts to slam into you.

"Fuck you're so fuckin tight." He takes one of his hands off your hips to slap you across the face leaving you dazed.

"Awwe it doesn't feel so nice does it pretty?" He grabs you by the hair forcing your head back. Chan licks up from your collar bone to the cheek that has red and tingling. He leans down to your ear to whisper softly "Doesn't feel so nice does it? But then again you are a skank so I'm not surprised that you're clamping down on me from this."

He picks up his pace leaning back to use his free hands to start rubbing you.

You're so close, so fuckin close to getting a release.

"Fuck baby I'm cumming" You hear your boyfriend rasp out as his thrusts become sloppier until he's flooding your insides.

The tension in your abdomen is about to snap when he suddenly pulls out. You let out a loud whine looking up at him with tear filled eyes.

He smiles looking down at you before leaning down to kiss your cheek. "I'm sorry baby, what you did was unacceptable. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I just let you off scot free?" He pulls back and starts walking to the bathroom.

"I want you in the bathroom in 2 minutes."

.

.

.

Well then 🙃 I feel like this ending was a dud but I wanted mean channie saurr bad. After care happens in the bathroom btw so don't worry about being left to dryyyy. I hope you guys liked my lil chapter and don't be afraid to recommend prompts or anything. I'll write literally almost anything. Until next time 🩷

@katsukis1wife @doyunkang @chansfavouritetoy

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 16/? Word count: 3815 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 14. To Lead A Team

"Ugh," Matilde groaned when she got the sentence incorrect. Her eyes shot to the hearts in the top right corner of her phone; one heart left for six more exercises. She had days when the Duolingo lessons would go great, but there were more days when she was really struggling to pass one lesson. Italian was tough for her. She wanted to master it since she was one of the few people in the team who couldn't speak the language. Especially since she was the team principal. Plus, the main language to communicate in the team was Italian, so she really wanted to understand the language.

She sat in a meeting room, waiting for the team to arrive. They had a meeting about the upcoming race in Austria. If she was honest with herself, she didn't know what she could expect.

The ambience in the team had changed, once again. After Monaco, there was tension; team Charles and basically team Matilde for once. A few people agreed with Fernando Alonso during the post-race interview:

"But if your driver says that he is coming in, even when you tell him no, you still send the crew out just in case," Fernando said, defending Charles.

But most of the team, agreed with Max during the interview:

Max looked at him. "Yes, but if your team principal, not even your race engineer, but team principal, says not to pit and stay out multiple times, you stay out," he replied, defending Matilde. "If you still go in after being told no, what do you expect?"

It didn't help that Charles remained frustrated. The media picked it up during the following Grand Prix in Barcelona. Even though Matilde moved on and focussed on the next race, Charles kept showing that he felt hurt by the action. And not because it was a consequence of his own action, no, he still blamed Matilde for it. Charles showed it, and he sometimes even dared to spill a thought to the media and dodged and ignored questions about his team principal.

During the Spanish Grand Prix, Ferrari showed an almost perfect pace once again. Friday was a less perfect day, but it was the day to provide feedback and make the right adjustments. On Saturday, both the Ferrari drivers made it to Q3 during qualifying; Charles qualified as third and Carlos as second. Yet again, Max got pole.

On Sunday, during the race, Carlos had a perfect start and almost passed Max in turn one. Carlos gained time and kept following Max for a while before he passed Max and became the race leader. In the end, he won his home Grand Prix. Charles was pleased with Carlos' result, but he couldn't hide his jealousy. Charles finished third, which is a decent result, and he couldn't do more to get a better result. Despite the positive weekend, Charles threw a questioning quote in the media about Matilde and her leadership:

"Look," Charles said in the post-race interview, his frustration clear in his voice. "We had a clear opportunity to win in Monaco, and it was thrown away. I could get more out of this race, but I wasn't allowed to. I can't help but think that sometimes decisions from the top don't align with what's best for the team on the track."

Matilde had an interview herself after the race, praising the work of Carlos and of Charles; they both did everything they could do during the race and she was proud of them. She saw the fragment of Charles when she was back at the hotel and she couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had supported Charles throughout the ups and downs, and now he was publicly questioning her leadership. It stung, especially since she knew her decision in Monaco had been the correct one, and she knew the team couldn't do more for Charles during the race in Barcelona.

Back at the office, a few days after the race, the team began with fresh motivation, working on the set-up for the next Grand Prix: Canada. Everything went smoothly, the Grand Prix went well for Ferrari; P2 for Charles and P3 for Carlos. Everyone did their tasks during the weekend, but certainly not more.

It made Matilde think. Was she good enough to be a team principal? She had a driver who openly spoke about how he thinks about her, a part of the team was picking the drivers side and the board kept complaining about the way Matilde approaches things. Matilde took a deep breath, closed her Duolingo app, and prepared for the meeting that lay ahead.

The invited people of the meeting entered the room. The drivers, with their race engineers, entered the meeting as the last ones. Laurent Mekies, the race director, opened the meeting with a presentation about the team's progress, accomplishments and long-term goals. He discussed the data from their drivers' sim sessions and compared it with the data from other teams. Austria was coming up, an important race since it was a strong track for both Ferrari and Red Bull. During that Grand Prix, either could win.

Someone asked a question about the team's budget allocation, a critical issue that could determine the extent of their success. Mekies looked at Matilde, passing the question to her. She explained the rationale behind the budget distribution, the sources and expenses.

But Charles seized the opportunity to launch his attack. "With all due respect, Jørgensen," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've been wondering about this budget distribution. It seems to me that you're playing it safe, just like on the track. We need to take risks to win, not settle for mediocrity."

Matilde felt her heart skip a beat, she didn't expect this attack. And the way he called her out by her last name... Her lips parted and her eyebrows slightly raised, she was lost for words. "Charles, I appreciate your input, but we have a well thought-out strategy. It's based on careful analysis and ensures the team's long-term stability." She showed a smile. "I can send you the files, if you prefer to read it on paper."

He chuckled. "Stability? We don't need stability, we need victories. We need to be aggressive, go for it. We can't wait. If we wait, the opportunity has passed us."

"I agree, however, we cannot just go for it when the time isn't right," she shot back with fire. "Once again, I respect your passion for winning, but the decisions we made are not based on impulsiveness, they're grounded in data and experience. I trust the expertise of the team."

"Well," he said, leaning forward against the table as if he were about to deliver a killer blow. "It seems you're more of a manager than a leader. A real leader would listen to the voice of the driver who put his life on the line every race."

The room fell silent. The team exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how she would respond to Charles' provocation.

Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with steel. "A real leader knows when to trust the experts and when to rely on data, not just emotions. Our decisions are calculated for the team's success, which you are also part of, and not to satisfy one individual's ego."

"Why are you taking everything personally?"

"I would like further elaboration," Matilde replied, folding her hands together, straightening her back.

Charles raised his eyebrows and looked at Carlos, blinked and looked back at Matilde. He noticed how involved Carlos' family was during the Spanish Grand Prix and how Matilde reacted to it. As a result: she got invited to a dinner with the Sainz'. Charles saw the Instagram post, apparently it was a home cooked dinner - Charles knew if Carlos invited you over for a home cooked dinner, something was going on.

"Are you referring to the dinner I attended with the Sainz family? It was in recognition of the work during the Spanish Grand Prix and as a gesture of their appreciation due to their courteous nature," Matilde replied to his facial expression and collected some files that were laying in front of her, she liked to sort them and put them neatly back on a stack.

For once, Charles seemed caught off guard. People in the room shared glances; from satisfied to impressed. Charles' expression shifted from arrogance to frustration.

"If someone has to say anything, please do. I rather want to hear it now and prevent rumours, than afterwards when I can't change a thing. I value open communication within our team, but it must be done internally and constructively. We are in this together, not alone, and it is our goal to win together." Matilde shared a look with Charles, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her as if she were a target. Matilde didn't react to his look, but internally, she was tearing apart.

As the meeting continued, Matilde was focussed on her colleagues. She kept her cool, focussing on the facts and logic that underpinned her decisions. She also wrote some notes down for her therapist she was seeing after the meeting. She knew that being the leader of a F1 team came with immense pressure, and she had her ways of coping with it. One of those ways was speaking to a therapist to manage the stress and maintain her focus.

After the meeting came to an end, Matilde stayed in the meeting room. She booked it for some privacy, sitting in her fishbowl office was too confronting for herself and for others to see her talk to her therapist. The session was online, since her therapist lives in Denmark. She preferred to have a Danish therapist, it is easier than having a therapist in a country she didn't even speak the language of - and even though she was almost fluently in English, she still preferred to talk about herself in her mother language.

Matilde glanced at her watch, she still had ten minutes left. She decided to go to the cafeteria to grab some fruits and a snack. While she was at the cafeteria, she thought about the moment she knew she needed to see a therapist.

It actually started after Miami, after the incident, when she sat on the plane to Copenhagen with Kevin. After their conversation, Kevin messaged Lars, saying he was worried about Matilde's well-being, but that it was not up to him to say something about it. He thought it was more comfortable for Matilde to hear it from her brother than a fellow Dane who she knew, but who also happened to be friends with her brother. So when Matilde arrived at her mother's house to celebrate her mother's birthday, Lars took Matilde outside for a talk, since he also was concerned about her well-being.

"Mati, are you seeing a therapist?" Lars carefully mentioned.

They sat down on a bench next to the pond in the backyard of their mother's house.

"Why?" Matilde frowned.

He shrugged. "I think it would do you well to talk to someone," he said and looked at his younger sister; she was looking in front of her, clenching her jaw. "I have seen the tweets about the restaurant. And I know you well enough to know that you would have spent the evening with your team instead of Red Bull if there was nothing going on."

Tears filled her eyes and she sniffed. "I know," she whispered and she told him about what happened. "I'm on the waiting list, I'm working on it, but I can't make the procedure go any faster," she finished her story.

"Ferrari has therapists, right? Why are you on a waiting list at Ferrari? You are basically the most important person at Ferrari."

"I'm sure there are therapists at Ferrari, but I don't want a therapist at Ferrari, not within the team or someone who has connections to the team - even if it is externally. I called at the beginning of this season, Christian recommended it. I'm still not through it, as you see," she shrugged and dried her eyes.

Lars nodded and he hugged her. "Fair. But who did you call to still be on the waiting list after three months?"

"Alma."

"Alma? Alma, who helped us through the divorce of mum and dad?"

Matilde nodded into his chest. "I thought it would be familiar to call her. She helped us through the divorce, even though I am still convinced that the divorce did not have that much effect on us. Anyway, I want to talk about my troubles in Danish, not English or cracky Italian."

Lars nodded. "Understandable. And you know, the divorce had an effect on us, but we haven't noticed it. Alma helped us through it. Those people can see what it does to someone, and even when it does nothing." He grabbed his phone. "Is it for work or personal?"

"Work," she mumbled. "What are you doing?"

Her brother raised his phone to his ear and ignored the question. A polite smile came on his face. "Hello, this is Galileo, Matilde Jørgensen's assistant. Yes, hello."

Matilde straightened her face and she slapped him on his arm.

He pushed her away and raised his finger to silence her. "I'm calling to ask for an update on the waiting list." He listened. "Yes, I am fully aware that this is confidential, but it is urgent." He nodded. "I know, but we have to plan the sessions. Do you know who she is? She is the team principal of Scuderia Ferrari in Formula 1. I don't know if you know Ferrari, but it is a circus and she desperately needs someone to talk to because it's causing mental health problems." He was silent again. "Matilde instructed for work only, but it will be a better plan to do work and personal. Yes. I will give you to her. Thank you. Yes. Have a nice day." Lars gave his phone to his sister. "Make your appointments ASAP," he said.

And since Miami, she didn't see just one therapist, but two therapists; one for work and one for her personal state. Every three weeks she would see Alma to talk about her personal life, and every week she would see Otto to talk about her work. And she had to admit, she was glad her brother pushed through. She couldn't imagine how it would be if still didn't have someone to talk to. It was a sense of relief and she had the feeling she could continue her adventure more easily, the balance came back in her life.

Today she had to see Alma, and it was the perfect timing, almost like it was planned this way. After a visit at the cafeteria, Matilde came back with hot tea, an orange and a nut bar. She took a deep breath and entered the scheduled Teams call.

When Alma popped up on her screen, she felt a sense of comfort over her.

"God eftermiddag, Matilde," Alma greeted Matilde with a kind smile.

A smile came on Matilde's face. "Hej."

"Hvordan har du det?" Alma asked, curious to know how her client was doing.

Matilde leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her tea. "I'm fine," she replied and nodded. "It's been a busy week, a busy couple of weeks, actually."

"How do you feel about having a second session? What were your thoughts after the first session?"

"It's much needed," Matilde replied. "I feel like it helped, even though it was just the first time."

"Can you describe your feelings about it?"

Matilde looked away, she looked at the wall next to her. "A sense of relief, I think. Uhm..." She looked back at the laptop screen. "I'm aware of the job I have, but it also requires a lot of effort and energy, and it feels good to talk about it, to find ways to manage everything. Uhm... Also to explore my personal challenges, I guess."

The therapist wrote something down and nodded once again. "That is good to hear. From what I can remember from when you were younger, a young girl, you also had a sense of realism and soberness. I can hear it in your way of thinking now as well," she warmly smiled. "But how have you been feeling lately?"

They talked about Matilde's personal life, discussing her family, friends, other relationships, her emotions in work and the different emotions that had surfaced in the past three weeks. Alma listened and provided guidance and support, helping Matilde navigate her feelings and come to a deepening understanding of herself.

"I know you talk with Otto about your work," Alma began. "But what are your feelings towards your position now? Last time you mentioned you were still figuring out what your thoughts are on your position. What are your thoughts today?"

Matilde played with the red wristband and twirled it around her wrist. "There are days where I feel like I am on the top of my game," she mentioned, her voice wavering slightly as she struggled to find the right words. "But sometimes I'm thinking about quitting."

"Why?"

Tears welled up in Matilde's eyes, and she blinked them back, her emotions getting the better of her. Alma was a safe space, but Matilde was still at the office. She was afraid someone would walk in and see her cry, a sign of weakness. But in this moment of vulnerability, she felt a flood of pent-up emotions rushing to the surface. "I want to be the best team principal I can be to the team," she continued, her voice quivering with emotion.

"You say 'the' team, why not 'my' team?" Alma observed.

"It isn't my team, it doesn't feel like my team," Matilde whispered and looked away from the laptop. She sniffed. "I joined an existing team, I became part of the team, but it doesn't feel like my team." It was silent, Alma gave Matilde time to think. "I sometimes just wonder if I'm cut out for this role."

Alma nodded, her warm and understanding presence a source of comfort. "It's completely natural to have doubts and moments of vulnerability, Matilde. Your role is incredibly demanding, and it's okay to acknowledge the pressure you're under."

Matilde wiped away a tear that had escaped, her emotions now more visible than ever. "I just don't want to let anyone down," she confessed. "I don't know if I can do it. I feel like I am flogging a dead horse." She looked at Alma again. "Quite literally and figurally." Matilde dried her eyes. "I have to lead a team who didn't welcome me at first, I have people who work against me and I feel like they would rather have me fired yesterday than today. But I have a deal, it's also my contract, but I have a deal with myself: if it doesn't work by the end of the season, I will quit and just... I don't know, go away from F1."

Alma nodded once again. "Why do you want to do this? Why don't quit today?" she scanned Matilde's face. "I don't want you to quit, but what if you have the option to quit today without any problem. Why don't you quit?"

"Because I want to win."

"You can also win at your previous job you loved. Or you can win life by doing something you love to do. So why Ferrari?"

"I want to make them win, because I thought I could take the challenge. I've seen three people fail, if I can call it like that, and I was convinced I could do it," Matilde said. She snorted and shook her head. "I am such a clown for even trying to think about it."

"Let's start on the clown part, Matilde. You are not a clown for trying; you're courageous for pursuing your passion to a further level. But there is a part of you that wants it and knows that you can do it. Why do you think that? Why do you want to do this?"

Matilde took a deep, shuddering breath, her emotions still raw and exposed. The tears in her eyes kept flowing over her cheeks, she couldn't help it. "To show everyone that I can do it."

"Do what?"

Matilde looked down and the tears rolled over her cheeks. "This." She paused, her voice trembling with the weight of those expectations. "Leading a team, make it a winning team."

"Why?"

"Because I was told I wouldn't make it in life when I was younger." She blinked, making her vision clear.

"Like?"

"I wasn't smart, but I also wasn't dumb," she mumbled. "I didn't fit anywhere. And when I found something I liked, teacher's advised me to not even start with it." She wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "And when I finally did something I liked, something I found my passion in, I was told that I could not find or get a job in motorsport. And when I got a job in motorsport, I was told that I wouldn't succeed and that I wouldn't last longer than a year. And when I got this job, I was told that I would fail. A woman wasn't supposed to lead a Formula 1 team, especially a top team like Ferrari. I want to show everyone that I can lead Ferrari to a victory, to winning a world championship, that I can succeed in a world that has been dominated by men for so long. I believe in this team, I believe in Charles and Carlos-"

The door of the meeting room flew open. Charles stepped into the room, not expecting anyone. A light shock went through his body when he noticed someone sitting at the head of the table; his team principal was still sitting at the same spot as an hour ago. His face fell when he saw Matilde crying, quickly wiping away the tears and clearing her throat. "Oh, eh, sorry," he mumbled. His eyes scanned the table, where he found his pass. "I didn't know you were here. I forgot my pass," he said and pointed at his pass.

"You can grab it," Matilde neutrally said.

Charles hesitated momentarily, seemingly unsure whether he should get it or leave and pick it up later, since she was upset and he interrupted her. The atmosphere in the room felt tense and awkward. After a brief internal struggle, he decided to get his pass. He heard Matilde say something in an unfamiliar language to her laptop, Charles didn't recognise the language, but it had to be Danish. Someone talked back to her, she was in an online meeting or something. "Thanks," he mumbled, grabbing the pass from the table and making a swift exit from the room. The door closed behind him, and he walked back to the engineer's area.

"Found it?" Xavi asked, grabbing his stuff.

Charles nodded and showed his pass. "Ready to go."

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 28

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 6934

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You spend the morning with Uncle Cedrick while Buggy listens in. The rest of your lovers aren't used to feeling helpless.

Author's Note: Hi! I've been nervous to give more backstory since we're all here for our big baddies, but I hope you enjoy learning a bit more about our Numbers Girl!

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Anal, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Face Slapping/Hitting, Relationship Drama, Scratching, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

It’s cold. 

The cold turned cruel the moment you woke, remembering why there were no warm bodies surrounding you. 

That wasn’t real. Just pretend. 

Back to your boring life.

“Good morning, Miss Sylvad,” an unpleasantly cheerful servant greeted you. They'd barged into your quarters after a single, patronizing knock, proceeding to hang a few dresses on the coat rack, fluffing the skirts before eyeing your hair. “Your uncle has requested your presence at breakfast, so I have prepared–”

“I can dress myself.”

Their eyes widened for just a split second, so very good at their job.

Can't manage rich pieces of shit like me if you remind us that you're a real fucking person. 

“Of course, Miss Sylvad, but if I may–”

“You can report that I refused your assistance. I’m sure you’ll have someone waiting in the hall to show me where to go?”

“Yes, Miss Sylvad,” they nodded, brows creasing just enough for you to know they had a thought, but not enough to know what kind. You stared at the door when they left you alone, and almost screamed for them to return, just to have something else to focus on besides the empty bed. Heat climbed up your throat, but the thought of crying more tears after how many you’d drained last night made you want to stop breathing. 

The thought of Uncle Cedrick seeing you cry was enough to pull you in, emptiness radiating from you like twisted heat. 

That silver chain seemed to pull at your restless fingers, and you couldn’t decide if it made you more or less likely to cry if you carried it with you. 

You carried it with you. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“The locket,” Crocodile breathed, his soothing hand halting its movement down Buggy’s legs. 

“You can hear her,” Mihawk praised. His voice was unbelieving, almost reverent. 

“Buggy, you’re brilliant,” Shanks laughed, leaning in to kiss his clown.

“SHUT UP!!”

The clown’s three lovers jolted at his yell, watching his face crumple while he curled in on himself. 

“I need to listen,” Buggy muttered as he shoved a finger in his remaining ear. “Gotta make her stop crying. Gotta stop…”

Looks were shared between his old enemies, their gentle hands unable to stop the flow of tears that stained that colorful face. 

~~~

“Buggy, you need to sleep,” Shanks pleaded, pulling him back against his chest. The three men curled around him on that giant bed, yet no word or touch seemed to calm their clown. Shanks held his lover from behind, wishing that he could wrap around him completely, protect him from all this pain.

“Have to listen,” Buggy almost whined, exhaustion dripping from him. 

Mihawk was afraid to reach out, as though his toxic touch could somehow sever that precious connection, somehow tear her from Buggy, yet again. He faced the clown as they laid on that glorious bed, this man that he’d ridiculed, tortured, abused… 

I don’t deserve–

Crocodile disrupted Mihawk’s self pitying thoughts, reaching around his body to touch Buggy’s face, brushing that pretty, blue hair aside. 

“We’re here, Buggy. We’ll help you. We’ll get her back.”

“She needs you to sleep now, baby,” Shanks whispered along Buggy’s ear. 

“Thank you for helping her,” Mihawk choked, that broken sound bringing the clown back to the room for a moment. 

He found golden eyes struggling to meet his gaze, and silver eyes staring as Crocodile hugged the quivering swordsman from behind. 

“I can’t help her. I can’t do anything,” Buggy rasped, his mouth dry as too many hands reached for him again. 

“You’re going to save her, Buggy,” Mihawk vowed, tracing fingers along his face, through tears and faded paint. “We’re going to help you. You have my word.”

Y/N’s sobs had slowed and quieted by now, fitful breathing letting him know that she was moving toward sleep. 

All alone. She’s…

Mihawk’s dangerous fingers trailed over his lips, those deadly eyes wider and softer than he’d thought possible. 

“Thank you, Buggy.”

This wasn’t the sort of kiss Buggy was used to, at least not from anyone besides Shanks and his star. 

It was just a kiss. 

Just a bare touch of lips that asked nothing of him. The swordsman kissed him, then cuddled against his chest, his scent and warmth finally slowing the clown’s breathing. 

Buggy fell asleep to the sound of her beating heart, while laying in this bed that felt empty, even with the four bodies upon it. 

I’m listening, star. I’m listening… 

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

Gods, he could listen to himself talk all fucking day.

It seemed that Uncle Cedrick had called you in just to spout nothingness, blabbing about his recent deals, and “charity” ventures that were nothing more than ego boosts and tax write offs. 

Kill me now. 

“What was that, niece?”

An exhausted laugh escaped your lips, and you had to fight yourself not to give in to your useless desires to insult, to scream, to hurt. 

Now that he wasn’t restricted by the Cross Guild’s security regulations, Uncle had his personal guards trailing him everywhere, even on his own ship. 

Pathetic. 

“I do hope that your time as a hostage to pirates wasn’t traumatic enough to make you lose your sense of propriety.”

“Is that the party line, Uncle,” you sniffed, forcing another bite down. You wouldn’t let yourself be any weaker than you were, no matter how ashy the expensive food tasted. “Should I prepare a statement? Practice my crocodile tears?”

“Very funny,” he frowned, setting down his silverware to give you his full, disparaging attention. “Luckily, the people aware of your recent hobbies have a vested interest in keeping that knowledge close to the chest. But yes, if anyone asks, you were kidnapped by the clown, and held for ransom. I, of course, found and rescued you before they could– Well, that leads to our other concern…”

“And what would that be, uncle,” you scowled while you pictured all of the ways your daydreams could have killed him. 

The smile that tugged at his sneering lips almost had you spilling what little breakfast you’d managed to eat.

“You did say you were ready, Y/N,” he gloated, dabbing nothing from his face with his embroidered napkin. “It’s time for you to get married.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Buggy woke in a panic, already hearing Y/N’s voice. Her annoyance at some stranger wanting to dress her made him want to flay that person alive. The clown ignored everyone, everything in his path, until he tore through the old suite he’d shared with her. 

His star had barely brought a thing with her when she joined him. Lingerie and birth control, some expensive, but mismatched clothes, and of course, her notebooks, pens, and an old calculator. 

Why didn’t I see you were running from something, baby? I’m so– 

“How is–”

“SHUT UP!”

Three, dangerous men hovered by the door like strays begging for scraps. The clown would have laughed at that pathetic picture if it hadn’t shown just how fucking helpless they were to save her right now. 

“She’s talking to Uncle AssHat. Close the fucking door,” he ordered, cracking open one of her empty notebooks to feel like he was doing any fucking thing to help her. Her pretty pen scratched away at the page. Something about party lines, kidnapping, and… 

“It’s time for you to get married.”

The fuck?!

“Don’t worry, niece,” that fucking sleezeball continued, “it’ll still be your choice. Your mother will be thrilled to help you prepare to meet your suitors. It’s been too long since you’ve taken this seriously.”

“No. Nononono, star! This is stupid,” Buggy whispered, dropping her pen as his fingers tapped along his thighs.

“My choice,” she said with a dark laugh, clearing her throat to clear it away. “When does the parade of boredom begin?”

Pride for her attitude was sunk by the realization that she hadn’t argued, hadn’t resisted with anything more than her snark. 

“Come now, Y/N, not everyone can be as interesting as the mass murderers you’ve been bedding down with lately.”

Buggy held his hand over his mouth, the angry beat of her heart sending sick fear straight through him. Sweat poured through the muted paint he hadn’t removed the night before. 

“You have put us in quite the predicament, niece,” Cedrick paused, and Buggy couldn’t hear past that frantic beat to know what else might be happening in the room. “When all you were doing was playing at being poor, I didn’t see the harm in letting you wait. Now that you’ve shown the outlandish, dangerous situations you’ll put yourself in, I can’t risk you destroying the family’s reputation.”

Why aren’t you saying anything, baby? Your heart… 

“We'll have to wait at least a month, I’d say. Can’t allow people to question where any new little heirs might have come from. Although, if anything pops out with a fucking clown nose, we’ll just have to send it–” 

“Fuck you.”

Buggy had stopped breathing, trying to wake himself the fuck up from this piece of shit dream. 

“You can’t expect me to have any sympathy for those freaks. Not when you didn’t even trust them yourself,” Sylvad laughed, smug and shitty. “I watched you lie to them, niece. Don’t pretend they were anything real to you. Just a little adventure for an attention-seeking–”

“Shut up,” Y/N seethed, though it was too quiet. 

Star… 

“You never trusted those criminals, not for a second,” AssHat kept gloating. Buggy was about to explode with the need to stab this man in the fucking throat. “Don’t lie to yourself. You didn’t tell them the truth, because you know exactly what they would do to you if they found out.”

Her heart was too much, it didn’t sound right. 

This couldn’t be right.

“Arbo Sylvad’s little heiress only inherits her daddy’s wealth when she gets married,” Sylvad mocked, each new word like rotten food forced down Buggy’s throat. “And her lucky spouse gets their own hefty chunk of the company as soon as the vows are sealed. Which one of your pirate lovers do you think would have won the fight? I bet the swordsman would have–”

“You won,” his star growled, the sound forced as though her teeth were clenched. “I’m here, so why don’t you shut the fuck up already?”

“Don’t be so tense,” that asshole chuckled, voice a bit louder as though he’d leaned toward her. “You’ll have over a month until the wedding to pick your favorite suitor. You should be grateful, Y/N. It’s a lot more generous than I should be, given the damage you could have caused.”

“Fine.”

Buggy had forgotten that he existed. His head was in his hands, his eyes wide and dry while he gaped at the floor. Pieces of his body were scattered, but he couldn’t fucking feel a thing. 

“I’m certain we’ll find a suitor that you’ll be content with,” her uncle needled, that saccharine voice making the clown gag. “Besides, something good came from this little tantrum of yours. Now that I know my pretty niece prefers men my age, I’ll be setting you up with some friends of mine. They’ve been asking about you for years. I’m sure that at least one of them will let you call them da–”

Her heart.

Her rage.

A crash of noise shook the clown to his core. Y/N’s yells, broken glass, and “soothing” voices, did nothing to drown out that fucker’s smug laughter. 

All Buggy could do was try not to die. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

Helpless. 

Sir Crocodile. 

Dracule Mihawk.

Red Haired Shanks.

Each of them was helpless, useless, pathetic.

They couldn’t help Y/N, and now they couldn’t help their clown, the only one of them that had held themselves together for her.

Crocodile huffed a laugh at the thought while he lit a cigar. Breakfast was a discarded concept as these three, powerful pirates moped in the lounge. 

“We have an in,” Shanks soothed the air, since no words could be soothing to the two men on the too empty couch. 

“Yes, astounding work retrieving a business card,” Mihawk snarked, his head leaning back against the couch while he clenched his eyes shut, fighting the urge for violence. “I wasn’t aware that you had such impressive networking skills. I would have—“

“Don’t be a brat,” Crocodile purred, drawing the other men’s eyes to his. “We can let out steam later. Right now—“

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Shanks stared. 

And stared. 

“You alright, Red Hair?”

Crocodile frowned at his enemy, letting it go. Letting it go for the two men he wanted to see happy again. 

Letting it go for the sweet girl that just might need this man’s help.

Well, he tried to let it go…

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Shanks shook himself, absolutely fucking bewildered by everything he’d witnessed since he stepped foot on this island. “Buggy’s right, though. We can’t go until we know she’ll want us to. It’s up to Buggy.”

“Can we at least plan out all the pretty ways we can end that Mr. Sylvad,” Mihawk sighed as he turned, stretching his legs across the couch, and over Crocodile’s lap. 

“I’m partial to gutting,” Crocodile gave the swordsman a tiny smile, laying that large hand onto those leather clad legs. 

Shanks frowned at the green couch, and at the men flirting over the topics of torture and death. 

“I’ve got a headache,” he groaned, covering his eyes.

“There’s more scotch on the bar,” Crocodile jerked his head, ignoring the rest of the trashed room. “I’ll take a glass.”

The red haired pirate laughed, pouring peaty glasses all around. 

“Good morning.”

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Why are you so quiet, star? 

Her heart got slower as that shithead’s laughter faded into the distance. Too many, “right this way, Miss Sylvad’s,” made him feel spun around, until a door shut, and quiet took over. 

“Fucking stupid,” Y/N berated herself, quiet thuds making Buggy cringe, the sound as though she’d hit the meat of her thighs before falling to her knees.

Baby, let me help you…

Sick laughter bubbled up, just enough to freeze the blood in his veins, though she choked it down fast. Near silent whispers left her lips in a panicked slur, and Buggy curled in on himself, too weak for this torture.

“Don’t show it. Don’t let him see. Just daydreams now, just daydreams. Daydreams are good. Just…”

Her body drifted further and further away with each moment on that asshole’s ship, yet Buggy felt like they were inches apart, crumpled on the floor while broken sounds left both of their throats. 

“Why didn’t you trust me, star,” the clown cried, reaching for her, finding nothing. “Why did you leave me?”

“Buggy…”

His eyes flew open, forgetting that she wasn’t here, that she couldn’t hear him when she whispered his name. He listened while his pretty star sobbed, until her breathing stopped being human. 

~~~

Buggy had to be in a fucking nightmare. Nothing made any fucking sense anymore.

He snatched the notebook and pen, racing to the lounge with a finger in his ear to keep track of her soft, wounded noises. He charged into the room, his upper body floating close enough to smell the foul stench of Crocodile’s scotch, like a noxious cloud over the too relaxed men. 

Crocodile gazed at Mihawk, rubbing along his calves and feet where the swordsman had laid them in his lap, his extravagant boots tossed to the side of the couch. 

Shanks was on the floor, leaning against the couch in front of the swordsman, sighing while dangerous fingers played in his hair. 

“Buggy,” Mihawk breathed, looking genuinely pleased to see him.

“What the FUCK are you idiots doing?”

“Waiting for you, little clown,” Crocodile rasped, patting the back of the couch between him and the swordsman. 

“Did you hear something, Buggy,” Shanks breathed, sitting forward to reach his hand out. Soft, brown eyes scanned the clown too deep. 

Buggy’s need to scream at someone fizzled out, the looks on their faces reminding him that he wasn’t the only one that wanted to save her. 

“She’s gonna get married.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“I love you, Y/N,” your first love purred, kissing his way up your neck until he smiled down at you. 

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just tasted your frozen lips, bringing his hands back down your body until you sighed. 

“Don’t tease—“

“I’m not teasing,” he vowed, trapping you in his joyful gaze. “I love you! I’ve loved you for ages, you big nerd!”

“Hey,” you laughed, skin going hot while you tried to cover your face. He wouldn’t let you, lips pressing against every bit of burning skin he could reach while you squirmed. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N. Your uncle’s stuffy mansion, your tiny, shitty dorm room, we can even run away and change our names. Just as long as it’s you and me…”

“Really,” you asked, not meaning to sound so lost. 

“Really,” he promised, stealing your heart. “Do you love me too?”

“I do,” you breathed, tearing your chest wide open for him. “I love you.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I’m fine.

It was easier to lie to yourself when you remembered your new personal guards outside the door. 

More like prison guards. My other cage was prettier.

Biting down on your fist, you fought to silence anymore laughter that could mark you as wrong. You needed to get your shit together now. You couldn’t fall apart like you had at breakfast. Couldn’t let him push you… 

“I’ll just turn it all off. Shut it all down.”

Sighing at the pathetic words you hadn’t meant to say out loud, you fought to remember how you used to live. 

Breathe, slow and steady. Remember that nothing matters, so it shouldn’t bother you. Just focus on numbers. Counting, multiplying, dividing, making up random problems to solve in your head all day. 

I’ve got this. I’m fine.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“What did you say,” Mihawk growled, the rumble of death in his voice.

Buggy’s body pulled together before this ragged group of pirates that had just looked as pathetic as humanly possible for such powerful men. 

Until he’d said those words. 

Now there was a thrum of violence that seemed to steal the oxygen from the air.

Doubt filled the clown, those vicious eyes freezing him, trapping him with decisions that all felt wrong. 

The red haired pirate sat up enough to grab Buggy’s hand, guiding the man to sit on the ground with him, to stare up at those towering villains on the couch. Shanks wanted to move him when he saw the view, but his clown was shaking, so he just held on as much as he would let him. 

“What did you hear,” Crocodile rasped, stretching out his fingers, fighting not to clench them, to tear them through the world to get to her. 

“I’ll kill you,” Buggy threatened, brushing off Shanks’ concerned grip. “If you hurt her, I won’t give a fuck. I’ll blow myself up to take both of you with me.”

Mihawk stared into those crystal eyes, seeing that same look that had been there all this time. He had laughed at it, punished it, until he was finally grateful for it. Buggy’s bravery, and his love for Y/N never wavered, even when they had smeared his blood across the floor. 

“If I ever hurt her again, I will gladly let you kill me.”  

Statues carved to gaze at each other, the swordsman and the clown might have remained there forever, if Crocodile hadn’t leaned close. 

“I don’t care what you heard, Buggy,” he assured, remembering her laughing in his clown's arms. “I’ll never be able to make up for what I did to you both, but I’m gonna start by getting our girl back, safe. No matter what.”

Crocodile offered his hand, meeting Shanks’ gaze over Buggy’s shoulder.

“You were right about me, Red Hair,” he confessed, his shoulders relaxing when Mihawk’s hand joined his. “I’m a monster, and I can’t change what… I’m never gonna hurt Y/N, or Buggy, or Mihawk again. I know it’s not–”

“That’s a lot of words for ‘help me,” Shanks teased lightly, tilting around Buggy so he could join Mihawk in touching the larger man’s hand. He apologized quickly, soothing Crocodile’s weak huff. “Turns out I’m not the best person either, but I’m here. I’ll do anything I can to bring her back.”

“I swear it,” Mihawk breathed, imploring the clown to let them in. “I don’t deserve her, but you do. I’ll–”

“How much fucking scotch did you guys drink,” Buggy scolded, his nervous laughter lightening the mood, but not the tension. Those three hands still waited, three sets of eyes on his skin. 

Three, old enemies that could betray him, could hurt her, could take her. 

Three lovers that had been saying such wonderful things. 

“I will blow us all–”

“I know you will, little clown," Crocodile praised, his face softening even further when that gloved hand finally touched his. 

Don’t turn it all off, baby. We’re gonna get you out of there.

Buggy felt like a fucking idiot, but he couldn’t stop this feeling.

Hope.

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

It was getting a little late, but you weren’t bothered at all. You waited, enjoying your cheap cocktail, and the cheesy grin that you couldn’t keep off of your face.

I love him. He loves me. 

Brand new words. Words that you hadn’t expected to find. At least, you weren’t supposed to, not unless the person who said them was on a certain list.

You didn’t give a fuck about any of that while you swirled your colorful straw, letting yourself feel it all.

“Hello, niece. Aren’t you looking adorable this evening?”

“Why are you here,” you spat while your eyes scanned the restaurant, hoping that your boyfriend would be late enough to miss meeting Uncle Cedrick.

“Are you looking for your date,” he chuckled, picking up your drink just to sniff and scowl at it. “I’m afraid he was in a bit of a hurry, and didn’t find the time to write a goodbye note for you. Something about an internship with Galley-La… I did save his signature though.”

Denial paralyzed you, even as he laid the contract out on the table. Every word on the page was a knife through the heart, but you couldn’t look away until you’d read it all, until you should have been bleeding, dying in the middle of that shitty restaurant.

“You know, it didn’t even take him five minutes before he decided to sign your love away for some pocket change, and a potential job,” Uncle Cedrick gloated, snatching up the contract before your humiliating tears could smudge the ink. “That sort of trash doesn’t belong anywhere near the Sylvad name.”

“I don’t want that fucking name,” you choked out, eyeing the guards he’d brought with him. 

He sat back, his arms spread wide, just like his disgusting smile. So at ease, so fucking pleased. 

“Are you feeling well, niece? Relationship troubles can–”

“I’m fine.”

Uncle Cedrick smirked, leaning over the table to touch your chin. You held your breath to keep from flinching, to keep from smelling that stupid cologne. 

“I knew you’d be fine. You’re such a smart girl,” he praised, and the urge to throw up in his face was getting harder to fight. “It’s been too long. I have some suitors for you to meet, and I can guarantee that none of them would stand you up for such a meager amount of berry.”

“No, you’d cut your friends a much better deal,” you seethed, shaking beneath his gentle touch. 

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N,” he purred, and you had to close your eyes. Had to remind yourself why biting his fucking fingers off would be a bad idea. “You should know that people like us don’t get to marry for love, and I will do anything to protect this family. Even from my brother’s irritating obsession with his favorite daughter.”

He radiated satisfaction, and you knew exactly what smile he’d have when you opened your eyes. You could finally breathe again when he pulled away, taking his fingers, and his scent with him. 

“We’ll get you set up with a date this weekend,” he chatted, his friendly tone giving you a headache. “I found a gentleman that looks quite like your wannabe shipwright, so feel free to have a little extra fun if you need to. Just don’t forget your pill, at least not until the wedding. We don’t need any more complications…” 

Uncle Cedrick finally left, but your thoughts were too sharp, so you just stared, frowning at that cheap cocktail. Nausea roiled around your gut too much for you to open your mouth, let alone take a sip. 

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

Buggy threatened them all a few more times, still afraid to reveal his star’s secrets, but he knew he couldn’t do a thing without all of their help. 

“She lied to us, but I’ll shove a Buggy Ball up your–”

“I forgive her,” Crocodile sighed, almost laughing at his little clown. “I don’t care how many lies she told, I love her, and we’re getting her–”

“She didn’t trust us,” Buggy started again, his voice breaking slightly at the thought that she hadn’t trusted him. He pushed through, pushing out the next words as fast as he could. “She gets all that fucking tree money when she gets married, and whoever she marries instantly gets their own piece of that stupid company.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Hawk Eyes,” Buggy groaned, his hands floating away from their little huddle to shake and flap through the air. 

“That can’t be right. What idiot would write that in a will,” Crocodile scoffed, watching those floating hands. “If that got out, she’d have a fucking target on her back her whole life. They wouldn’t even need a ransom, they could just kidnap her, and force her to…” 

Eyes met, but all looked away while shame flooded the room.

“No wonder she’d never tell,” Shanks breathed, remembering the face she’d made when he pushed and prodded for her secret to come out. 

“You said she’s getting married,” Mihawk shook himself. That urgent question had stayed unanswered while they comforted each other, while she was adrift out there with no one but enemies beside her. “Who the fuck do we need to kill?”

Buggy laughed, sick laughter, as though his star needed him to let it out since she couldn’t. 

“My flashy girl's got a whole month to go on all sorts of shitty dates,” Buggy ranted, remembering what he’d be listening to for the next few weeks. “She gets to pick her favorite, slimy, fucking ASSHOLE, and then…”

“What, Bugs? We’ll know when the wedding is,” Shanks urged, rubbing his hand down Buggy’s back. “You just tell us when and where, and we’ll go get her.”

Silence went on, except for the scotch scented breaths that surrounded Buggy while he ran through everything he’d heard. They watched him for a few minutes after he brought his hands back, writing every detail he could remember.

“It’s not enough…”

They didn’t prod this time, but three hands touched Buggy again, until he sagged against Shanks’ chest. 

“She wouldn’t leave me for this,” he tried to declare, but had to swallow the pressure in his throat to force it out. “She doesn’t wanna be there, you should hear her…”

Y/N had gone quiet, though he could tell she wasn’t sleeping. It sounded like she was just sitting in silence, not even the rustle of a book to fill the air. 

Like she’d shut herself down.

“She’s smart, and she’s strong. She wouldn’t let him do this to her without a reason.”

“I trust you, Buggy,” Mihawk rasped, giving his clown the hint of a smile. “You’ll figure out the excuse we need to crash that wedding, and I’m certain you’ll put on quite the show.”

“I, yeah,” Buggy frowned as the swordsman's hands trailed down his chest, making him pause. Shanks gave a little huff of protest when Mihawk sank to the pile of rugs, pulling Buggy to the side. 

“She trusts you. She wants you, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling lost in a way that felt right as he followed along with his body’s plans. “You woke her up last night. You should have heard her little noises, should have smelled her after the finale…”

Shanks watched his lovers falling into each other, and there was a fearful urge to attach himself there, to cling, and to claim. 

Yet something in the way their eyes were caught together made the red haired pirate take a breath, pulling himself up to sit on that green couch. The scarred man topped off their glasses of scotch, and they watched the show. 

Crocodile hummed when they tapped their glasses, wondering if it was the scotch, the loss, or the fact that maybe things really were loosening up, that made this moment of sharing so relaxed, so easy. 

“Smelled,” Buggy asked once he could remember how to talk, wetting his lips while he stared at Mihawk’s taunting mouth. Only it wasn’t taunting. 

“Our little rabbit wanted you so badly, I thought she might leap over the crowd just to touch you.”

Buggy sighed, remembering her perfect smile. Then he gasped as Mihawk reached for him, kissing up his throat while those dangerous fingers traveled over his body, pulling at his clothes. 

“What are–”

“I wanted you too, Buggy,” Mihawk confessed, eyes fluttering as he let himself give in, let himself say the things he wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. I treated you… I didn’t see you.”

“I’m kinda hard to miss,” Buggy deadpanned, feeling dizzy when the swordsman laughed. 

Mihawk crawled over the clown, tossing his coat to the floor with barely a thought while he straddled him. He’d pulled at Buggy’s clothes enough that both of their upper bodies were bare, and the clown gave him a puzzled look. 

“Why–”

“I didn’t see how strong you are,” Mihawk purred, moving his body along Buggy’s until the clown made pretty faces for him, soft fabric and leather rubbing together. He heard what sounded like two, pleased hums behind him, but Mihawk was too focused to look back. “Buggy the Clown is smart, and wicked, and powerful. I called you a fool, but… I was the fool. I didn’t see–”

“Shut up,” Buggy grumbled, wiggling away until Mihawk had to lay beside him, propped up on an elbow. The clown’s head was still quiet, but all of those words… 

“Buggy, I–” 

“Stop,” he snarled, cringing at the look in those golden eyes when Mihawk pulled his hand away. 

“I’m sorry, of course,” Mihawk swallowed, not sure what to do with his hand now that it shouldn’t be touching the man he’d hurt.

“Bugs?”

That deep voice was ignored while Buggy sat up, brows furrowed when he got in the swordsman’s face. 

“You love her too,” he announced, clapping a gloved hand along Mihawk’s arm. “I’m glad you love her, but you don’t need to pretend you like me.”

“Little clown…” 

That even deeper voice was ignored while Mihawk sat up, kissing the clown until they both made hungry noises, but Buggy pushed him away. 

“Toy, right? I can play. But we need to get–”

“You’re not a toy,” Mihawk vowed, hoping this would be the last time he’d have to say those words. “I want you, Buggy. I want to be with you, truly.”

The men on the couch had expected less talk during the show, and the urge to assist, and to comfort their boys was ramping up. Shanks watched, wide eyed, unsure if jealousy or gratitude would be a better fit. He took a swig, deciding that he liked gratitude better.

“There’s nothing I can say that will take away what I’ve done,” Mihawk breathed, feeling shameful grief at the fear that this man would never look at him without those monstrous memories behind his eyes. 

“I’m not mad anymore,” Buggy soothed, not sure what was happening. “We’re good, okay? We–”

“Not mad anymore?”

Danger. 

Something fucking deadly just filled the air. The men on the couch tensed, but neither tried to stop it. 

“You must have been sooo angry with me…” 

Shanks held in a laugh, smirking at Crocodile whose brows had lifted high, that frightening face looking shocked, but amused. 

“Well, obviously, but it’s…” Buggy trailed off again, Mihawk’s wicked grin looming closer. 

“I bet you imagined all sorts of ways to make me pay, didn’t you,” the swordsman wondered, biting his lip while his eyes poured over Buggy’s skin. His breath hitched when he noticed that lovely blush moving up the clown’s neck to his pretty face. “Did you imagine how you’d like to punish me?”

Buggy couldn’t help it. He was trying not to get sucked into whatever game this was. He needed to follow his old rules. Don’t get attached. Don’t like them too much. Don’t fall for the con. 

But that perfect fucking face was unreal, the tiny movements around the eyes, the smirking corner of his lips, just fucking daring him to take a bite. 

“I took an anger management class once,” Buggy coughed, shaking his head slowly as if to ward off this manic birdman. “So I’m totally fine!”

“Fine, really? Even after all of those awful things I did. All of those rotten things I said?”

The little flicker in Buggy’s eyes made Mihawk want to beg. He still might, but first, he pushed. 

“What did I call you,” Mihawk hummed, leaning back on a hand while he remembered what a monster he was, trying to make it better. “That’s right. I just couldn’t believe how Y/N had ended up with such a pathetic clown.”

The clown couldn’t hide the slight jerk to his head, the hint of a snarl that anyone but Dracule Mihawk might have missed. 

“I said so many terrible things. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to tear me to pieces,” the swordsman begged, and dared, and apologized. The room felt charged, static before a storm. 

Buggy couldn’t look away from that perfect face.

“Mm, what did I say that first night? We made her promise something, didn’t we? Made her repeat my vicious words…”

The clown would have told him to stop if he could unclench his jaw. 

“Do you remember, Buggy,” he whispered, his body loose, welcoming. “Do you remember how much you wanted to hurt me?”

A soft whine left the clown’s throat when Mihawk teased fingers over his chest, playing in that dark, blue hair. 

“Don’t disappoint us by lowering yourself for that clown? What a cruel thing to say,” Mihawk rasped, almost losing his teasing tone as he drowned in his own guilt. “Are you sure you’re not still angry, Buggy? Even after we made her say–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy growled, more frightening than any yell the other men had heard from him. He let out a frustrated groan at how fucking happy the swordsman seemed to be while he choked him, both hands disconnected to shove the man onto the floor by the throat. 

“You fucking psycho,” the clown scoffed as he straddled him, snarling down at those fluttering eyes. “Treat me worse than trash, then you get off when you try to say you’re sorry? You’re a fucking monster!”

“I am, please. I am a monster,” Mihawk fell apart, spluttering when Buggy released his neck, nothing hurting him enough to take it all away. “I’m so sorry, Buggy, please…”

Mihawk’s face crumpled, writhing beneath him with pathetic apologies spilling from his quivering lips. 

Dracule fucking Mihawk was crying. Begging for forgiveness. 

He’s really committed to the bit. 

Buggy laughed again, and the look of shame on Mihawk’s face at the sound finally made it sink in. 

He fucking believes it. He believes he deserves it…

“You’d better not think one shitty little tantrum’s gonna be enough for me to forgive you,” Buggy taunted, squeezing the man’s cheeks until his lips pushed out, already wet with drool and tears. 

Mihawk shook his head as much as that grip would allow, panicked whimpers like some chaotic song filling the air while he tried to meet Buggy’s eyes. 

“You gonna let me–”

“Anything,” Mihawk moaned, breaking free enough to breathe his consent against Buggy’s lips. “I deserve anything you want to give me, Buggy. Fucking hurt me–”

The clown’s eyes went wide, shocked by his own fist that had sent Mihawk’s head to the side. He glanced back, but couldn’t decipher the looks the men on the couch gave him, and the look on Mihawk’s face made his mouth dry. 

“Let it out, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling high, feeling right. “Show me how fucking wrong I was about you, darling. Show me–”

“You talk too much, idiot,” Buggy panted, hitting this beautiful, insane man again. 

“I do,” he moaned, overwhelmed, and needing it all. “I said so many–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Buggy tore his gloves off, stuffing them into that mean mouth before stripping them both. He laughed, wicked and hungry, at the pathetic moans forced through that dirty fabric.

“Here.”

Crocodile pulled the lube from the side table, grinning at Buggy’s shocked face when he handed it off to Shanks. The red haired pirate winked at the clown before tossing him the bottle, then stuck his tongue out at the world’s greatest swordsman. 

Mihawk drooled into the gloves, tearing up when Buggy gifted him with vicious nails, scraped down his sides. 

“Don’t stop crying,” Buggy growled in the swordsman’s face while he shoved lubed fingers inside of him, loving the chaos in those watery eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you just like this, so I can watch Dracule Mihawk cry on my cock. Can’t believe I was ever scared of you… You’re just a desperate whore, huh? Just wanna get fucking wrecked by a clown?”

Little noises, frantic nods, tears, and pretty tears, while Buggy forced himself into Mihawk’s tight ass, satisfaction in every rough, punishing thrust. 

“Alright, crybaby, tell me how fucking sorry you are now,” Buggy taunted, ripping the gloves from Mihawk’s lips before fisting into that soft, black hair. The clown was taking him up on his offer, fucking the swordsman harder and faster than he knew he could, fucking every ounce of anger and helplessness that he’d ever felt into the blubbering man beneath him.

“F-fuck, Buggy,” he choked, melting at the powerful look in the clown’s eyes, the evil smile of control on those lips. Melting under that thick, merciless cock that was giving him exactly what he deserved, exactly what he fucking needed. “I’m s-sorry, I–”

“Are you done apologizing?”

Mihawk’s eyes fought to refocus on that smirk, and he shook his head. 

“No, Buggy. Not even close.”

“Good.”

So many things at once. 

Buggy pulled away just enough to give Mihawk a brutal, backhanded slap. The swordsman was rocked by the force, the power, the pleasure, and the moment was so blissfully intense that he came, forgetting everything but the man that took him there.

Buggy laughed at the lovely ropes of come spilling between them, covering the other man’s chest and stomach, but the desperate look on that face dragged him down too. Buggy groaned, filling Mihawk with so much heat that it spilled down the sides of his cock while he kept fucking until they both whined, too much. All too much. 

He finally pulled out, but Mihawk tugged at him, forcing the clown to meet those golden eyes again. 

“I’m sorry, Buggy. I hope you believe me,” he breathed, all that pleasure still not enough to take away his need to make things right. 

“You made a pretty convincing argument,” Buggy smiled, eyes sparking when Mihawk gave a surprised laugh. 

“Look at our pretty, little boys,” Shanks purred, drawing their eyes. 

“Maybe we can get along after all,” Crocodile threatened, his deep voice making every other man fight to resist a shiver. 

“Maybe we–”

Buggy’s stomach was comically loud when it cut Shanks off, and it reminded all of these big, scary men that even they couldn’t survive on scotch and sex indefinitely. 

Even they had to come back down to earth, and remember that their girl was all alone, that they still didn’t know how to get her back.

They were forced to remember that she had never trusted them in the first place. 

“Buggy,” Crocodile soothed, tugging on the clown’s braid, still damp from the shower, while they all spaced out over brunch. “Is she…”

“She’s quiet,” Buggy reported, wishing he could hear her thoughts instead of just her disconcerting heart. “One of the servants said they’re landing in the morning. Something about her mom’s ‘preparations.” 

“Preparations,” Shanks asked, watching his clown for every sign of strain while he listened to his star. 

“Our girl’s about to go on a dating spree,” Buggy reminded, failing to keep his tone light. 

“Are you–”

“I’ll be fine,” Buggy lied, cutting the swordsman off. “You remember what she said. Those assholes are BORING. It’ll probably be a big snooze fest.”

“Just tell us what you need, little clown,” Crocodile hummed. 

His three lovers watched him while the clown closed his eyes, covering his ear to hear that lonely heartbeat. 

“I just need her back,” Buggy whispered, tapping her rhythm onto his own chest. “I need my shining star.”

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: Special thanks to the lovely Ao3 readers that leave the most gigantic, juiciest comments that occasionally fit what our boys need way too fucking well 😏🙏🏼 btw, I highly recommend checking out the comments over there! We go wild with that ridiculous character limit 😅 (they started getting longer around chapters 14-16, but hot damn, it's like a little book club lately! 🥰)

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Part 29

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[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Seven (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Contents: some passing comments comparing two different female body types in a negative way, and some measurement taking and a dress fitting that leaves Nel a little breathless. Who knew Mr. Nancarrow had it in him to be so smooth. Mr. Darcy hand-flex fans, be warned...

Wordcount: 3931

Catch up here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw)

Edmund flushed at Nel’s boldly obvious compliment, but was saved any further embarrassment by Mr. Fordyce announcing that it was Nel’s turn, and that he would have to take Nel’s measurements since he didn’t have them in his records as he did Winnie’s.

This time it was Nel whose face turned hot, but she met Edmund’s gaze again as he stepped forwards, rested his cane against the nearby table gently enough not to cause the arrangement of dried flowers in the centre even to quiver, and then he carefully passed the ribbon of paper around her waist. He kept his eyes down, but his long, delicate fingers moved with nimble grace as he held the paper and snipped the tailor’s marks in it which would correspond to the various locations of the measurements.

“And now inhale,” he murmured, and she obliged, letting her ribs inflate naturally. She could feel his knuckles pressing ever so slightly against her body through the fabric of the thinner, less structured dress she’d chosen for that day, and she tried not to shiver.

They had begun at her waist, but a moment later she found herself scowling at Mr. Fordyce when he made Edmund kneel down on the hard wooden floorboards to measure the length of her leg.

Edmund got down alright, if stiffly, but he gasped and sucked in a sharp breath as he pushed himself upright with his cane, and he went rigid with another sudden inhale, eyes screwed shut and head bowed forwards as he breathed through a stab of pain. For a lurching moment when he raised his head again she thought he was going to pass out as all the colour drained from his face.

Clearly mortified, he looked like he was going to struggle through it despite the fact that he seemed to have been robbed of his faculties for a moment, but Nel abruptly turned to Mr. Fordyce and made a calculated assumption about the egotistical, self-important little man. "It must be such work for you to keep up with constantly changing fashions when you’re so far from Town here in Polgarrack," Nel said, and Mr. Fordyce immediately puffed up like a show pigeon under scrutiny, and graced her with a condescending smile.

"Oh, indeed, Miss Bywater, it is certainly not without its challenges. But!” he went on, brandishing his forefinger in the air as if lecturing a small and rather resentful child, “A successful tailor must be a true artist, and he must find something new and extraordinary at every turn for his patrons. So, I do make frequent journeys to Town to make my observations. That way, you see, the nobility situated further from Town are still provided with the very latest in taste and elegance without the inconvenience of a journey so long and arduous."

He pursed his wet lips and then went on while Edmund's face was a blank, porcelain mask of pain beside her, his shoulders turned slightly to hide his face from Mr. Fordyce who was currently standing perched on a small footstool near the window for a vantage point to ‘better view the proportions of the lady for whom he would have to work a miracle’. Or so he claimed. Nel just thought he felt short and didn't like pontificating at someone who was taller than him, even if only by an inch or two.

She tried not to let her face show her distaste at the master tailor’s outrageously overblown opinion of himself, but in this case, it was buying Edmund time to recover. “What a sacrifice you make for your art,” she said flatly, and he missed the sarcasm entirely.

"Indeed. A tailor ought to have a quick eye; to steal the very cut of a sleeve in passing at the merest of glances, Miss Bywater,” he intoned in an almost sing-song voice, conspiratorially leaning a little closer from his little footstool. She hoped he toppled off it. “Any common bungler may cut out a shape when he has the pattern on the table before him, but a good workman will take it by his eye in the merest passing of a carriage…" He flourished his hand as if he’d magicked something spectacular into existence at that very moment. All she saw was spittle and hot air.

"Extraordinary indeed," she said blandly, studiously keeping her eyes off Mr. Nancarrow while trying to gauge whether it was necessary to indulge Mr. Fordyce's nauseating pomposity any further. He still looked like he might appreciate a few minutes more, so she pulled out a rather higher card from her metaphorical hand. "You must truly be a master of your craft then, Mr. Fordyce, if the rose-petal gown you made for Lady Penrose's birthday in August is anything to judge. Truly, I had never seen its like before, not even when I attended the Russells’ Christmas Ball with Lord and Lady Mercer and their son last year in London." She wondered if she’d taken her flattery a step too far with that last, but he drank it up like sweet summer wine.

His watery eyes lit up at the mention of Lord and Lady Russell’s exclusive gathering, and, as she had suspected, Nel rose just a fraction in his estimation by mentioning such connections. Not that she gave a single one of Old Flint’s trumpeting farts what this man thought of her and her station in Society, but it was buying Edmund time, and he seemed to be breathing a little easier now.

"Oh," Fordyce said in a different voice, simpering just a little. “The… The Russells’ Christmas Ball? And… Lord and Lady Mercer you say?” His eyes practically glinted. “Their young son is a most eligible bachelor, I believe,” he said, apparently unaware of the impudence of such a comment. “And you were with them in Town?”

She nodded. “They’re close family friends.” Never mind that said eligible bachelor had spent the majority of that particular night scandalously secreted away in an upstairs bedroom with an Admiral’s nephew when he’d promised to dance with Nel instead. The cad, she thought with a fond and barely-disguised smile. She knew William would get a good laugh out of hearing all about the ridiculous Mr. Fordyce, and she made a note to herself to include an account of this exchange in the letter she’d intended to pen to him that afternoon.

"Yes, well, the gown I made for Lady Penrose’s birthday is one of my finer pieces, I’ll admit,” Mr. Fordyce blustered, returning to her original compliment. “Perhaps a little too fine for someone of your particular… stature," he added with a vague gesture at her figure, and she bit back a sudden, wild urge to laugh indecorously. "The young Lady Penrose does have such exceptionally delicate wrists, after all," he said, and consulted his notes rather ostentatiously and unnecessarily in order to add, "And such a minuscule waist. Still, a tailor such as I must be able to cut out not only for the handsome and well shaped, but to bestow a good shape where nature has not designed it quite so to suit the fashions of the day."

If Nel hadn't been keeping half an eye on Edmund, who now looked far more horrified by his master's words than by his own physical discomfort, she might have taken offence, but what a conceited little man like Fordyce thought of the proportions of her waist was of relatively little importance to her in the grander scheme of things. If Will had been in the room, she’d have met his eye and the two would have dissolved into uncontrollable hysterics.

All that mattered now though was that her plan to distract the master tailor for a time had worked. Stoking the already puffed-up man’s ego had kept him occupied long enough that whatever pain had been exacerbated by being forced to bend Edmund’s bad knee to the hard floorboards had dissipated back to something more manageable, and a minute later, he very lightly touched Nel at her elbow as he moved around her on the pretence of taking another measurement.

‘Thank you’, he mouthed, blinking rapidly and barely meeting her gaze. He was still the colour of fresh parchment, but he was no longer clenching his teeth like he thought he might be sick. She hoped she hadn’t embarrassed him by acting so presumptuously.

“Forgive me, Mr. Fordyce,” she smiled sweetly to the older man. “I do believe I interrupted the proceedings with my questions.”

“Oh, yes,” the man chirped, blinking like an owl surprised by the arrival of daylight. He’d clearly not noticed at all. “Yes. Well, if you could hold out your arms while Mr. Nancarrow passes the tape around your chest.”

Her heart skipped a beat at that, and while Edmund was methodical and nothing but proper, he did let his dark eyes flick briefly to her face as he closed the tape snugly around her breasts. Her breath caught. Beneath the fabric of her dress, she felt her nipples tighten and she licked her lower lip just a little, sinking her teeth in before resuming a perfectly blank expression. Never in her life had she been touched like that by a man. Her previous mantua maker in Sussex had been a woman after all, as would have been the case here, had Winnie’s not recently relocated.

If Edmund’s gaze had dropped to her mouth for the briefest of moments, she pretended not to have noticed, nor to wonder what it might mean, if anything.

“Inhale again,” Edmund said in a low, sweet voice, his eyes flicking fleetingly back up to her eyes.

Slowly, she obliged and felt the paper tape stretch taut against her bodice as her breasts lifted with her breath. She felt the tension go out of the line as he let the paper slide between his fingertips to measure the slack. All the while, his hands remained steady as a surgeon’s, and she tried not to stare at the elegance of his long fingers where they held the paper securely against her chest in order to snip more little cuts in the paper to mark the dimensions.

“Exhale,” he whispered, and she did, shakily. “Thank you, Miss Bywater.”

“Nel,” she whispered back, but he only inclined his head in a way that said he could, regrettably, never call her something so familiar in such a charged setting. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or frustrated, and found herself oscillating between the two.

Then the moment ended and she almost swayed.

Edmund stepped back, dropped his eyes, and crossed the room to hand Mr. Fordyce the tape. Its coded marks at various lengths indicated that the full set of measurements had been taken, and that the appointment was drawing to a close.

Mr. Fordyce let his eyes flick along the length of it — no doubt noting all the places where her circumference was less elegant than Winnie’s — and folded it carefully up into an envelope. “My thanks, Miss Bywater. I think we can make something with that. Come, Mr. Nancarrow. We must leave these elegant ladies in peace to begin our work.”

Winnie, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room the whole time and pretending to work on her embroidery, rose gracefully and thanked Mr. Fordyce with just a little hint of frost in her usually sweet tone, and said that she looked forward to seeing their creations soon.

“I shall work on your dress personally,” Mr. Fordyce said as he bowed over Winnie’s hand. Nel thought that, given half the chance, he might just slobber all over it for the honour of sampling her ‘delicate wrists’ again, and shuddered. Winnie withdrew her hand almost immediately.

The way he had worded his comment though made Nel wonder if that meant that Edmund was going to make her dress, and her eyes darted questioningly to him.

He was watching her, and one corner of his lips lifted.

That was all, but in that moment, she knew it would be the case. His hands would have touched every inch of the dress she would wear to the ball in Plymouth, and her heart skipped and soared as if she would feel the ghost of his touch when she wore the dress itself. In a way, he would be closer to her that night than any man would even if she danced with them, because the fabric would rest against her very skin. Well, against her chemise and stays, but still, it was closer than any other man would get. Her core heated at the thought and she hoped her face didn’t betray her as the gentlemen bowed and left.

In the silence of their departure, Winnie arched an eyebrow at Nel. “Well, that was an interesting morning,” she said.

“Indeed,” Nel replied carefully.

“Since the ball is only a couple of months away, you must learn to dance properly,” Winnie added as she crossed to the window and watched their small carriage draw away from the front of the house. The shapes were made a dark blur by the rain. “I’ll teach you myself.”

“And what if I have no intention of dancing?”

Her chest still felt tight and her lungs seemed full of sea foam after Edmund had touched her, and imagined she could feel the warmth of his hands lingering through the fabric of her dress. It was most distracting.

“And I do know how to dance,” she added petulantly as she flopped into the other chair by the fire and picked up her own embroidery hoop, scowling at the wonky patterns on it. Had that been a strawberry or a carrot she’d been working on? “It was the local dances at the harvest celebrations that left me stumped. I can dance a passable minuet or quadrille as well as the next country gentleman’s daughter. I just choose not to.”

“You cannot sit the whole ball out and refuse to dance,” Winnie groaned, turning back to face her. “You’ll draw attention to yourself.” And, by extension, she might embarrass the Lady Winnifred Penrose.

“I’ll draw more attention to myself by dancing,” Nel said with a sullen expression as she began to pick rather savagely at her lumpy embroidery with a tiny pair of scissors. Lord, what if Edmund had happened to see it? He’d have thought it was the work of a small child with a knitting needle and ball of garden twine. “It’ll be like watching a bear in a skirt,” she muttered glumly.

Winnie snorted an extremely undignified laugh into her hand, and the two women promptly dissolved into giggles. “I’ll remind you of that when we’re at the ball,” Winnie snickered.

“Oh you’d better not,” Nel groaned. “If I get the giggles in public, it’s uncontrollable, and it’s even worse when it’s a formal setting.”

“You managed fairly well at the Lammas Dance when Old Flint did his best to reduce everyone to hysterics.”

That just brought back memories of meeting Edmund’s dark eyes again, and the feel of Locryn’s huge, rough palms against hers, and clamping around her waist, lifting her high and laughing in his rich, gruff bass as he turned her, and then of her crushing idiocy in almost letting herself kiss the man in public and in front of his lover. No matter that Edmund had said all was forgiven and forgotten; she would never erase that night from her mind.

When the gowns had been made, Mr. Fordyce returned with Edmund for a final fitting in late November, and Nel tried to ignore the odd fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Mr. Nancarrow seeing her in something that was not only a lot finer than her usual redingote dresses, but in something which he himself had made to fit her body.

As Winnie’s maid helped her into it upstairs, while Winnie was downstairs having any final alterations noted, Nel silently scolded herself. ‘Edmund Nancarrow is not going to look at you with even the faintest whiff of interest beyond that of a professional tailor doing his job. Mr. Nancarrow, like Will, is only interested in men’. The memory of the heat in his eyes made her assertions fracture and crumble like fragile cliffs into the insistent sea below. Mr. Nancarrow was probably not only interested in men, but she could tell herself that for the time being all the same.

With her expression set in a rather sour grimace, she thanked Liddy and walked towards the staircase which would lead her down to the drawing room.

The dress was really lovely, and although it wasn’t nearly as complicated and showy as Winnifred's, it had its own elegance and richness that Nel loved more than Winnie’s. The fabric was a warm, green silk damask that shone in the light like a cut and polished emerald, with peonies and curled leaves and fruits shimmering subtly like frost on a windowpane. The sleeves ended just below her elbow in a soft spray of intricate white lace, and there was a small trim of lace around the low, square neckline that was so delicate and fine, it reminded her of the patterns of sparkling sea foam on the sand. The bodice snugged in around the waist, and fastened almost invisibly up the front in a series of minuscule, gold hooks and eyes, while the skirts fell away in a fountain of heavy, forest green fabric to the floor. It would be finished with a delicate, muslin scarf around her shoulders, secured with a silk peony. There were even matching shoes, which were surprisingly easy on the feet, even if the heel was a little higher than those she was used to.

Nel actually felt comfortable in herself as she moved about in it, which she rarely did when dressing up for dances, and she tried to draw on that confidence as she descended the stairs carefully, one hand on the bannister in case she stumbled.

She met Winnie just coming out from her fitting, wearing her own, cream and peach confection which she somehow managed to make look spectacular. Nel was sure that she would have looked like an upturned peach cobbler if she’d put that on.  

Her friend paused in the doorway when she saw her and gasped. “Nel!” she cried out. “Oh you look beautiful. The fit is perfect! And that colour! Why, I declare that the all gentry of Wessex will be prostrating themselves at your feet!”

Nel shook her head with a little blush, a dark curl escaping from the tight arrangement pinned at the back of her head above the collar and out of the way of the tailors’ fingers, and she continued down the stairs.

“Lady Winnifred,” came Mr. Nancarrow’s warm tenor from the other side of the doorway into the drawing room. “Forgive me, but you dropped —”

He stepped across the threshold and into sight, holding a muslin kerchief between the slender fingers of his right hand, but he looked over to his left and caught sight of Nel on the staircase.

The kerchief fluttered forgotten to the floorboards.

His lips parted and she watched him inhale slowly.

No, Mr. Nancarrow was most definitely not only interested in men.

There was no way Nel could still try to believe it after seeing that expression on his face, and she tried to hide a smile.

Winnie turned to glance at him and artfully hid her own little smile before dropping easily to retrieve the abandoned kerchief. She rose and leaned fleetingly in to whisper something in Mr. Nancarrow’s ear before flitting back towards the foot of the stairs just as Nel reached the last step.

Edmund immediately turned red from his collar to his ears, and swallowed visibly. He shot Nel one last glance and ducked back into the drawing room without a word.

Nel raised an eyebrow. “What did you say to him?”

Winnie just squeezed her shoulder. “Prostrating,” she whispered with feeling, and flitted away upstairs like one of the Fair Folk.

When Nel entered the drawing room, Edmund was standing beside Mr. Fordyce with his eyes on the floor and a lingering warmth to his face, but as she crossed to them and Mr. Fordyce declared that the creation was truly a triumph, Mr. Nancarrow raised his dark eyes at last and offered her a very small smile and a single, slow nod.

That one, gentle expression from him was more affirmation than any amount of twittering drivel from Mr. Fordyce as he paced around her and appraised her like an expensive piece of Wedgewood pottery on a plinth.

She watched Edmund take a step away from Mr. Fordyce as the man trotted around behind her and then went back towards the window to leave Edmund to make any adjustments, since he had been the one to make the dress and not Fordyce himself.

Edmund’s dark cane made a now-familiar clunk on the floorboards, and it sounded unusually loud to her while all the other sounds in the room seemed to fade.

“If I may?” he said to her in a soft undertone while the master tailor paced about near the window, utterly absorbed in the sound of his own voice. Nel had no idea what he was saying or if it was even addressed to her.

Edmund’s dark gaze had snagged momentarily at a piece of lace trim around the neck of her gown and he gestured towards it.

She glanced down and saw the problem, and then nodded.

“Of course,” she whispered, tilting her head a little in the opposite direction. It exposed her throat and collarbones, and gave him all the access he would need to free the lace from where it was folded over on itself. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird in her throat and she was sure that Edmund would see it thudding frantically against her skin.

And while Fordyce blathered on to his own reflection in the window about the fact that the cut of the dress and the padding were more important than the underlying body, and how his assistant had clearly understood this when making the patterns for the dress from Nel’s measurements, Edmund slid his fingertips carefully against the exposed skin of her chest.

Goosebumps prickled to life in their trailing wake.

Her breath hitched and she tried not to gasp.

Gently, he withdrew the tiny fold of lace that had been tucked under between the neckline of her bodice and her skin, and smoothed it flat again with his fingertips.

Nel exhaled shakily, angled a little away from him. If she’d had to look at him in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could have weathered the heat in his dark brown eyes. Her whole body thrummed like the rigging of a ship in a gale, and if he kept it up much longer, she would founder on the shore.

Wearing the dress he had made — had touched in every stitch and hem and seam — Nel did feel as though his hands were on her already, around her waist, on her hips, her shoulders, the small of her spine. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t prickling.

His knuckles brushed her collarbones as he withdrew his touch. Nel ached all over for him to linger, but he didn’t, and when he was done, he took half a step back and smiled.

“Perfect,” he breathed, meeting her gaze directly.

___

Nel's dress, for those interested. It's a little early for the period, but shhh. It's gorgeous.

:3

I hope you’re still enjoying it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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[safyresky]

🆕 Crystal Springs Chapter 30: "What Comes Next" now up on ao3/ff dot net!

Chapter 30: What Comes Next

Jacqueline wakes up; Jack fixes the Dome. With everything all but wrapped up, what comes next?

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you guys...she's finished.

Crystal Springs is actually, honest to goodness, FINISHED. THIS IS THE LAST HECKING CHAPTER! I AM BALLING IN THE CLUB RIGHT NOW!

Please, take my humble excerpt while I SOB UNCONTROLLABLY--

Bright. It was bright. It had been so, so dark and now it was so, so bright. Why was it so bright? She cracked open her eyes. Bright. Blurry. Sunlight. Water. Humid air. Blue eyes. “…Jack?” A sharp inhale. “Oh, darling. I’m so, so sorry.” “Momma?” She was being crushed. Her tummy hurt. Momma was sniffling. “But where’s…where’s Jack?” She tightened her hold. She didn’t reply. This was wrong. It was bright out. Too bright. But it wasn’t the right kind of bright. She closed her eyes tightly. Opened them again. Squinted. It was bright. Way too bright. Artificial bright. She groaned, turning her head to the side. Blue eyes. “…Jack?” “Jacqueline?” On the edge of his seat, Jack watched as Jacqueline’s eyes finally opened—only to immediately shut tight once more as she winced at the bright light. She groaned. Wrinkled her nose. Her eyes popped open again, blues meeting blues. She blinked. Smiled. “You are here.” “Welcome back, little flurry.”

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART OF THE WHOLE THING I AM A MESS! AND I HAVE NOBODY TO BLAME BUT MYSELF!

So, indeed. What DOES come next? Read on at ao3 and ff dot net to find out!

Want to start from the top and read it ALL IN ONE GO, NOW? You can do that HERE on ao3 and HERE on ff dot net! I think it's time for a new pinned post now, lol.

Story summary and chapter musings below the cut!

It’s been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking…well, not so great. Jack’s powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk. Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family. Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn’t even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that’s had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move? Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit…complicated.

And there we have it! After way too many years, Crystal Springs is done! Again again! TBH it's probably a GOOD thing I paused halfway through rewriting--my writing has gotten muchas better and I don't think the story would be as lovely as it is now if I HADN'T taken a huge long ass pause from round 2 for a haute minute!

So, here's what's 🆕 This Chapter:

Kept the sillies but made them FLOW better

Since Fino got a whole ass bonding scene with Jack a couple chapters back, the Elfirmary scene went to Fiera instead, and it is LOVELY. It worked out well! She surprised me a BUNCH!

Lucy is in character now :) Love to see it :)

WORD COUNT!!!!!!

And I think that's about it!

OG 2014 Edition: 7,114k words

NEW 202X Edition: 15,387k ish words

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and creating with me! I really hope that Crystal Springs is as delightful a read as it was to write 🥰🥰

In the meantime! Here's what we can expect to see from the CS-Universe:

Frostmas making it's way over to ao3 monthly! Complete with minor edits for a fresh ✨GLOW UP✨

Smile Shots creeping over there

NEW Smile Shots creeping up over here

The usual scrimblies

Into the Shadows musings? We'll see. She's a little disjointed rn but will be sO FUN once I've got all the threads connected 🥳🥳

And thank you from the very bottom of my heart for coming along on this ride with me! And the asks and the art--all of it has been so, so amazing and SO lovely to see! I cannot tell you all how happy my heart is knowing these lil fucks (affectionate) have resonated with you all, too 🧡💙🤍💖

[lovifie]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 3: Poltergeist

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

3.8k Words

Warning/Notes: Ghost x Reader, a little of ass eating from Ghost, fingering, a bit mean Ghost, hair pulling, angst.

“Hey, Birdie.”

“Hey, Ghost.”

The two of you look at each other, each expecting the other to make a move. But since he doesn't seem bothered by the silence, you break it.

“Here for work or pleasure?” You ask opening the door as he chuckles.

“Well, that's not my choice.” He answers looking at you. “Half and half, I suppose.”

“Why is that?” You ask as you enter your flat, leaving the door open for him to enter. But when you notice he is not moving you turn to him. “Are you gonna come in or do I need to invite you like a vampire?”

You see the smile on his eyes (mainly because that's the only thing you can see of his face), and he impulses himself off the wall as he walks closer to your door. 

“And what would your neighbours think? A girl like you letting a man like me inside her house?” He asks cocking his head.

“Well, actually, I don't know if you have heard. But just last night my neighbour was taken by the police because turns out he was a terrorist or something like that, I'm not sure. So I think I am out of the competition for worst neighbour of the year, so, yeah, please c’mon in.” 

You hear him chuckle behind your back as you walk into your room, and a little later you hear the door close. Maybe calling it a room is a big stretch, your whole flat is a room. A small hall that goes from the door to where your bed is, a door on the hall to your bathroom and another one to your kitchen. 

Having breakfast in bed sounds great, but having lunch and dinner sounds a bit sad. But that's the flat you could get, and honestly, thanks to your neighbour's hobbies, at least you know the rent is not going to go higher.

“You know, jumping the wall on your balcony was ridiculously easy, you should probably get a lock for that window.” He comments looking at your window as he enters your line of vision.

“Then I would lose my deposit.” You answer sitting down on your bed to take off your shoes. You take off your jacket next and hang it in your closet. “Are you hungry?”

“Hmm, depends on what's the offer.” He says leaning against the wall again. He follows you with his gaze as you walk to your kitchen and open the fridge with a face. He chuckles when you close the door back and look at him. “Takeout?”

“Takeout it is.” You answer taking your phone out. “What do you fancy, Ghost?” 

“You know? Most people freak out when I get inside their house, don't ask me what I want for dinner.” He says crossing his arms.

“Should I freak out?” You ask looking at him with an eyebrow raised as you lend him your phone with the delivery app open. “Order whatever you want, I'm no picky. I'm gonna take a shower, if the food gets here there is money behind that frame.”

You point out the only frame on your whole house and walk into the bathroom. You try to walk with confidence, but once inside the room, you let a sight escape your lips.

When you said yesterday you were going to push Price and Kyle away, you didn't mean it as in pulling the rest of the team closer. 

This is bad, is mean and honestly, you must be on some weird week of your cycle where you are producing more pheromones than usual because you were chronically single for years and now can't seem to catch a break. 

You open the tap to wait for the water to warm up as you undress. Just as you take your shirt off your pants you notice you didn't pick your pyjamas, so you walk back out.

You see Ghost seated on your bed, back leaning against the headboard, feet dangling off the bedside and scrolling through your phone.

“You can take off your shoes, you know.” You comment as you pick up the plaid pants and massive sweatshirt you wear to sleep as well as your underwear.

“You are a sneaky one, you know.” He responds looking at you almost offended he didn't hear you exit the bathroom.

You chuckle at him and walk back inside the bathroom. The shower helps you calm your nerves, the man is in your bed, and he hasn't made any moves yet; probably because he is not into you, you need to humble yourself a bit. 

At some point you hear the doorbell and your stomach grumbles almost as a reaction. You quickly finish your shower, put on your clothes and walk back to the room. 

“Chinese?” You ask when you see the containers as he stays looking around. “Let me get the table out.”

You say winking at him when he looks at you confused and he gets even more confused when you kneel before him. You look up at him, laughing internally at what he must be thinking and then you get your nice arm under the bed and pull the foldable table under it. You take it out and with a shake, you unfold it, take your seat on the bed in front of the table and tap the bed next to you. “Have a seat.”

He sits next to you, his thigh pressed against yours and he takes the container out of the bags opening them. 

After a little, you decide to finally talk about the elephant and the room and ask: “So, did you just drop by in hopes I would invite you to dinner or do you actually have a mission today, Ghost?”

“Oh, yeah, about that. I actually had two missions today.” He says pulling his mask up so he can eat. You try not to stare at the little skin showing, but you quickly notice the stubble on his jaw. Blonde. “First one, finding out we're the girl from the captain's office was. That one was easy, thankfully cause the captain was freaking out. And the second one, figuring out why she left. That one is still ongoing.”

“And if the captain was freaking out why is it you the one that's on my house?” You ask looking at your plate, curious enough to ask but not brave enough to look.

“Cause he was scared the reason you ran away, was because of him or something he did. So he didn't want to make it worse.” He answers simply, you can feel his eyes on you. He bends down a bit to be able to see your face and ask. “Is that why you ran?” You shake your head. “Then why? It looks like you had fun.” 

You turn to him with furrowed eyebrows and notice that he is looking at your neck, you remember the lovebites and quickly try to cover them with your hand. 

“It was just…” you sigh. “I know when I am no longer wanted, and rather than make it awkward by making him drive me back or having to say bye I just… got out before he woke up.” 

“Hm, I still think you should talk to him. I’m pretty sure he wouldn't agree with you with the ‘not being wanted’ thing” He says doing quotation marks with a hand and taking his phone out to send a message with the other.

“He doesn't even know my name. Neither do you.” You almost mumble. I’m just another one on the list, you think. “I think he will be just fine.”

He winces as if he was in pain and says. “You a tough one, birdie.” He cleans off the rest of his plate and stands up. “You don't know my name either and you don't see me throwing a hissy fit.”

“I'm not throwing a hissy fit.” You say rolling your eyes.

“Did you… Did you just roll your eyes at me, birdie?” He says moving the table and standing between your legs. “Now that” He says pointing at your face. “That's a brat move.”

“I'm not a brat!” You try to defend yourself standing up, but as quickly as you get on your feet, Ghost manhandles you to be laying down on your stomach. He sits on top of your ass immobilising your hips and grabs your arm putting them behind your back leaving you unable to move. “Ghost, what the fuck?!”

“Language.” He says and you feel a hard slap land on your ass cheek making you yelp. “Are you going to behave or should I teach you a lesson, birdie?”

“What? What are you talking about? Get off me.” You mumble squirming under him.

“No, I don't think I will until you learn.” He chuckles as he begins to grind against your ass. He bends down to talk to up to your ears. “You should be grateful, that I found you and not Price. Do you know what he would have done if he found out you got back, walking, alone, in the middle of the night?” Three more hard smacks land on the same cheek when he sits up. “And that alone, without talking about the fact you were missing a shirt. And didn't even say goodbye. Not a phone number, not a name, nothing.” He lands two more on the same cheek and an even harder one on the other cheek. Leaving your arse burning and you wouldn't be surprised if it bruised, but still, the most surprising thing about the situation is that you can feel your underwear sticking to your cunt.

You truly are learning about yourself these days. 

He grabs two handfuls of the meat of your arse, pushing your cheeks together as he grinds with a grunt. Then he lets go, you hear the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone and it sends anxiety up your column. He must sense it because he says: “Calm down, birdie. I'm not giving you my cock until you beg for it, and only if you deserve it. And trust me, you don't.” 

He takes his belt off, aligns your forearms and ties them together behind your back. 

“Are you going to talk to Price? You can still leave unscattered.” He asks, putting his hands beside your head and leaning in to be closer to your face.

You look back at him from over your shoulder, face still push against your mattress, and try to look offended by how easily he got you tied, immobilised and horny. “I don't know.”

He makes the sound of a buzzer, like in the contest when they answer wrong. “Not what I want to hear, birdie.”

His index finger hooks the waistband of your pyjama pants as well as your panties, right above your ass and he pulls them down slowly. You hear him whistle as he pulls them down, feeling the cold hair of the room against your skin and against your glistering cunt. “I think I'm going to start by the desert tonight.”

He lands a loud smack on your naked arse, and when you try to complain, the sound gets strangled into a moan when you feel his tongue against your puckering hole. Getting your ass eaten by the mysterious masked man was not on your plans for tonight, but you are not complaining. 

You moan against the mattress, biting the sheets to try and conceal the sounds leaving your mouth. Your consolation, is the fact that you can feel Ghost moan against your skin, the vibrations travelling up to your nape giving you goosebumps. 

He gets his hands under your hips pulling them up, leaving you completely exposed. Ass up, face down, arms tied and knees together by your pants. He pulls back for a second to admire his job, you look already ruined and it's been less than a couple of minutes. 

You await, expectant, his next move, every single thought that was on your mind about how you should push him away and stand your ground, is silenced by the feral voices of your mind scratching the walls with the need for his mouth to be back on you.

“Look at you, birdie. Such a good girl all of a sudden. You are not a brat, you just need that attitude fuck out of you, right, doll?” He asks massaging your waist with both hands. 

“Fuck you.” You mumble, and Ghost lands a slap right to your cunt making you scream and arch your back to find distance from him.

“Language, birdie!” He says chuckling, amused with the situation. “C’mon, play nice, love. Are you going to talk to Price?”

His finger starts to travel up and down your slit, collecting the juices flooding from your cunt. He teases your entrance without getting inside.

“No.” You declared, tired of being played with.

“No?” He ask genuinely surprised. “Oh, I think you will.” He lands another hard slap on your pussy, right on your clit, and position his fingers so that when you arch your back again, you fuck yourself right into his finger. A loud moan escaped your lips at the sudden intrusion.

He raises his hand up to your nape, grabs your hair in a handful and pulls lifting your head off the bed. “I wanna hear you sing, birdie.” His fingers begin to move inside and out of your cunt making you groan softly, raising in volume as his tongue finds her way back to your ass.

You can feel his drool drip down your ass to where his finger is fucking your pussy, only adding to the mess. He uses the knuckle of his middle fingers to brush against your clit making you mewl and causing him to chuckle again. He can feel you clenching around his finger, and he pulls back to ask again. “Are you going to talk to Price?”

“No, fuck, no I won't.” You scream back. And immediately you wish you didn't. Ghost draws his finger back, and remains holding your head but otherwise untouched.

“Wrong answer again, doll. C’mon, tell me what I want to hear and I'll give you what want to get. Are you going to talk to Price?” He asks. “No!” You answer, and the hardest slap to date lands on your ass making you cry out in pain. “Last chance, birdie. Are you going to talk to Price?” He asks again.

You bite your lip, an inner battle going inside your mind. The stubbornness in you taking the lead, not even being reasonable, just stubborn. Another hit snaps you out of it. “Shit! Fine! Whatever, I'll talk to him.” 

“Good girl, birdie.” He grumbles against your ear as his fingers start to piston in and out of your cunt, the sting of the stretch by the second finger completely buried under the waves of pleasure. He keeps whispering pure filth onto your ears, unable to hear him over the ring of your ears caused by the stimulus on your weak point.

You feel drool drip down your chin into the sheets, but you can only focus on the tight knot inside your body. It's unfair how easy it seems to be for these men to make you come undone with barely touching you, it makes you think about those mediocre ex-lovers who would put the blame on you for taking so long to cum. Fuck them, these men, Kyle, Price and Ghost had you coming in minutes without even taking off their clothes.

Ghost brushed his knuckles against your clit again, and you can only moan his name before you are gushing over his hand. He helps you ride out your orgasm and slowly draws back his fingers. 

He stands up chuckling softly, you hear him walk into the bathroom, you hear the faucet open and close and then hear him walk back.

You feel the cold wet towel between your legs and it makes you jump off the surprise. “Sorry, you spend all the warm water, doll.” He says still snickering. He drops the towel on the table, pulls your underwear and pants up, takes his belt back and lies next to you caressing your hair. “Solid, birdie?”

You shake your head. “Pretty sure I'm liquid now, Ghost” You say absent-mindedly and rub your eyes as you yawn. He may have fingered the attitude out of you, but he also fuck the energy out.

“I think it's time for me to leave, thank you for the dinner, birdie. And for the desert.” He says, smiling at you. He lands a peck on your temple and stands up. “Lock your door when I leave. And talk to Price.”

When he turns his back at you, you roll your eyes standing up as well to close the door. He turns on his heels and looks down on you. “And don't roll your eyes at me, birdie. Don't give me an attitude. Lock the door.” He says and lights a cigarette as he makes his way out of the building. 

While you're are cleaning everything, tidying your room, getting ready to get into your bed when you get a message from a contact that is just a skull emoji. 

💀: Lock the door, birdie.

That's what you get for trusting him with you phone to order food.

“So she didn't say why?” Price asks Simon as he sits in the booth at the pub.

The both of them met there, a pub close to your house, Price too anxious to wait to get back to base to find out about Ghost’s discoveries.

“Negative.” Ghost answers setting the pints down. “She did make a great point, Captain.”

“Which is?” Price ask expecting

“We don't even know her name. Well, we do because of the background check we did to find her, but any of us have asked her.” Ghost responds. “And I thought you were the less hotheaded of the team, Captain.”

Ghost shakes his head as he laughs.

“Maybe try to talk to her when you are not saving her life? Maybe she will feel less overwhelmed then.” Ghost says taking his phone out to check his messages when he notices the vibrations. “Talking about the little bird.”

🐦: I told you I locked the dor

🐦: door*

💀: Awesome

🐦: ?

🐦: Go away, Ghost

💀: What are you talking about, birdie?

🐦: Stop messing with my door, I'm trying to sleep, you weirdo.

💀: It's not me.

💀: Are you sure it's your door and not your neighbours?

🐦: what neighbour?

💀: You and the terrorist are the only tenants on the building?

🐦: STOP MESSING WITH THE DOOR 

🐦: You are giving me the deposit money if you break it.

💀: I'm not at the door.

💀: Birdie?

💀: Don't ghost me now.

💀: Not on purpose.

💀: Birdie?

Ghost knit his brows at the lack of messages and look up to Price who seems lost in thought. “Maybe we need to save her again, Price. Your heart to heart talk will have to wait.”

7 minutes.

That's all it takes for Ghost and Price to reach your building. Guns in hands as soon as they saw your apartment door busted open.

Price felt his heart sink at the possibility of your being hurt, because of him and his inability to treat you the way he should. Waking up alone didn't hurt as much, he hadn't slept that good in who knows how long, and it was all thanks to the warmth of your body pressed against his.

So now, that only now has he found this comfort, the thought of it being ripped away from him before he could mend his error, was truly heartbreaking.

The nice thing about your house being this small, is that there is not a corner that remains unchecked. And still, you are nowhere to be seen.

But your flat is a mess. The dishes are broken all over the hall and kitchen floor, the fridge is leaning against the wall obviously having been pushed, your clothes are thrown all over the place, your mattress is cut out it's inside thrown around, your clothes mixing with the rest of the mess on the floor, and your wall…

“You will pay for your actions, whore.”

Can be read on the wall, big letters occupying the whole wall.

Your TV is missing, only the metal skeleton that holds it to the wall it's on is place. And your window is busted, that's when he sees it, a chair. On your balcony, as if it was used by somebody to jump.

Price walks up to the balcony so fast, Ghost grabs his shirt unsure of the Captain's plan. “She probably jumped to the apartment next door, Captain. Let's check it.” The younger says to try and calm the Captain. He nods and they both make their way to the apartment next door.

It is just as destroyed as yours, but still, no sign of you. They make their way back to your apartment and Price sits down burying his face on his hands.

Ghost takes out his phone again and he calls you, anxious waiting for you to pick up. But you don't, instead, a silly music begins to sound from under your bed. Tranquillity floods their senses, only for it to be destroyed when the only thing they find is your phone under your bed.

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Where are you?” Ghost asks out loud.

THUMD

Both men whip their to the sound, and come face to face with your closet. Now, one of the things you like about your flat, is the closet. Built into the wall. With a ridiculously small space on top of it.

Both men look astonished, as a hand starts to crawl his way out of the false ceiling of the closet. You pop your head next, and when you confirm is the two men and not whoever entered your house just a couple of minutes ago, you start to bawl your eyes out.

When you heard the people force their way into your house, you automatically got yourself into the space on the false ceiling in your closet. You stayed there, contorted into yourself and used every ounce on yourself to not make a noise. 

You heard how they rampaged your little home, how they screamed, how they destroyed everything.

It was merely a couple of seconds, but it felt like hours. And when you heard them come back for a second time, you were certain they would hear the beat of your heart. Until you hear what sounded like the sweetest desert on the universe, Ghost's voice, asking where you were.

The sheer fear that just saved your life, now turned you into a sobbing mess of tears and drool as you melt onto Ghost's arms once he holds you.

You feel Price's hand rubbing your back as he kisses your shoulder shushing you.

“It's all right, darling. We are here now. You are safe. No one is going to get to you now.”

Hii! 💗

Hoped you liked the new chapter, reader collecting these men like they are pokemon hehe wish that was me

Taglist: @pagesfalling @thevoidwriting @darkangel4121 @tf141glory @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @ghostlythots @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @xinyiline

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I never really made a request before so that's my first time wish u like it

So I was thinking about some fluff drunk y/n acting all stupid and flirty to bakugo who doesn't like drinking around her because he knows that they both won't have someone to send them home if they got drunk

[Secretly caring]

*Whispering* he also gets a bit touchy if she let's him

*friends to lovers thing*

Wish my explanation was good enough and can't wait for the next chapter of FBRC <3

OUUU this is such a cute idea ! i’m so happy, this is my first request as well so we both have a milestone LMAOOO ! i tried to honour your request as best i could ! <3 (OU and AAAAA im glad you like FBRC ! i hope you’ll keep reading !)

bakugou katsuki considers himself a mature, mostly rational person.

despite what others, media outlets and even his own damn friends might say, katsuki thinks he’s really not that bad.

sure, he’s flipped off a camera man, cursed out another one…and another one—but who doesn’t have a bad day once in a while ?

he’s changed since he was a kid, he doesn’t get set off as easy anymore most days. he’s learned to be more patient, a little more levelheaded. that’s at least something his shitty friends will tell you.

he’s changed from when he was a kid, he’s grown now. he’s a man.

but right now katsuki feels like smashing your head in with a brick.

"kah-su-kiiiiiiiii... m'sleeppyy" you whine, leaning against his shoulder.

katsuki doesn't regret a lot, but he sure as hell regrets accepting to go out for drinks with you. again. you had said something about 'celebrating getting a day off after a while'.

"never should've accepted goin' out with yer ass." he laments grumpily. despite the fact he says this every single time he goes out to drink with you, he never seems to learn his lesson. he never seems to want to learn his lesson.

truth is, katsuki has grown a lot since his UA days but one thing he hasn't outgrown is his giant rampant crush on you. it's embarrassing how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger, how easily you can get him to do whatever you want as long as you just asked him to.

he complains and grumbles about it but he'll never, ever, say no to you.

which is how he always, always, ends up in this predicament.

katsuki snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you sniffle.

"y-ya don't like.." you sniffle again " ya don't like hangin' out wif me ?"

fuck.

immediatly it's like a switch had been flipped. he moves his arm so he can wrap it around you and have you lean against his chest. you always got emotional when you were a little too drunk, that usually meant it was time to go.

"no—no, s'not that. i—" he sucks in a breath, cheeks heating up despite the fact he knows there's barely any chance you'll remember this. usually he'd remind you of your embarrassing drunk moments as revenge for making him take you home and taking care of your ass because you were too drunk to, but he'll refrain from mentioning this part.

"i do like hangin' out with you, dummy. quit talkin' stupid." he shushes you softly, unconsciously rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"b-but you said, you regretted goin' out wit me" you pout. fuck, you're cute. katsuki has to fight off the urge to lean down and kiss it away.

"i say a lot of stuff i don't always mean, sweets. you know that." he replies " 'f i didn't wanna hang out with ya, i wouldn't."

you hum pensively, leaning against his shoulder as you think. you smell like something sweet, he can't quite track down what it is, but it's making him dizzy. you've always had the ability to make him lose focus. you're so close and you smell so good and katsuki feels like he's drunk.

"mmyeah...guess that's true" you hiccup. you raise your hand up to trace his jaw line with your finger and he refuses to look at you but he can hear the cheeky little smile in your voice "you like hanging out with me, right ? that's why you always say yes when i ask !

he scoffs "i only say yes 'cuz i know you'd just end up goin' out anyway, you'd get yourself in trouble." he's stiff as a fucking board, he feels like if he moves a little too much he'll say something he shouldn't.

"no i wouldn't" you argue, then you reach your whole hand up to squeeze his cheeks "but even if i did, i know you'd come to save me, mr. dynamight" you giggle

he's so sick of you. katsuki's been in plenty of situations where he was this close to death, but he's certain you're gonna be the death of him.

"time for bed" he grumbles. he lifts you by your shoulders slightly until you can properly stand on your feet "m'getting you home, yer too drunk to be up right now" he asserts, chuckling when you pout at him when he flicks your forehead

"you're not the boss o' me ! 'm completely—oops" you trip forward but katsuki catches you with ease, he's always there to.

you look up at him innocently and he looks down at you with one eyebrow raised "you were sayin' ?" he sassed.

you roll your eyes at him and push off him slightly to stand more comfortably, you stick your tongue out at him. " i said—i'm fine..but if you wanna take me home that badly, i guess i'll allow it" you shrug. katsuki squints then shakes his head, smiling to himself. you catch him and giggle, he can't cover up his chuckle fast enough. you must look stupid to the other people in the bar just sitting there giggling at each other, he realizes. then he remembers he could honestly not give enough of a shit about what these other drunk losers thought, the only drunk loser he cared about was right here in his arms.

right where you belonged.

you're out like a light by the time katsuki's brought you back to your apartment, but he doesn't mind, he'd expected it anyway. he carries you like a sack of potatoes to your floor. he's glad he'd managed to grab your keys before you fell asleep, having to wrestle the keys from you and risk you getting cranky at him doesn't sound all that nice right now.

he helps you take off your shoes and he's extremely grateful you're just lucid enough to change by yourself. he helps you clean up and brush your teeth, then carries you to bed even though he knows damn well you could walk just fine. not before getting you to down a glass of water.

you're annoying when you're drunk and sleepy, you're whiny and everything is too much work for you. katsuki grumbles right along with you, calling you a pain in the ass, then promptly taking it back when he sees you tearing up again. he grumbles and complains but he knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it for him. not only because he's sure whoever it is wouldn't even be able to do this half as well as he does, but also because despite his better judgement, despite the fact you piss him off to no bounds, you're his to take care of. and he'd be damned if he let anyone else take care of what's his.

so you whine, and he complains, but he truly wouldn't have it any other way.

you insist on wanting him to stay with you and he knows he probably shouldn't. he likes you too much to just casually stay here with you, he knows he won't be able to sleep and he's just going to keep staring at your lashes fluttering as you dream. but you pout at him and plead him so sweetly, he really can't say no to you.

he likes you too much.

he steals one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants (he technically isn't stealing—since they're both his to begin with) and climbs into bed with you. you immediatly latch onto him, nuzzling into his shoulder before thanking him.

"for what ?" he mutters sleepily, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

"for.." you interrupt yourself with a yawn, he chuckles "for always takin' care of me..you're the best."

if you were more sober, he'd simply answer with a cocky "tell me something i don't know." but you're not and katsuki's already too far gone, so he squeezes your waist in appreciation then responds " i'm always gonna take care of you."

he's suprised by how soft and sappy he sounds but you suprise him even more when you lean up slightly to press a feather light kiss to the underside of his jaw and whisper a sweet little "love you."

he lays there for a good long while without response, you don't mind because you chose that exact moment to fall asleep. he lays there and he's sure he won't be able to fall asleep now. fuck you for knocking out and leaving him like this, he thinks. he's trying not to give himself false hope, maybe you meant it platonically. he keeps trying and he keeps thinking all night but he's still impossibly giddy.

he was contemplating not telling you anything about last night, but he can't help himself. he's nervous—god, he's so fucking nervous when you wake up while he's getting comfy in your kitchen like it was his, making breakfast. you look groggy and sleepy and hungover, but to him, you still look adorable.

when you're awake enough, munching away at the breakfast he's made, he tells you about last night and his heart slams against his chest when he mentions what you had told him.

though, when he sees how you choke on a piece of your toast, and how flustered you look, like a deer in headlights, his heart beats hard against his ribcage for a completely different reason.

the next time you go out for drinks, it's to celebrate the start of your relationship.

AAA first request done ! hope you liked this anon <3 if you guys have any request pleassseee lemme know !

[reiderwriter]

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door. 

Frozen and horny. 

Shit. 

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in. 

1. He was there. 

2. He wasn't there. 

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned. 

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned. 

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would- 

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you. 

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer. 

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of. 

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working. 

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-” 

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.” 

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books. 

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none. 

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want. 

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person. 

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?” 

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours. 

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?” 

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?” 

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.” 

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before. 

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something. 

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought. 

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow. 

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid. 

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction. 

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied. 

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.” 

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him. 

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again. 

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.” 

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING” 

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor. 

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.” 

He grinned at you from behind his desk. 

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.” 

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-” 

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast. 

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way. 

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.” 

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape. 

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man. 

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest. 

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.” 

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.” 

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again. 

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office. 

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance. 

The anger won out. 

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly. 

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent. 

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were. 

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none. 

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down. 

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza. 

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door. 

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice. 

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him. 

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry. 

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk. 

“Spencer, what the fuck a-” 

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table. 

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-” 

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching. 

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it. 

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think. 

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.” 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. 

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.” 

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information. 

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier. 

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you. 

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him. 

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.” 

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate. 

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?” 

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all. 

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.” 

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-” 

“None of that was my choice.” 

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time. 

“What did you say?” 

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth. 

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you. 

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?” 

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth. 

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth. 

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier. 

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now. 

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt. 

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally. 

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit. 

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body. 

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth. 

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more. 

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.  

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue. 

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control. 

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt. 

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head. 

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?” 

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.” 

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally. 

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus. 

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight. 

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside. 

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?” 

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch. 

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple. 

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist. 

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.” 

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night. 

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace. 

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you. 

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob. 

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.” 

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again. 

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you. 

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there. 

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes. 

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place. 

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[oakparchment]

Best Friends With Benefits

Lisa x Rosé x Male Reader

Length: 8045 words

Tags: double blowjob, double handjob, dirty talk, anal sex, strip tease, clothed sex, spit kink, hair-pulling, feet play, creampie, cum swapping

Summary: you find out that Chaelisa know each other a bit too well to just be platonic besties.

AO3

Chapter 1 - Tell me your 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓼

"Do you ever get horny during idol work? Like what do you do when you get wet on set?" You opened up the conversation with a bold question. Worrying that you had jumped the gun and made them feel uncomfortable, you held you breath whilst waiting for a response. Your worries were waved away when Lisa glanced over at Rosé, whose lips had turned upwards on one side. Lisa stifled a giggle. "Are you kidding? We're only human. Some of the outfits I see the other members in gets me riled up and I have to rub one out in the bathroom, or if there’s no time then work is work and we just gotta wait until our schedule is over. But we always deal with it, eventually.”

Lisa sipped on her wine, her eyes never breaking contact with you as she did so. Sitting in Rosé’s apartment, you felt a little tense before the two idols. Mirroring Lisa’s actions, you drank from your glass, hoping a slight buzz might help relieve your nervousness.

Rosé offered a related experience "One time, we were at the recording studio and everyone else had clocked off. I could tell it was one of those days for Lisa, and she was desperate to go home so she could… y'know, relax. Instead, I left the mic recording, dragged us into the booth, and locked the door. I finger fucked the life out of her and that was the day where she squirted in our own recording booth." The nature of the story was already so slutty, but the way Rosé spoke it with her Aussie accent made you want to explore her mouth and hear her whisper into your ear.

Lisa sat up from where her elbow was leaning against Rosé's couch. She had a super crop top on, the ones that only cover your arms and shoulders, whilst her bralette was worn below it. This left a small window of exposed skin on her chest, including the slight curves you could see from her tits, as well as her tight abs. "We obviously weren't right up against the mic, so when we listened back to it you can mostly only hear distant moans and muffled wet sounds. Still exported the audio and took it home though."

"I'd love to hear it." You blurted out without thinking, though there was no regret.

"Maybe we can show you the recording... but the live version sounds better." From your peripherals, Rosé's coy smile turned into a wide eyed expression at what her best friend had just said. Lisa knew how to deliver lines.

You were glad you initially steered the conversation in this direction, because they had taken the reigns and driven it full force.

"Well, this TMI got way out of hand, though I don't think you're complaining." Rosé looked down at your bulge and then up at you. "Are there any fantasies you've had about us?"

"Or have you just jerked off to our pictures?" chimed in Lisa. "It's okay, you can answer honestly... Sometimes when I'm alone and porn isn't doing it for me, I scroll through my Rosie wank bank and get off to her. It usually works".

"Lisa!" Rosé's blush was accompanied by a mischievous smile. "Wait... Only usually?"

"Relax, when it's not enough I whip out one of our recordings."

You can't help but notice that Lisa said recordings, plural.

"You watch them without me? said Rosé whilst pouting her lips.

"Sorry babe, you know I can't help myself sometimes."

At this point you're at full mast and could listen to them talk about these things forever, but without wanting to fade into the background, you speak up. "Okay, the thought of that is unbelievably hot and I have so many questions.” You paused to think momentarily. “Why don't we play a little game, I'll tell you about one of my fantasies if you tell me one of yours".

Rosé raises her eyebrows. "So you do fantasize about us?"

"The secret's out, I guess." You said in a playful way, knowing full well that no one in this room thought that was a secret.

"Okay, we'll take you up on this game, since there's two of us and one of you, we'll start." Rosé looks over to Lisa after saying this.

Lisa claps her hands together. "Well seeing as you mentioned that their were three of us... I want to be eaten out and fucked at the same time."

The fact that Lisa said this with the implication being Rosé and yourself made you audibly groan. This might be a lot more wild than you initially thought.

"You really dived into the deep end huh Lili." Rosé spoke aloud the thought you had.

"Mine might seem a bit tame in comparison, but I've kinda got a thing for legs." As you say this, your eyes trail over to Rosé. Unlike Lisa, she was in full comfy mode, wearing a tight blue top that to your delight exposed her toned midriff. Below that were her slim legs, which in her high waisted sweatpants looked particularly long. Rosé was watching you scan her legs, and noticed when your focus didn't stop at her ankles but kept venturing further down to her bare feet. You quickly looked up to her face hoping she wasn't overly observant, but she returned your gaze with a knowing look.

"You like my legs? I'm sure there's something we can do about that." she said whilst shuffling closer to you on the tiled floor, stretching her legs out teasingly so that they were within arms reach of you. "I suppose it's my turn then. Hmm..." Rosé tilted her face to one side and looked up as she gave it a moment of thought. "I'd like to take a guy's load and share it with another girl."

You could barely believe the words that were coming out of their mouths. Rosé had already pointed out the bulge in your pants a few minutes ago, and had now decided to do something about it. Having already moved closer, Rosé lifted her leg and placed a foot on your hardness. It would be ignorant of you to think that idols would always have perfectly prim and pristine bodies from head to toe, but in Rosé's case this seemed to be true. 

Lisa bit her lip and crossed her legs over as she watched her friend make her advances.  Rosé simply looked at you whilst gently biting the inside of her cheek. With her arms leaning behind her on the floor for support, she started to add more pressure and move her sole up and down your crotch, giving you a footjob through your pants.

Getting impatient, Lisa, who at this point was clearly trying to tighten her legs together to get some kind of friction, quickly decided that wasn't enough and instead reached for the buttons on her shorts and started to take them off, but not in typical fashion. Lalisa stood up and turned around, her body line turning into an incredible figure that you wished you could burn into your memory. At the centre of this artistic sculpture was her luscious ass, which was only highlighted more as she bent over and looked back at you with those unmistakable fuck-me eyes. She then peeled her tight shorts down, using her hands to guide them along. She glided her hands across her legs at the same time, like she was a present you’ve always wanted unwrapping itself in front of you. Once her shorts had hit the tiles, you imagined what it would be like taking her in this position, and all the kinds of things you wanted to do to her ass.

Her little routine wasn’t over though. On the way up, in one fluid motion her hand trailed up along the inside of her thigh, leading to her panties that she rubbed from her ass all the way to her clit. She shivered at the first real physical stimulation felt since this little session started. The simple act of stripping off her own shorts was striking. She certainly lived up to her main dancer mantle.

Your cock twitched achingly at Lisa’s strip tease. In response, Rosé found the head of your manhood through the fabric and, to the best of her ability, curled her toes around it. “Whilst this is fun, there’s only so much of your cock that I can feel through your clothes, and I want it in me, not in your pants.”

“You mean in us.” said Lisa as she kneeled down next to Rosé.

“Sorry babe, you’re right” and one of your untold fantasies unfolded before your eyes, as Rosé leaned in to Lisa’s lips and pressed them across her own. Lisa met Rosé's tongue with no resistance, letting it slip into her mouth and explore within her. The realisation that this seemed so natural to them showed that it was clearly nothing new, all the while Rosé continued massaging you.

You gently caressed her foot, before begrudgingly removing it from your crotch. The strain of your cock through your pants was starting to hurt a little from how turned on you were. You stood up and closed the short distance to where they were still locked on to each other, mouth on mouth. You wondered how familiar they were with getting each other’s lips wet. Lisa was caressing her hands through Rosé's hair, who in return had her hands fondling Lisa’s cute tits. Apparently, the answer to your previous thought was, very much so.

When Rosé pinched her best friend’s nipple, Lisa let out a moan in her throat that reverberated into Rosé's mouth, letting her know that her actions were appreciated.

Rosé briefly opened her eyes, and saw your hard tent was now at eye level next to them. She pulled her tongue out of Lisa’s mouth and gave her a quick peck on the lips before turning to unzip your pants.

Lisa wrapped her arms around Rosé's waist and leant her head on her shoulders, watching as Rosé finally pulled your cock free. “Mmm, did all of our foreplay and teasing get you this hard? Just for us?” She said with a foxy little smile, knowing full well that you were hard as a rock the moment the topic of fantasies came up.

And with that she grabbed the base of your cock and started pumping up and down. The first jerk alone was enough to cause pre cum to leak out onto your head, which Rosé- observant as ever, quickly noticed and used it to start lubing up your rod. “Mmm c’mon Lisa, don’t pretend you’re shy.”

Lisa was seemingly preoccupied, as she had adjusted her head on Rosé's shoulder so that she was now sucking her neck, and the hands which were around her waist now pulled her towards her own body. Lisa was seemingly grinding her pussy against Rosé's hipbone. It wasn't a move that you had ever seen before, but it was hot nonetheless.

Rosé, who was unfazed by this, gathered her hand that was intertwined with Lisa’s and slid them both together over your cock, forming a hand cradle. What followed was a double handed jerk off, as the two girls of your dreams slid their hands together over the full length of your cock, from base to head, down and back up, their hands still laced over each other as well as over your cock. You revelled in the experience, thinking about how much more there was to come. You quickly stripped off your shirt, and looked down to the pleasing rendition before you.

Both sets of eyes were now looking up at you with hungry expressions. Rosé unclasped her hand and moved her mouth towards your balls, sucking them into the warmth of her mouth. Lisa continued pumping your cock, moving her hand down towards the lower half. You anticipated why she might do this, until your cock head was resting on the wetness of her laid out tongue.

“You know, Rosé's spit is still probably in my mouth.” She said, then quickly took in half the length of your cock inside her mouth. The thought of Blackpink’s shared fluids in each other and on your cock had you throbbing in Lisa’s mouth. Just to make sure, Rosé took a pause from sucking on your balls. After Lisa had bobbed up and down your shaft a couple times, Rosé interrupted her by placing a hand around her neck, gently choking the girl and causing her to stop the brief yet blissful blowjob. Confused as to why Rosé had pulled her best friend off of your cock, your confusion was quickly replaced with a look of awe as she pulled Lisa’s mouth open. The younger girl instinctively laid her tongue out and looked up at Rosé with puppy dog eyes. And then Rosé spat. in. her. mouth. Lisa grinned in return then returned to take the length of your cock down her throat, gagging ever so slightly when she reached the base. When her pretty pink lips pulled away from your cock, you were connected by a trail of spit and pre cum.

“There, now our spit is definitely mixed together all over your cock.”

Lisa wasn’t swimming, yet a new wave of liquid had started to leak under her from Rosé's ministrations. She moved her black panties to the side and started rubbing her clit, whilst returning to give you head.

You felt her slide her tongue along your frenulum and shaft whilst encasing you between her lips. Rosé massaged your balls with one hand and used her other to wrap it around the base of your shaft. Their teamwork and rhythm was undeniable. Whether it was through years of training and performing together, or experience in getting their partners off- each other or different people (or both), the pleasure you were feeling far succeeded your expectations. Lisa would skilfully envelop your shaft with her mouth, bobbing up and down. When she slurped down further, Rosé gave the base of your shaft two quick jerks. On Lisa’s every upwards motion, Rosé used the extra length available on your cock to give you a slower pump in a twisting motion, whilst Lisa sucked hard on your head. They continued doing this again and again, all the while Rosé continued to massage your balls with her free hand, and their eye contact fucked you on a whole other level.

Lisa moaned onto your cock, and gazing past her slutty little face, you saw she was still getting herself off. Two small pools of liquid had formed on the floor, one beneath Lisa’s pussy; her leaked juices made you wonder what she tasted like. The other was the puddle of spit below your cock and their mouths, which had transpired from the increasingly sloppy blowjob.

You felt a familiar rising wave. Wanting to prolong this dream-like situation, you stepped back to pull away, at which Lisa looked at you with pouty lips and an expression of neediness, whilst Rosé spoke up.

“You were about to cum weren’t you, I could feel it in your balls.” she said with a devious smile. “Lisa’s mouth does feel good doesn’t it.” After which she turned and licked up along Lisa’s cheek playfully, and turned back to look at you with her mouth open in a smile and her tongue lifted up to to the top of her teeth.

“That felt like heaven and then some.” You explained. “But I don’t want to cum just yet.”

“It’s all good, I’ve got an idea” Rosé grabbed Lisa’s hand again and stood up, motioning for Lisa to follow suit.

Noticing the girly mess she had made on the floor, Lisa started an apology to her best friend. “My bad Chae, I leaked on your floor a little.” Considering she hadn’t cum yet, ‘a little’ seemed like an understatement. This girl was dripping.

Rosé replied with even more fantasy fuel. “Don’t worry Lili, you get cum on my bed sheets all the time, these floors are easy to clean in comparison.” And with that you all moved into Rosé's bedroom, hopefully on your way to ruin her bed sheets anyway.

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Chapter 2 - 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓼 fulfilled

Apart from a hoodie that was lying on the floor, Rosé's bedroom was about as photogenic as her. An observation of clean and cute was as far as your quick scan of the area allowed before the girls drew your attention again.

Amazingly, Rosé was still fully clothed. Lisa- desperate to continue, quickly undid Rosé's shorts and dropped them to the floor, but not without giving Rosé's ass cheek a playful bite. “Lisa-yah!” yelped Rosé, with her eyes wide open and mouth agape in a similarly playful expression.

“Can’t help myself Rosie, I’m just extra horny today, don’t know why.”

“Lili I think we know why.” She said, giving you a coy look. “Why’re you just standing in the doorway Y/N?” “It’s okay, you can come into my room, it’s not the only thing of mine you’re gonna be coming in anyway.” Your cock twitched at her comment, causing Rosé to smirk as she knew the effect her words had on you.

“I want to see all of you Rosé.” You looked at her shirt and panties, then at Lisa, indicating with your eyes. Lisa understood and stood behind her best friend. Returning the favour from earlier, she cupped her perky little tits through her white top and started to pinch her nipples.

“Mmm, naughty Rosie isn’t wearing a bra.” said Lisa as she placed her head over Rosé's shoulder and looked into her eyes.

Rosé returned eye contact and replied “Well yeah I’m just at home, you walk around here with far less clothes than an absent bra sometimes.” She then proceeded to reach behind her, and although Rosé's body was currently blocking you from seeing it, you could take a good guess as to what she had dipped her fingers into given the surprisingly loud wet sound that emanated.

In what is half soft purring and half actual words, Lisa responds “Me walking around your house naked? You shouldn’t say such slanderous things Rosie.” You find it both humorous and an extreme turn on that Lisa is saying this whilst her fellow group members’ fingers are buried deep in her dripping pussy.

Even though you were meant to be cooling off, you can’t help but stroke your cock to the image before you. Ever so slowly, you pumped your shaft as Lisa lifted Rosé's shirt over her head, forcing the girl to pull her fingers out so that she could hold her arms up. As she did this, you managed to catch 2 of her fingers glistening in the air against the sunlight that shimmered through the curtains. Seeing Lisa’s wetness sparkle on Rosé's fingers was not a fantasy you thought you had, but it is a memorable moment for sure. With her top now removed, you drink in the sight of Rosé's tits. They aren’t huge, but they’re shapely and match her frame well. Subconsciously, you increased the pace of your stroking in appreciation, which doesn't go unnoticed by Rosé who bites on her lip as she watches you jerk off to her. “Better than getting off to pictures of us over the internet?” She toys.

Before you can think of a good reply, Lisa spins her around so that Rosé's ass is facing you. She gives you a quick glance, then starts to peel her chingu's panties off using just her teeth. Apparently Lisa took stripping classes at YG because she sure knew how to put on a show.

Rosé bent her knees slightly and leaned forward on the bed, knowing the angles that made her ass look good. Before you is a cute bubble butt, definitely not as big as Lisa’s, but round and firm. You wonder how it’s possible for them to look so damn good, but then remember that as idols, half of their work is training, dancing, and performing, and to look visual as fuck whilst doing it. What most of the public doesn’t necessarily realise though, is how mouth drooling they look even under their clothes. With no safety shorts to impede your view, Rosé looked gorgeous. Being nude, this is the most leggy you’ve ever seen her, and in her bent over position, her pussy shined back at you. Even from this small distance, you could see that she had a very neat innie that made you want to dive in. Turning back around to face you made her clean shaven mound apparent. 

You walked forward from your spot at the doorframe. Lisa was still wearing her bralette and super crop top, and her panties were so soaked that a wet line started to drip down her thigh. Eyeing what remained of her outfit, you came to a decision: “That crop top stays on, everything else needs to go.”

“If that’s what you want, daddy.” She said in a sultry yet innocent tone that practically makes you melt.

Rosé kneeled down behind Lisa, and took off her panties. There’s no show this time, but no complaints are to be heard either, as Rosé immediately dived into her best friends pussy, enabling moans to echo through the room.

You waste no time and unhook Lisa’s bralette. With just her super crop on to shape her shoulders, it laid just over her chest without covering her tits, which jiggled pleasantly as she had taken over stroking your cock, the rest of her now butt-naked. It was like an X rated dance practice outfit. You transfer Lisa’s moans into your own mouth as you moved in for a kiss. She welcomed your tongue into herself, and once again with unbeatable rhythm, she matched the pace of her handjob with the rate at which she sucked and licked at your tongue. You could only imagine that Rosé was somehow tongue-fucking her pussy to a similar beat.

“Alright, time for that idea I had” perks up Rosé. She directed Lisa to get on the bed- face down, ass up, whilst you stood at the edge, leaving enough room for Rosé to take her place in front of you. It looked to be a king size bed, which you have a not so slight suspicion is due to the fact that Lisa spends a lot of time in here as well. Rosé kneeled on her knees, facing Lisa, and continued her oral session. Feeling a little confused as to why she wanted you here, you begin to realise what Rosé's idea was. She lifted up the lower half of her legs into the air and fluttered her toes at you, behind which rested both her thighs held tightly together, and above that thigh gap was of course the beautiful folds of her pussy.

Rosé's a queen, yet she knows how to serve. Before you was an elegant three course meal of your very own Rosé banquet.

“There’s lube in that bedside drawer, bottom shelf.” said Rosé as she lifted up her head from Lisa’s cunt, gesturing towards the mahogany drawer with pussy juice dripping deliciously around her mouth. “Or you can borrow some of Lisa.” She said with a wink and a lick of her lips before burying her face back down into her meal, allowing Lisa’s increasingly louder moans to continue.

As hot as Rosé's latter suggestion sounded, you didn't want to interrupt, as Lisa has been chasing that orgasm since the start of the night. You moved over to where the bedside table was and opened the bottom drawer. The contents were a bit more intense than you were expecting. You spotted a few dildos and vibrators, the two most noticeable of which were a rabbit vibrator (the ones that have an extra nub shaped like rabbit ears to stimulate the clit), and a long double ended dildo that was half black, half pink. Apparently even in their sex lives they remained on brand.

Other items included a roll of condoms and the bottle of lube you were initially looking for- but quickly became of less interest, as you saw a pair of handcuffs, and at the bottom, a small set of Polaroid pictures. They had the typical dreamy summer vibes that Polaroids produced, but upon looking at the images more closely you noticed they were of not just Rosé, or even just Chalisa, but all the Blackpink members. In most of the pics the subjects were framed as either nude or close to it, in a satisfyingly tasteful way, despite the fact that you could tell they were taken either pre, mid, or post sex. You suddenly felt a bit of guilt, as if you were intruding on these intimate moments that were only meant for them. But when Lisa’s squeals tuned you back in, you glanced over at Rosé who had paused to give you her trademark bedroom eyes and wiggled her butt and feet in the air despite the items you were holding. She didn’t mind you seeing her intimate drawer but she did mind that you weren’t fucking her right now.

“Do I need this?” you asked her dutifully, whilst holding up one of the condom packets.

“Nah, remember what I said earlier? I want you to finish in me, not in some latex. Don’t worry, we’re both on the pill.”

Lisa, despite her sounds of exasperation, managed to chime in “Chae loves cum too much to not be on the pill.”

Rosé didn’t even respond, and instead just returned her tongue and fingers to Lisa’s folds.

“If you think there’s a lot going on in that drawer, just wait until you see what Jennie and Jisoo have.” Lisa’s statement left a lasting impression.

Returning back to the bed, you planted yourself on the ground behind Rosé. If she’s offering everything in front of you, you weren't gonna turn her down. Already knowing in which order you’ll fuck Rosé's bits, you pour some of the lube over your cock and then some over the soles and along the insides of her feet, which she already had hovered in the air for you, squeezed together. You quickly grabbed a pillow and placed them under her knees to hopefully help alleviate some of the roughness of the floor.

With your cock lined up, you started thrusting between her soles. To add more stimulation you pushed them together, tightening the hole that formed between them. She started to move her legs slightly back and forth to match your thrusts. Like the rest of her body, her feet were pretty and clean, and it’s a unique visual to see your cock pumping between them. Further up on the bed, the rapid squelching sounds coming from between Rosé's face and Lisa’s legs announced her approaching orgasm.

“Fuck yes Rosie, fuck fuck fuck.” Screamed Lisa as her cunt trembled around Rosé's fingers and mouth. The older girl continued her movements, only slowly subsiding once Lisa stopped shaking. Lisa allowed the last waves of her orgasm to ride through her. “You eat me out so good Chae.” She said before flipping onto her back, head towards Rosé and lying still in an effort to catch her breath.

Throughout all this you continued to fuck Rosé’s feet. After a couple dozen thrusts, you realised that you were both too worked up to keep the foot job going, and that this was generally better served as foreplay or when everyone wasn't ridiculously horny.

Your thought process was reinforced when you placed her legs back down and noticed her pussy leaking some cream. Not a clear, dripping wetness like Lisa, but a small trail of creamy white. Rosé got up and pushed you down to a seated position on the edge of her bed. Straddling you, she says "I'm sorry, I know you want to fuck my legs, but my pussy is literally creaming for your cock right now so it'll have to wait for another day."

The fact that Rosé basically invited you to come fuck her again after today was more than enough reason for you to accept her apology. “Lili, guide his cock for me.”

Lisa, who had seemingly recovered enough from her orgasm, got up off the bed with her tongue between her teeth and a devilish smile. You wondered what she was thinking about. Taking her spot behind Rosé, you felt a warm hand wrap itself around the base of your cock, as it aimed your head towards her best friends opening. You were aching to be inside Rosé’s flower, and she was aching to have your stem inside of her.

Once she felt your tip teasing her entrance, Rosé allowed her weight to fall down until her pussy lips met Lisa’s hand. The top half of your cock was buried inside Blackpink’s main vocalist, whilst the main dancer had her fingers curled around the bottom half. The moment is so cathartic that you had to strain yourself from not nutting then and there. Rosé continued to push downwards against Lisa’s hand, signalling that she wanted more. Instead of letting go completely, Lisa unfurled her fingers one at a time to allow for Rosé's pussy to swallow more of your cock, until she’s only holding the very base with the O shape of her curled thumb and index finger. Rosé bottoms out, meaning Lisa’s hand is now laying flat against your pubic area, with your cock jutting out between her fingers. She flips her hand over so that her palm is facing upwards. Rosé had now taken your full length, her creamy walls feeling like bliss. You attest being able to push through her unbelievable tightness on the first thrust to her determination, and that she was visibly creamy from all the action that had happened tonight before any attention was given to her pussy.

Rosé started to lift upwards, and then down again, finding a rhythm, but her pussy was not alone in this endeavour. Every time Rosé flexed and relaxed her hips and legs to sink down on your cock and then up again, Lisa matched this by keeping her hand in the same position as before. Palm up, her middle and ring fingers encasing either side of your cock. By matching the pace of the ride, she always kept her hand just under Rosé’s pussy. In doing this, she was not only giving you a two finger handjob, but she was also curling her fingers up to rub her best friends lips and clit, all the whilst Rosé continued to ride the soul out of you.

The sounds of squelching and yours and Rosé’s moaning filled the room. The subtle bouncing of her tits every time she dropped from the summit was adorable. Seeing you eye fuck her tits, Rosé flicked her hair so that you could get better access. You moved in and took her left nipple in your mouth, whilst cupping her other boob. The hardness of her nipples became even more evident as your swirled your tongue around one and pinched the other. As her pussy continuously clamped you, up and down, You felt Rosé’s hands on the back of your head, pulling you closer. Her fingers ran through your hair and massaged your scalp as you alternated between sucking on her tits. Rosé fully took the length of your cock inside of her and switched to a back and forth grinding motion.

With her mouth free and Rosé’s ass in front of her, Lisa determined there was an obvious move to make.

“Lisa-yah!” Rosé suddenly yelped. “ I thought this was meant to be your fantasy.

Lisa pauses her ministrations to reply. "Turns out I wanted to be on the giving end as well." Curious as to what was happening, you unlatched from Rosé’s tits and looked behind her slim waist. Lisa had halted her finger work from the two of you and was instead spreading her best friends ass, tongue deep inside Rosé’s tight little asshole.

Continuing with her grinding, you yourself almost yelp as Rosé clenched her pussy walls tighter on your cock, her velvety insides hugging you closer.

“Rosé…” You groan, feeling yourself getting closer. Leaning over, she whispers into your ear. "Don’t be a stranger, you can call me by my real name.”

This was a small added intimacy that you were more than happy to abide by. "Do you like having my cock inside you... Park Chaeyoung?" You say in a deep playful tone, but it's followed quickly by a moan as she squeezes her cunt around your cock even harder upon hearing you call her by her real name.

Lisa interjects - "You just squeezed his cock didn't you Chae? Holy fuck you must be tight right now, some of your cream leaked out when you did.” From behind Chaeyoung's ass you can see Lisa eye fucking the creamy pussy in front of her, before looking up at you and saying "I love when she squeezes herself around my fingers or tongue, makes me feel like a good girl.”

“Or a bad girl, depending on how you look at it" you say, in which Lisa responds with a coy smile and sticks her tongue out playfully, which to your delight she sticks back in to her chingu's awaiting ass. "Lisa, I love you, but good girls don't tongue fuck each others assholes" she says whilst trying to hold in a moan. Lisa pulls out "well I can stop if you'd like" she says, tilting her head down and pouting her lips in a teasing way that she knew would drive Chaeyoung crazy, but without even turning around, Chaeyoung rests her hand on Lisa's head and pulls her back into her ass, "don't you dare stop, I'm close". Seeing as she looked you dead in the eyes during those words you took it she wasn't just talking to Lisa. This time you take the reigns and start bucking your hips up into her. Chaeyoung lets out the moan she was holding a moment ago, the loudest of the night so far.

Pumping with all the energy you have in you, you buck your hips up into the girl, relentlessly pounding her pussy with your rod. You keep a rigid hold of her waist, minimising her movements to allow Lisa to continue her tongue work.

“Unghf, yes, yes, keep fucking me Y/N, I’m so close, treat me like your little cum hungry slut. My pussy needs your cum. My pussy needs your cum like my asshole needs my best friends tongue. FUCK” she squeals, as you deliver the words “milk the cum out of my cock with your pussy, Chaeyoung” and with the most satisfying O face you’ve ever seen, her eyes rolls back and her pussy cinches around your cock tighter than it has all night. Her creamy walls start to ripple around your manhood, and when her facial expression alone was enough to send you over the edge, you thrust balls deep one more time and then plummet over. Her cunt milks you for load after load, as white as the flashing of your vision. The culminating overload of realising that you really are in  Rosé‘s apartment, fucking her and Lisa, and the waves of your climax has you in pure, absolute bliss.

With your cock still inside her, Chaeyoung wraps her arms around your neck, nuzzling her head into your shoulder. She’s clearly gone into a state of lazy post-sex dreamy mode, and you don’t blame her. Holding on to you tight like she doesn’t want to ever let go, you wrap one arm around her smooth waist, and explore the ridges of her spine and ribs with the other hand.

“Don’t let that cream go to waste Lili” mumbles Chaeyoung from your neck. “Remember what I said about wanting to share cum?”

“Leave it to me Rosie” and with that Lisa gently lifted Chaeyoung’s ass until your cock slipped out of her pussy, the both of you wincing slightly from the post-nut sensitivity.

The gentlest little moans emanated from Chaeyoung as Lisa started lapping up the dripping creampie, no, YOUR dripping creampie from her best friend's pussy. You didn’t have the view to see it, but the sight of Lisa’s eyes peaking over Chaeyoung’s ass as she licked up the combined cream of your cum and her fellow group member was more than enough. “I know you’re both puckered out right now, but after tasting all this cum I’m getting sopping wet again and I’m gonna have to go for round two.” Some of her words were a little unclear, as she spoke without trying to let any cum fall out. You smiled at Lisa’s request as she dived back in. Once her mouth was full of the contents of Chaeyoung’s pussy, she gathered the cum from your sensitive cock using three fingers and licked that up too. She then sat back on her knees and waited like a good girl.

Chaeyoung pushed up off of you and swayed over to Lisa. You watched as the two sloppily made out, transferring creamy white substances into each other’s mouths. Lisa stuck her tongue out, looking first at her best friend and then making direct eye contact with you. Chaeyoung’s creamy cum, your hot load, and the girls’ spit coating her mouth and smooth pink tongue, forming multiple trails between her top and bottom lips as she opened her mouth wide. 

Chaeyoung wrapped her luscious lips around Lisa's tongue, bobbing up and down like a pseudo-blowjob. Once Lisa’s jaw got tired, she pushed down on Chaeyoung’s shoulders to get her on a lower elevation. Lisa then loomed over Chaeyoung’s mouth from a distance and let what remained of her creamy  reservoir out of her mouth. Like a thick bubbling waterfall, the cum travelled through the air down into Lake Chaeyoung’s awaiting mouth.

Before today, the most you had seen of Chaeyoung and Lisa was the occasional outfit that showed off a little extra, or them twerking on stage, yet here you were watching them savour and play with your cum in each other’s holes.

It was filthy, it was slutty, and it was pure fucking fantasy fuel.

“Tur around, get on the beb with your asshup” Chaeyoung could only half enunciate the words in trying to contain all the cum in her mouth, though she wasn’t fully succeeding as some was dribbling out the corner of her mouth and down onto her perky little tits. Regardless, Lisa got the memo, as for the second time that night, she quickly planted herself face down, ass up on the bed. In this position, her ass had never looked better, and you could already feel yourself returning to hardness. You wondered just how much time Lisa spent in this position.

Just when you thought the cum tales might be over, Chaeyoung scooched over in prime position to eat her best friend’s ass. Instead of swallowing the cum, she spat some of it out and proceeded to make out with Lisa’s asshole. Cum. And. Spit. Dripped. Everywhere. Lisa was moaning into the bed sheets, and as if there wasn’t enough, her pussy started leaking out again. Chaeyoung was alternating between finger fucking and tongue fucking all the natural lube into her Lisa's asshole. Once she seemed satisfied, she wiggled under Lisa into a sixty-nine position, and sucked her pussy folds into her mouth. 

After watching the two eat each other out for a bit, Lisa turned her head around and faced you. “C’mon Y/N, you can’t tell me that after all that you’re not hard again, Chae didn’t lube up my ass with cum-lube for nothing.” She said whilst shaking her ass in the air. Suffice to say you were at full mast again, so you took your place behind Lisa’s ass. She giggled as you tapped your cock on her cheeks, admiring the shape and firmness of it.

“Oh my god Lalisa Manoban keep rubbing that, fuck yes.” You couldn’t see Chaeyoung’s pussy from here but it made you smile knowing these two knew how to get each other off so good.

Holding your cock by the base, you pushed just the head into Lisa’s asshole. “Ugh, yeah keep going deeper, I can take it all.” You didn’t doubt her, especially with how slick and wet it was, but you wanted to see if you could make her beg for it. Once your whole tip was inside her ass, you pulled out, rubbed it along the length of her pussy that Chaeyoung wasn’t occupying with her mouth, then pushed just the head back in. After repeating this a few times Lisa quipped “Y/N please I need you to pound my ass, stop teasing me.” She tried to twerk it back into you but her best friend had her arms locked around her waist, preventing Lisa from getting much movement.

Chaeyoung’s sparkling eyes from below caught your attention. You couldn’t see her mouth but could tell she was smiling. Teasing Lisa when her pussy juices were literally leaking down her leg got Chaeyoung off just as much as it did for you.

You put the tip back into her asshole. “Tell me how bad you want it Lisa.”

“I’m fucking aching for your cock Y/N. You know my ass will make you feel good, lay your pipe in me however you want, just put it in please. Please.” That last word came out like a gentle little cry. And so without remorse you thrusted the full length of your cock into Lalisa’s tight asshole. Lisa screamed in delight as you pumped away, rearranging her guts. Her ass cheeks clapped rhythmically every time your hips rammed into her from behind. You were reminded that Lisa got her wish from earlier, as loud slurping sounds came from where Chaeyoung’s mouth connected to Lisa’s pussy, which was dripping like a faulty faucet.

You took a healthy handful of Lisa’s ass cheek and squeezed, taking a moment to appreciate that you were indeed fucking the Lisa Manoban’s ass. You gave her a good couple spanks just for good measure. This was clearly up Lisa’s alley, as she said “mmm fuck yes Y/N, rough fuck me from behind like the slut I am.” With your cock filling her up, all of the cum lube from before had started to drip out of her ass and run down her cheeks, until it made its way through her pussy folds. Chaeyoung was there at the end of the stream, ready to lap it all up.

“She likes having her hair pulled whilst your inside of her.”

“Chaengie, stop exposing me!” quipped Lisa, as if she wasn’t already fully exposed, her pussy eaten and her ass spread open. 

You leaned forward and bunched up Lisa’s hair in your hand. Pulling her head back as you pounded her back end, making sure to deliver more spanks as she shivered in pleasure.

It didn’t take long before Lisa moaned between gasps of air “I’m gonna… cum… already. Don’t stop fucking that hole Y/N… keep sucking my clit… right there Cha- OH” 

Lisa came like an unhinged sprinkler, her body rippling and coiling in all the right places, and Chaeyoung had to close her eyes as Lisa started to gush and squirt all over her pretty little face.

You kept fucking Lisa throughout her orgasm, but she eventually pulled forwards slightly from over stimulation. You pulled your cock out of her ass, promising to yourself in your head that you’d return to that tight cavern one day.

Noticing your hard on floating in the air, Chaeyoung wiped her hand across her face like she had just been submerged in a pool, except instead of water it was Lisa’s squirty cum. With her hand now slick with girl juice, she reached up and started to pump your cock. Evidently, these two were fans of using cum as lube. But like fuck, you were too after tonight.

“Chaeyoung, shift down towards the edge more.” As she complied, you gently pulled Lisa along so that her pussy lined up with Chaeyoung’s mouth. Her head was now hanging off of the bed slightly, exactly where you wanted it. You placed your thumb on Chaeyoung’s lips and swiped it across them. They returned to their position with a slight bounce.  Without even needing to say the words, she opened her mouth wide, her tongue looked as inviting as ever. Using Lisa’s ass as a handhold, you bent your knees until Chaeyoung’s mouth was on fucking level, and in one thrust you glided along her tongue until you hit her throat. As expected, Chaeyoung’s throat shared similar properties with her pussy: incredibly tight and the perfect sleeve for your cock. You revelled in the feeling of her warm tongue and throat massaging your rod. Each thrust was a delight. Damn these two idols knew how to take dick.

Even though you had already cum once, you knew you wouldn’t last long throatfucking Chaeyoung like this, so after a few more savouring thrusts you pulled out. “Hey, where are you going..?” Chaeyoung asked, as if her food was being taken away mid meal.

You answered her question with an action, slowly pushing the full length of your member into Lisa’s glorious pussy, which was accompanied by a gentle moan. You continued alternating between Chaeyoung’s upside down mouth and Lisa’s cunt, one slow thrust at a time. It was hard to tell which was more slippery.

“Making it last and still fucking us both at the same time? Don’t worry Y/N, this isn’t the last time we’re doing this, I can tell you that right now.” Lisa’s words reassured you, as did her pussy wrapped around your cock.

“Where do you want my 2nd load?”

“Your call Lisa, he already came insid-“ The end of her sentence was cut short, as you had just pulled out of Lisa and stuffed Chaeyoung’s mouth full again.

“My mouth is a bit dry Y/N, why don’t you quench my thirst?”

“You’ll have to turn around then Lisa, get your sexy little mouth over here, I’ve been close for a while now.”

She quickly hopped off from on top of Chaeyoung and swivelled around to face you (but she returned to lying on top of Chaeyoung anyway). You tapped on Lisa’s open tongue with your cock, and then watched it disappear as you thrust your hips forward.

“I like watching my best friend swallow your cock Y/N. She wants your cum. Are you gonna give it to her? Please cum down her throat, she's a dirty fucking cum whore babe, let it all out babe, nut in her, please.”

Chaeyoung’s accent as she pleaded for you to cum down Lisa’s throat sent you spiralling. She was a main vocalist in more than just singing. You thrust deep into Lisa's mouth one last time before groaning loudly. Hot spurts of cum coated Lisa’s mouth pipe, who greedily swallowed it all down. She wasn’t lying when she said she was thirsty.

You pulled out of Lisa’s mouth after your cock stopped twitching, now feeling well and truly spent.

"You really swallowed it all huh?" Chaeyoung noted.

"It's only fair, you got his creampie earlier."

You collapsed onto the bed next to Chaeyoung, whilst they casually discussed  your cum and the places it went.

Lisa looked over to face you with a sly grin. "You should come over again sometime, maybe we'll give you that audio recording."

“Come over again? Does that mean you’re kicking me out now?”

Lisa shook her head apologetically. That’s not what she meant.

Chaeyoung's hand stretched out behind her to find its place interlocked with yours, as if to make sure you weren’t going anywhere. "No, stay with us… tonight. But after that you should come over again, but only for the recording, no other reason." She teased in a sleepy voice.

"Really, no other reason?" You responded.

"Hmm, none that I can think off." She gently squeezed your hand, reassuring you of all the reasons that went unspoken.

A/N: How do people churn out smuts this long whilst still retaining some level of quality? I feel like I just submitted an assignment. Grade my paper and leave me feedback! Also, writing Rosé's name with the tilde above the e every time isn't worth it.

[satowooo]

ii. down bad

Satoru was so sure that he finally got over you, but why does he feel his heart beating again whenever he sees you walking down the room as if you own the place, the way you own his heart? Reminiscing the past feels like voluntarily falling down the edge of a high mountain, except Gojo Satoru was more than willing to welcome the pain that he thought was long gone and buried in the depths of the sea.

contents. angst, fluff, maid!reader x gojo satoru, difference in social class, past events, flashbacks, modern au, not proofread.

‘Cause fuck it I was in love, so fuck you if I can't have us.

previous chapter → next chapter

JANUARY 2009

It was probably love at first sight for Gojo Satoru. Or maybe just a small interest. Maybe he just wanted to be friends with you. Or maybe you really just caught his attention.

It was probably because it's the first time for Satoru to see a maid the same age as him, which makes it more intriguing because he usually has old ones who are at least 10 years older, most of them who raised him since he was just a child. And then there's you walking in with your chin up, eyes set in front, your moves calculated, and you're not sparing him a glance every time he walks by, your head always lowered in a polite bow.

It felt like you were a robot. A cold demeanour of a woman who seems to be dolled up and built to be a servant who will obediently obey any orders from its master. To Gojo Satoru, you were an emotionless, uninteresting, boring woman.

So why is he so drawn to you?

There's something about you that makes you feel different. Sure, he has met other girls too. They were all lively and admired him like he's the prettiest person in the whole world. Quirky and cheerful girls unlike you who were… nothing.

He wants to know what's this force pulling him to come to you. And he needs to be at a near distance, he needs to get to know you, to talk to you, just so he could answer these questions in his head.

It's been exactly two weeks since the first time he saw you back in the garden, and he still hasn't talked to you even once. He's been watching from afar, call him a stalker or a creep, but those are none of his intentions. You caught his eye, that's for sure.

It was one of those leisurely days wherein Satoru was just taking a walk around the estate, breathing in the fresh air of his palace-like home. Everyone who walked by bowed down to greet their master, whispering amongst themselves and putting up their best behaviours.

“The tea is ready, Young Master.” A maid approached him, eyes down on the floor. “Do you want us to set it up on the tables at the pavilion?”

Satoru raised his hand as if to wave them off, motioning the maid to raise her head. “No need for that. Take it to my chambers. I'll follow shortly.”

The maid nodded before she took her leave, until Satoru was left alone in the gardens once again. His eyes roamed around for a presence, hoping to see the familiar silhouette of a lady that he longed to see. Days of observing you, he had noticed well enough that you spent a lot of your time here, where all the flowers bloomed in the softest colours that pleased the eyes. And he wanted to see you here, perhaps make a small talk if he was lucky enough for you to grace him with your presence.

But to no avail. Satoru let out a sigh after a few minutes of waiting around, his head darting from left to right one last time to see if you're coming or not, and you still didn't. His chest heaves as he tucks his hands in his pockets, walking back to his chambers to have his tea.

The silence around the estate had always been deafening, hearing only footsteps from the servants or the clinks of cups. Every step he took made quite a sound that reached the walls, his aura alone could startle even the small ants that roamed around the corner of his house as he dragged the door open, revealing his neatly cleaned bedroom.

He sat cross legged on the soft mattress on the floor before his tea table, grabbing a book as he waited for the maids to bring his afternoon snacks.

And oh is it his lucky day?

“Young Master…”

A voice so soft and unfamiliar came by the door, knocking three times. Despite how Satoru didn't know the owner of the voice behind his door, his heartbeat suddenly started to rise from his chest.

He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Come in.”

He felt like he caught his breath when the doors opened, revealing the woman he had been looking for quite some time now. Your hair up in a ponytail, your kimono hanging on your body as your small hands carry the tray of tea cups and a kettle. Right before him stands the most beautiful woman he had seen his whole life.

He gulped, sweat forming in his forehead. For a second, he didn't know what to do or say.

Satoru felt stupid. Crazy. Bewildered. And astonished. And enthralled. By you. For you.

He didn't realise his mouth was gape open for a few seconds, a faint shade of pink flushed on his cheek. He gulped once more before he finally had the courage to talk.

“Come in. Place them on the table” He patted the empty table, waiting for you to take the tea to him. You kept your head lowered, not looking him in the eye again.

You swiftly placed the tray on his table, kneeling down on the opposite side in front of him. You took the kettle, pouring down the tea skillfully on his cup. You almost felt yourself spill the tea when you heard his voice that seemed to echo around the room.

“I heard, you're new here?”

Obviously, you are. He knew it for quite some time now. But what else does he have to say? He wants a conversation and that's what he's doing to get your attention. Even though it made him sound like he's stupid.

“Yes, Young Master.” Your answer was short and precise, leaving no room to keep the conversation afloat. But it's Gojo Satoru talking, you can't expect him to shut up with just one question.

“As from what I know, you're here to take your mother's place while she's receiving medical treatments as of the moment. How is she?” He takes a sip from his cup, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches your every movement.

“She's recovering well.”

He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head. Your short answers made him dumbfounded for quite a reason, unable to think of another question that might keep you talking.

He clenched his jaw, tilting his head to the side as he said, “Lift your head.”

You gulped, hands falling down on your thighs as you slowly looked up. Oceanic blue eyes beneath his snowy lashes met with yours as if a light was shining directly at your face for how blinding his gaze felt like. Your breath hitched for a moment. His beauty was nothing like a normal man you see on televisions. Neither artists nor models.

He was breathtaking. Gojo Satoru was the epitome of beauty. A piece of art that never fades even as centuries pass.

“What's your name, Miss?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “As your master, I should know at least the names of who I associate myself with inside our home, no?”

You blinked a few times before you uttered your name out of your mouth, feeling out of breath all of a sudden. Despite how calm his gaze looked into you, you felt like he was trying to freeze you with his eyes alone. “Y/N…”

His lips curled into a delightful smile. There was a satisfaction laced in his eyes as he nodded his head, his fingers circling on the edge of his teacup. “A beautiful name, Miss Y/N. You probably know me already, but I'm Satoru Gojo. Pleasure to meet you.”

You smiled politely, your eyes looking anywhere but his. While Satoru Gojo basked himself in your beauty, looking directly into your appearance as if you'd be gone any moment now if he tears his eyes away from you. It took Satoru quite awhile before he finally came back to his senses to finally let you take your leave.

“Now, I'm sure you have other things to do. You may go now.” Satoru raised his cup like he was doing a toast before he took another sip. “I'll let you know if I need anything.”

He somehow made a good first impression, he thought. You didn't talk much yet your presence alone filled the silence as he stared at you for quite some time and Satoru is just glad he didn't embarrass himself.

It was more than enough. At least for now. He'll make sure to take all the chances he gets to talk to you and climb the walls you've built around yourself. He doesn't mind.

FEBRUARY 2009

“It's nice to see you again.”

You jolted in shock when a presence suddenly came beside you while you were picking some flowers. A low manly voice of a man that you're now familiar with ever since you worked here.

You stayed calm, facing him so you could properly greet him as you bowed your head. “Young Master, is there anything you need?”

“Your presence, if I may.”

Now, Satoru Gojo was definitely playing with fire. His words shooting out of his mouth before he could think about how it could affect this so-called relationship you two had that hasn't even started yet. But then, he still felt cool about it. Biting his lip as he shrugs smugly as you look at him confused.

“My presence?”

“Indeed. I hope you don't mind if I… stay around with you while you do your tasks.” He looks down at the basket you're holding filled with different types of flowers, smiling to himself at the thought of you might make a bouquet of it. “But of course, if you don't want me to, I will leave.”

“No, Sir. How can I refuse?” You laughed nervously, waving your hands to say no. “Stay if you must. I don't mind at all.”

Satoru chuckled and nodded his head. “Well then…”

He looked down the basket, his gaze locked on the extra scissors. Without further ado, he took them by his hands, proceeding to help you pick the same flowers that you were collecting.

“Do you have any flowers that you like here?” He asks, his eyes focused on the plant that he was cutting.

Your eyes quickly caught what he was trying to do, your mouth flying open as he cut the stem of a flower. “Young Master, please let me do the work. You're not supposed to–”

“Relax, Miss.” He turned to you with a chuckle, pushing his hand in the air in front of you where he was holding the flower that he picked. “I want to help. And don't worry, you won't get into trouble for this.”

You hesitated at first, but seeing him pushing his hands forward where he offered you the flower made you relent. You sigh in defeat, nodding your head as you take the flower from him, putting it down the basket. “Then I shall oblige.”

“So are you going to answer my question?” He asked as he continued his work.

“Question?”

“Flowers. Any flowers in here that you had taken a liking to?”

You purse your lips together, looking over at the other side of the garden, where different colours of tulips are starting to bloom. “That one.”

“The tulips?”

“Mhmm…”

Satoru smiled to himself, taking a mental note to give you one some of these days. “Nice choice. They're beautiful, aren't they?”

“They are. My brother loves them.” You blurted, starting to open up into the conversation with him.

“You have a brother?” Satoru asked in curiosity as he plucked another flower, then tossed it down the basket. “How old is he?”

“Yes, I have an eight-year-old brother.” Your heart warms at the thought of your sibling, a person who's probably waiting for you to come home during the weekend.

He glances at you, noticing the warm smile that crossed your lips, feeling something tugging at his chest at this sight of you. Relaxed and comfortable in his presence, it made him confident that you were somehow warming up a bit with him.

“You should take him here some time.”

Your eyes widened at his invitation, quickly looking over at him only to find that he was already staring at you, his eyes showing that he was serious. You take a sharp breath, feeling his gaze burning into you as he waits for your answer.

“I cannot… I'm here to work–”

“I insist.” Satoru cutted her off, before he went back to plucking some more flowers. “I enjoy company once in a while. He can have as many tulips as he wants. I promise you won't get into trouble for it, I'm the master in here after all, aren't I?”

Did he easily sway you like that? You hoped he didn't.

“Right…” You looked down, your fingers fidgeting. “I'll let him know.”

There was a moment of silence. Only the sounds of the scissors trimming and leaves falling down the ground could be heard. You focused on your work as Satoru helps you, and minutes passed until the basket was already overflowing because your mind was too preoccupied with your conversation with him.

You sighed, bidding him farewell as the work was done. You left as soon as he dismissed you, your heart racing the same way as your steps quickly travelled back to your room.

Your chest was heaving, and you don't know if you're breathing this heavy because of the way you hurriedly ran to your abode or was it because of the way he made you feel. Nonetheless, you don't want to know the answer just yet.

MARCH 2009

That wasn't the last time that you saw Gojo Satoru. After that interaction, you seem to cross paths with him more frequently than before. And everytime it happens, he always engages in conversations with you. His advances didn't bother you so much, in fact, it made you comfortable enough ever since you started working as a maid and he made you feel less lonely. Gradually, you became casual with him, yet still remaining professional.

Satoru liked it. The company. Your presence. The casualty. And the friendship that's starting to bloom between the two of you. It wasn't easy at first, but he got the hang of your personality.

He notices how you seem to not be close with anyone among the maids, since they're either older than you by a few years or… simply old enough to be your mother. He watched you talk to them at some point, asking about things that you're not yet familiar with in the estate, and following their orders if you're needed. You were perfect and obedient and he never saw you complaining about any task laid in front of you.

As a sound came from the front door, Satoru jerked his head up from where he sat on the grass. He saw you walking out in more casual clothes, piquing his interest immediately as he stood to go to you.

“Are you going somewhere?” Satoru curiously asked as soon as he got to your side. He noticed the way you jumped back a bit, clearly not expecting his sudden appearance.

“Uh, yeah… I'm going out a bit.” You answered shortly.

“Where?” Satoru glanced in front of the two of you where a familiar face was waiting at the car, their family driver, waiting for you.

“The grocery store.”

“Right. I'll take you.”

“What?”

You both stopped on your tracks as you looked at him confused. You tried to read his expression, but Satoru only offered you a cheeky smile. He walked ahead so he could talk to the driver before taking the keys from him. He strode to the passenger seat and opened the door for you without a word.

“Aren't you coming?”

And that's simply how you found yourself at the grocery store, with a tall man tailing behind you.

From the way he talks, and the way he carries himself into the room, every other woman that you two would walk past will sneak a glance at him. You'd hear teenage girls shrieking, even mothers with their child seated in a cart will look over at him. Satoru Gojo was just so majestic that everyone couldn't take their eyes away from him.

You felt awkward from the attention, even though you know that it's not for you, but they were still glancing over at your direction. You don't even know how you handled his little conversations all throughout the ride and even now at the store.

“Y/N! You should get some of this for yourself!” Satoru held up a bar of chocolate, practically shaking it in front of your face. “You know, so you can have some sweetness in your body. You always looked salty in the face.”

“Is that a joke?” You watched as he snickered at himself. You took the chocolate and put it back on the shelf. “Young Master, I strictly have to follow what's on the list that they gave me, so I'm sorry but I can't just rashly take something for myself.”

Satoru’s lips formed into a pout, crossing his arms at you like a child. “You're no fun.”

He follows you as you start to push the cart again, walking over another aisle. “And why the sudden formality? We're in public, Y/N.”

“That does not change the dynamics.” You replied shortly, not even entertaining the thought of informally calling him by his name.

“Why? We can't act like normal people outside?” He argues, taking the cart from you as he nudges you to the side. He pushed the cart instead, having you walk next to him instead.

His eyes narrowed intently while his eyes were looking over ahead. An unsettling feeling was tugging on his chest, his hands gripping on the cart while he pushed it forward. He let out an exasperated sigh.

“We are acting like normal people.”

“No. You're acting like we're not even friends. Like I'm just a business partner to you.” He scoffs, stopping to look at you. “Like you're a lowly servant and I'm the bad boss. I don't like it.”

You gazed back at his eyes and you don't understand why he looked so upset. You were just acting normal, like how you usually do when you're working around the estate, so what's got him so worked up?

But anyhow, you didn't want him to feel this way. So the best thing you could do was to talk calmly, trying to make him explain more.

“Why? I mean, am I not the servant and you the boss? Except the bad part.”

“We're not just that.”

Satoru gritted his teeth, and you noticed the way his jaw clenched which took you aback. You blinked a few times at him as you tried to read his expression, but all you could just see was him struggling to even find the right words to say.

You sighed, looking away from his face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel–”

“We're friends, aren't we?” Satoru cuts you off, his neck flushing red in embarrassment over the emotions stirring in his mind. His heart thumped off his chest and he hoped you couldn't hear it. “I mean… to me, we're friends. We've been talking for quite awhile now. So maybe… I thought you might feel the same… Don't you?”

You looked stunned by his words as he left you with a question that you were also asking yourself for quite some time now. He's right. You did feel the same. But worry gnaws on your skin that maybe you might've been just assuming his kindness for friendship, because you know all too well that a friendship between a low class woman like you and someone high standard like him would be impossible.

He's out of your league. Way too out of your league. And you always thought of him. Always hoped for him. Because you can't grasp him with your hands. The way he was always so close yet still so far.

But here he is. The beautiful man pouting his lips at you as he anticipates your answer. Because all Satoru wants is just for you to feel the same way as him.

You nodded reluctantly, turning your body away from him so you could continue your stroll in the store. “Okay… Sure…”

A smile finally etched on his lips. There was a small glint of happiness tainted on his blue eyes, shining brightly while he followed you from behind, pushing the cart with him. “Sure, what? I want to hear it!”

And there he was, back again to his usual personality. He nudges and bothers you like a child the whole time, trying to pull tricks on how he'll get you to say the words he wants to hear.

In the end, he simply just gave up when you showed no signs of relenting over to him. He knew you wouldn't, but the moment made him smile. He was satisfied and happy enough that at least you admitted it, even not directly. But to Gojo Satoru, small things still mattered and he wouldn't ask for anything more as long as it's you.

PRESENT

Satoru Gojo still remembers how vulnerable he had been. Well, can he blame himself? He was young, and naive.

He doesn't understand why he wanted you so much to notice him. He didn't understand how you made him feel that way… and he didn't want to feel the same anymore.

Satoru looks at you from afar painfully. His eyes shutting tightly at all the memories that still haunted his already tired heart, haunting the heart that still threatens to beat for you.

He was so mad. Still mad at you for leaving. Mad at you for making him feel so hopeless and weak. Mad at you for leaving him alone to deal with the consequences of falling in love.

But he's so… desperately… utterly… helplessly in love. His heart always ached and longed for you. The woman who swept him off his feet, the woman with gentle smiles and soft hands that touched his heart, the woman who used to utter her words of affection right before his ears. Why? Why did you even leave?

He's so, so mad at you. Because even until now, he still longs for the day that you might have looked at him the same way that you used to before.

He watched as you slowly poured him his tea, your hands still graciously performing the move.

But your hands were shaking, your eyes trembling as you tried to get a hold of yourself. Pouring tea for him like you used to do seemed to be the hardest task now that everything has changed between you. You gulped, focusing on the cup that was about to be full.

You didn't expect your hands to fail you just then. Your hand suddenly moves in nervousness causing you to nudge the cup and spill the tea right over the table. You jolted in shock as you shakily put the kettle down and quickly muttered apologies.

Satoru stared you down. And for a moment he wanted to pity the woman before him who seemed to have lost herself. But no, he can't just be weak for you again after all these years.

“How bothersome.” He scoffs at you, making you stop. The air was thick with tension and Satoru’s irritation was evident in his expression while you gulped in nervousness. It was the first time that you ever felt so defenceless before him.

“I'm… so sorry…” You muttered slowly, your gaze locked on the mess that you've made.

“I don't need your sorry, Y/N.” The words rolled off his tongue bitterly, and he didn't even think about the way he sounded so harsh. “Clean the mess, and get your face out of my sight.”

he's down bad crying at the gym lol let me know if you want to be added on the taglist !!

tagging: @blankwashed @mshitachin @mumblepingu @mimooyi @makimamybelovedwife @prettylvne @em-asian @tojisworm-5 @numblytemporary @tqd4455 @hyunsuks-beanie @flmdrva @bubera974 @yuuuumii @catobsessedlady

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Chapter Eighteen (M)

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 17.4.k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hi everyone!!! Happy summer and OMG SEOKJIN IS COMING HOME SOON. I got another update for you all! Got your typical angst, the ghostbusting trio, some fluffyyyy toothrotting romance, and of course, the return of Sexy Yoongi ;) AH! Thank you for waiting patiently for this update, loves, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this update 💜

As an additional warning/reminder, for the smut: the scene is explicit, and is only intended to be read by those over the age of 18. Please practice safe sex, and readers please have discretion!

Previous Chapter

“I suppose I did this to myself,” Y/N miserably stuck her head under the inferno-hot water pelting from her showerhead, wondering if she tried hard enough, she could drown herself. “Stupid.”

Scrubbing at her eyes furiously, she attempted to focus on bathing, watching her body wash swirl down the drain. It was useless, however, to prevent her mind from replaying the events that had unfolded immediately after Taehyung’s arrival back home. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she leaned her forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall, picturing it all again. 

“Hey Tae! You’re home!” Y/N called, the Kodiak hybrid flinching an inch into the air, her voice surprising him. He spun around, looking alarmed and like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Y/N waved him over, only able to see his head over the SUV, and Taehyung pushed a hand through his hair, squaring his shoulders. Lifting an eyebrow, about to ask what was wrong, she felt she was plunged into an icy lake when he stepped towards her. 

Taehyung, his camera bag in his hand and eyes laser-sharp, had his clothes in disarray, and purple, splotchy love bites all over his neck. Y/N couldn’t find a single word in her brain that made sense to describe how she was feeling as he stood before her, one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, which were wrinkled and pulled over his hips haphazardly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Taehyung cleared his throat nonchalantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary with him. Y/N simply stared, realizing her palm was still mid-air from when she waved at him, and with a jolt, she limply dropped her arm. “You should go in. It’ll be dark soon.”

“I’m… van. Materials for tomorrow, loading them up,” Y/N answered, all choppy and like a rusty robot. “Where… were you? Did you go to the park, or…?”

Taehyung lazily assessed her, his thick eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones as he glanced down at her insecure form. Clicking his tongue, he lifted his camera bag in the air, as if the answer was obvious. 

“Yeah. Then I stopped at the rec center. Why?” 

Y/N was proud, at the very least, that she didn’t break down after his answer, flat and distant. Deciding, out of spite and feral jealousy, that two could play at that game, and Y/N composed herself into dismissal, shrugging. If he wanted to pretend his neck didn’t look like a rabid hyena attacked it, so would she. 

“No reason, just wondering. Can’t wait to see what you’ve been working so hard on these past few weeks,” Y/N chirped, and though it was cheap, she relished in the minute flinch Taehyung offered in response to her words. “I’m gonna head in now. I have a few more things to do before I go back to the Sanders’ tomorrow. Yoongi ordered Chinese food for dinner, it’s in the fridge.”

With that, Y/N flashed Taehyung a tiny smile, Taehyung’s bitten lips parting a couple of centimeters, but not saying another word as he watched her stroll towards the house, her bruised heart thundering painfully in her chest with every step. 

“Stupid!” Y/N repeated, banging her forehead against the tile. “Childish bullshit.”

Y/N had icky guilt swimming around in her gut along with the greasy egg rolls she had choked down on her way to the bathroom, ignoring Yoongi’s requests for her to sit down for dinner. Taehyung really didn’t deserve her treating him so coldly just because the Kodiak hybrid had gone out on some kind of date, even if he was lying about it to her face. But when it came to him, someone who was just as allergic to confrontation and sticky conversations as she was, Y/N found that slipping into a tug-of-war of passive aggression was all too easy with Taehyung.

The water in the shower was becoming cold, Y/N cursing, switching the tap off and wrapping herself in a towel. Gut too sour to stay up any longer, she simply slid into her pajamas, promptly collapsing into bed. Distantly, she could hear Hoseok’s loud voice in the parlor, the dim murmurs of the TV, and Jeongguk stomping around his bedroom above her. The sounds were familiar and comforting, but didn’t stop her thoughts from lingering on her Kodiak hybrid. Y/N thought it was high time for her to swallow the bitter pill and perhaps confess her true feelings to Taehyung, even if he was falling for someone else. That way, at the very least, she could begin to mend one of the shattered sections of her heart. 

“You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?” Jeongguk accused the next morning, Y/N bristling and not even bothering to flick him off. 

After all, she hadn’t, between tangled thoughts of Taehyung and the reminder that she would have to clear the evil spirits from the Sanders’ home the following morning, she was tossing and turning all night. 

“We can’t all look like rockstars 24/7,” Y/N replied sarcastically, gesturing to his typical black jeans/black graphic tee combination. That day, he was wearing a Megadeth concert tee, which Y/N found darkly fitting for the scenario they were about to find themselves in. “How are your scratches?”

“Already healed. Not even a scar. What, do you want me to take my shirt off again?”

“Don’t be a smartass today, it’ll push me right over the edge,” Y/N threatened, jabbing a finger into his solid chest, Jeongguk smirking around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Hurry up and smoke that. Joon doesn’t like waiting.”

With that, Y/N hauled herself into the van, scowling once more at a highly amused Jeongguk, shutting the door so the smoke wouldn’t choke the life out of her and her wolf hybrid. Massaging her sore under eyes, she tripped her way to the passenger seat, smiling weakly at the fuzzy throw blanket that was already placed there for her. Namjoon, fiddling with the radio, assessed her out of the corner of his eye, his lips tugging downwards. 

“Heard you didn’t sleep well,” Namjoon commented, Y/N sighing, both buckling into her seat and bundling up with the blanket. “Are you sure you’ll have enough energy to do the ritual? We can always reschedule it for Wednesday.”

“No, no, I’ll be alright. I want to get it over and done with, the family has been in that hotel room for far too long,” Y/N straightened in the seat from her original slouch, so her words seemed more convincing to her perceptive hybrid. “I told Jeongguk not to be a smartass today. The last thing we need is provoking the spirits while we try to banish them.”

“I already spoke to him about that, too. He’s going to do his own ritual, apparently, while you and I focus more on the cleansing. Is that okay with you?”

Y/N had a feeling that the plan the two of them cooked up was an attempt to get Y/N as far away from anything too dangerous as possible. With Jeongguk doing whatever it was he was planning, likely some kind of exorcism tactic he was familiar with, he’d be the one in the line of fire. Additionally, with Namjoon teaming up with her, she’d have him beside her if things started to go sideways. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. I hope no one gets hurt this time,” Y/N shivered, sticking her hands close to the vents to heat the digits up. “You’re still gonna let me do some things of my own, right? To help close the portal?”

“Of course, we’re a team,” Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows, reading the vulnerability in her expression. 

The van teetered back and forth when Jeongguk yanked the side door open, taking up his usual spot in the back in the booth, scrolling on his phone distractedly. Y/N watched, over her shoulder, him prod along the base of his antlers, one of his eyes twitching as he caught on a tender spot, teeth biting down on his lip ring. She was going to ask if something was wrong, but decided against it when he recovered smoothly, digging through the gear back he packed. 

The first fifteen minutes of the drive were peaceful, Y/N humming along to the radio. However, a fleeting thought had her squeaking loudly, startling Namjoon beside her and making him sharply step on the brakes. 

“What?!” His eyes were wide, silver ears pressed to his skull, Y/N fumbling for her tote bag. 

“I forgot to give you guys your first paycheck! Judy says you two can be official employees at the shop, if you want, and you’ll get paid for all of our consultations, investigations, and cleansings,” Y/N stuck Namjoon’s check in the visor above his head, twisting her torso so she could send Jeongguk’s sailing his way, the elk hybrid catching it with a stunned look on his face. 

“Next time, wait until we’re parked, kiddo. The wolf almost drove off the road,” Jeongguk scolded, though he hastily tore open his envelope to check out how much he had been paid for his labor. 

“Sorry. I’m just excited! Do you two want to start coming to work with me regularly? I can try and move my hours around to accommodate your book club hours on Mondays, Joon,” Y/N felt more bright than she had in hours, a faint dimple appearing in Namjoon’s cheek as he tried to squash down his excitement. “I could do Tuesday through Thursday, and then whenever we’re needed for consults.”

“Are you sure you can change your work days? I could just come in with you on Wednesdays and Thursdays,” Namjoon appeared sheepish, eyes glued to the road and his tail swishing over the side of his seat. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Judy really likes you two, I’m sure if it meant you being there three times a week, she wouldn’t have a problem coming in on Mondays to cover my previous shift.”

Namjoon quieted down after that, his cheeks coloring all the way to the hoops threaded through his earlobes, Y/N grinning at him and noting Jeongguk’s silence as well. 

“Jeongguk, you can just do the consults if you want. You don’t have to stock shelves with us if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’ll come. Got nothing better to do,” Jeongguk quickly replied, caught off guard as he set his first paycheck– a pretty generous one, at that– aside. Humming in satisfaction, Y/N squirmed in her seat, getting comfortable so she could center herself for the remainder of the ride to the Sanders’. 

Y/N’s eyes snapped open as soon as she sensed Namjoon pulling into the driveway. Y/N wasn’t surprised that she knew, without a doubt, that they had arrived; her ability to feel and distinguish energies had been becoming stronger by the day. Mercifully, it was fairly sunny that day, so even if the house was surrounded by a subtle darkness, at least the sky wasn’t filled with oppressive clouds. 

“Ready?” Y/N fixed her gaze on the front door, determination flooding through her when she remembered Tommy’s terrified and exhausted expression, the shadows curling around Namjoon, and the three bleeding scratches tearing into Jeongguk’s back. 

“Remember. Don’t use names, don’t address any of the entities specifically,” Namjoon recapped seriously, catching the Zippo lighter Jeongguk tossed him mid-air, likely for the plethora of candles located in the bag the wolf hybrid was holding in his free hand. “Got the stuff from the church?”

“Church?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, looking from him to Jeongguk with great curiosity. 

“Yeah, the one in the town square, the Catholic church. We went there for some items the day we went out to replace the camera,” Jeongguk shook his gear bag in front of Y/N’s face, a playful look in his eyes. “Holy water, blessed salt, medallions and whatnot. We’re marrying the Christians to the Pagans today.”

“Ah, I see…”

“Think of it this way,” Jeongguk cut her off, surprising her by placing a tattooed hand on her shoulder heavily. “Whatever I can’t get rid of with the stuff from the church will probably respond to your practice. Right?”

“Right,” was all Y/N could say, trying to savor the elk hybrid soothing her, his fingers squeezing over her shoulder once before letting her go and pulling the van’s side door open. “Be safe, okay, sweets?”

“Mm-hmm. You too,” he smirked confidently, leaping out of the vehicle and heading straight for the front door of the house. 

“We’re gonna start outside,” Y/N blinked once Jeongguk disappeared into the house, turning her attention to Namjoon. “Then when we’re inside, we’ll start at the top floor, go to the basement, and end with the ground floor– it confuses the spirits, gets them out faster.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon inelegantly stumbled out of the van, the clumsiness of the action making Y/N giggle, breaking up the tension that she was feeling. “Ouch.”

“Uh-oh, are you okay?” Y/N sobered up a tad, Namjoon’s ears drooped as he used his free hand to massage his elbow. “Break a bone?”

“I’m sturdier than you give me credit for,” Namjoon muttered, a cute pout tugging at his lower lip. “Want me to place these candles somewhere?”

“No, they’re for inside,” Y/N shook her head, feeling Namjoon follow her to the window where ‘The Watcher’ usually lingered, frowning at the cloudy glass. “All I wanna do out here is bury the spell jars I made in the four corners of the yard and make a boundary with the incense and herb bundles.”

“I can bury the jars,” Namjoon volunteered helpfully, stopping Y/N mid-stride by grabbing her wrist, diving his fingers into her tote bag for the glass bottles. “But stay close to me while you burn the herbs. Promise?”

“Okay, Bug,” Y/N held out her pinky finger, the wolf hybrid staring at the digit quizzically. Snorting, she reached for Namjoon’s hand, linking her pinky with his, loving that she was the first person to show him how to pinky promise. “I promise!”

True to her word, Y/N stuck closely to Namjoon– not just because she wasn’t a promise-breaker, but because Namjoon’s intimidating height and mass made her feel safer the closer she was to him. Focusing, she used Jeongguk’s lighter to spark up the bundle of herbs, inhaling the scent of burning rosemary, sage, and cedar. The two of them worked silently and with purpose, making a slow counterclockwise circle around the property, Y/N shivering as she felt energy push past her and outside of the boundary her and Namjoon were creating. 

She knew Namjoon could feel what she did as well, with his ears twitching and an occasional sideways glance to her while she fanned smoke around the yard. In stark contrast to the last time she was at the Sanders’ home, Y/N felt confident and sure of herself. 

Though almost all of her focus was on the cleansing, she couldn’t help but think of how Jeongguk was faring inside. Her and Namjoon completed their circle around the yard, ending up back at the window, and Y/N felt a significant change in the energy– she could no longer sense the ickiness of something ancient watching her, but she spent a few more moments waving smoke around the glass pane anyways, Namjoon waiting patiently beside her.

 “Let’s go inside. We’re done out here,” Y/N murmured quietly, in the zone. The wolf hybrid, once again, held her hand while she climbed up the slick, wet concrete porch, though Y/N wondered if the reason he tended to do that was because he himself was quite clumsy and needed the reassurance of stability. Either way, it was endearing.

As she pushed open the door, the first thing Y/N noticed was the line of salt sprinkled along the threshold. Because it was still early morning, the house was full of blue light, and didn’t seem as scary as it had when they conducted the night time investigations. Namjoon knew exactly what to do already; so he started straight for the staircase, Y/N swallowing and shadowing him, ears picking up the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy combat boots stomping around up there. 

Y/N didn’t have to tell Namjoon how to set up the candles, as they had gone over that part of the ritual at length previously. She simply lit another bundle of herbs in Ms. Sanders’ room, making sure she got every square inch of the bedroom. It appeared that Jeongguk had already tackled that room; salt on the windowsills, medallions placed in various locations, and the odd wet patch on the floor that Y/N suspected was sprinkled holy water. 

“Feels good in here,” Y/N commented to Namjoon, though admittedly, she was already getting worried about the two children’s rooms. “Time to move on?”

Namjoon nodded, letting the candle he set on Ms. Sanders’ dresser melt down completely. Glued to him, they met Jeongguk in Tommy’s room, where he was chucking holy water into the open closet, his ruby rosary clutched in his other fist. Softly, he was mumbling something in Latin, Y/N relieved that he seemed to be just fine. As directed, Namjoon placed a candle within the closet, crouching on the floor and watching Y/N thoroughly fill the area with herbal smoke, the heaviness of the room easing up second by second. 

Between her silent prayers and Jeongguk’s audible ones, the trio was in Tommy’s room for about twenty minutes before Y/N could breathe easy for the first time in the space, the sun shining more brightly through the windows, and Jeongguk’s constant prayer paused, chewing on his lip ring contemplatively. 

“Is it…?”

“Closed,” Jeongguk answered Namjoon resolutely, wiping sweat from his brow. Y/N agreed with him, the closet felt perfectly normal after their combined efforts, so she shut the cracked window in the room to seal the boundaries in place. “The portal’s dormant. All that’s left is making sure we push the rest of the entities out and I think the family can come back safely.”

Without thinking about it, Y/N had a fistful of the back of Jeongguk’s tee-shirt when they finally entered Julie’s room, just in case the entity in there decided to harm him again. The elk hybrid didn’t seem to notice, simply resuming his Latin monologue and chucking holy water at the walls. Gently, Namjoon took the herb bundle from Y/N, taking up the task of filling the room with the cleansing smoke while she clung to Jeongguk. 

She had practiced over the past few days extending her protective shield to others, in a way that wouldn’t completely zap her of her energy and cause her nose to bleed, so Y/N took a deep breath, Jeongguk keeping her tethered to earth as she imagined the shield around the three of them. With her eyes closed, she could hear the tiny intake of breath Namjoon made from across the room– Y/N wondering if he could sense what she was doing– but Jeongguk didn’t even flinch, dutifully focusing on making a line of blessed salt along each windowsill while Y/N held onto him. 

To the great surprise of all three of them, there wasn’t an aggressive, angry demon that came flying through the room to try and stop their efforts, so as the minutes ticked by and all that could be heard was Jeongguk’s prayer, Y/N let go of his shirt carefully. Y/N didn’t want to entertain the thought that things seemed too easy, so she pushed the thought out of her mind, and instead, she helped Namjoon wrap things up with the smoke cleansing and candle lighting on the ground floor. 

“These candles can be lit while no one’s here, right?” Jeongguk leaned against the wall in the kitchen, where she and Namjoon were finishing their tasks. 

“They’ll be out before we leave. They’re just tealights,” Y/N stubbed out the herb bundle she was holding onto, taking in a lungful of sweet-perfumed air. The Sanders’ house felt like an entirely different home; airy, bright, and Y/N could hear early spring birds chirping under the window that a malevolent energy used to haunt. “I just want to make sure all the windows are shut before we leave, do one last walk-through… but your plan seemed to work really well. Who would have thought that Pagan and Christian practices mesh so well?” “You’ll soon realize I’m almost always right about these sorts of things, kiddo,” Jeongguk smacked a fresh pack of Marlboros against his wrist bone, pulling a cigarette out of the carton with a smirk. 

“Okay, don’t get cocky,” Y/N grouched, shouldering by him and rolling her eyes at his smoky chuckles, breezing through the house for her final walk-through. “Don’t smoke in here, please.”

“No shit,” Jeongguk called after her, watching her figure disappear up the stairs. “Nothing went wrong?”

The second half of his statement was directed at Namjoon, who was packing away spare materials into Y/N’s tote bag on the kitchen counter, the wolf hybrid’s bitten ear flickering with annoyance. 

“You’d know if something did,” Namjoon replied simply, slinging her bag over his shoulder, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. “Start the van while you’re outside.”

Jeongguk distractedly shook the keys to the vehicle in his free hand, already striding towards the front door, Namjoon shaking his head at the elk hybrid’s nonchalance. He himself, however, couldn’t believe how successful the three of them had been, and a strange emotion Namjoon couldn’t tag a name to welled up inside of him when he looked around the house. 

Namjoon might have not had the same kind of ability to sense energies in the way Y/N could, but there was a marked difference to how he was able to move around the house, breathe a little more freely, and the primal– still very new– instinct to protect Y/N from some kind of unseen threat eased up the on the chokehold it had on him. Even then, when he was more than confident that they had banished all of the negativity, he found himself hanging back in the living room, listening to Y/N’s light footsteps from above, waiting for her to come back down and join him outside. 

“Joonie?” Y/N’s voice floated down from the stairs as she hopped down them, surprised to see him waiting before her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Do you think it’s okay I said your name?”

Namjoon blinked, watching her chew her lips and glance at Jeongguk outside, in the distance smoking his cigarette by the van. Namjoon didn’t know when he had gotten so used to the handful of nicknames that Y/N had for him, and was shocked that after only two hours of her not uttering one of them, he realized how much he liked that quirk of hers. 

“I think it’s alright, now,” Namjoon recovered, shaking away the bizarre emotions he was feeling. While he was interested in the unexplained, that didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed unexplainable things happening to himself. Y/N’s mouth opened, but it was her growling stomach that interrupted her words, heat flooding her cheeks. “Want to stop for some lunch before we go home? There was a ‘hot pot’ place on the way here I saw you eyeing.”

“I’m either deeply unsubtle, or your perception is on another level. Weren’t you driving?” Y/N accused, making her way to him with a shy grin. 

“It’s a mixture of both,” Namjoon confessed, refusing to hand over her tote bag while she opened up the front door and locked it for the final time. “What is hot pot, though?”

“Oh! You get to pick out a broth, and then all of the noodles, vegetables, and meats you want, then you cook it right at your table! I think you’ll like it, you really wanna go?”

Namjoon nodded, waving smoke out of his face from Jeongguk’s still-burning cigarette. 

“Yeah, we need to eat,” Jeongguk pried into the conversation, his fingers dancing around the base of his antlers again. “That shit will suck the life out of you.”

Once in the van, Y/N felt loopy satisfaction, sending a text to Ms. Sanders while Namjoon drove to the hot pot restaurant. 

Y/N: We just finished the cleansing, with great success! You and the kids should be able to move back in now, and please contact me anytime you need, we’ll be there for you. 

Sighing, Y/N glanced at Namjoon, a faint dimple in his cheek that told her he was quite pleased with how things turned out, her heart squeezing in her chest as she poked his sweater-clad bicep– his bushy tail wagging in consequence. 

“I’m proud of you two. I’m happy we’re a team,” Y/N admitted seriously, Namjoon clearing his throat nervously at the praise. And when Y/N peeked at Jeongguk, he wasn’t rolling his eyes, he was actually smiling at her, teeth and all, even if there was a glint of teasing mischief across his features. 

“I hope you can handle spicy food. I’m getting the Sichuan broth,” Jeongguk announced, neither of the hybrids acknowledging her praise, but Y/N knew that they appreciated it based on their facial expressions. “And I’m not going to share my order of pork belly.”

“As long as you don’t hog the dipping sauces, we won’t have a problem,” Y/N snorted, relaxing back into her seat, looking forward to sharing a triumphant meal with the two of them.

“Ugh, I’m bored,” Y/N complained to the ceiling, slouching on the stool at work with absolutely nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. 

Namjoon and Jeongguk were unable to join her at work until the following week, when their paperwork allowing them to be legally employed went through, so she was alone in the dead metaphysical shop. Additionally, she pouted about going home after her shift– all of her hybrids were so busy lately, it was rare that she had quality time with all seven of them at once.

In the two days that followed the cleansing, a whirlwind of events happened all at once. Hoseok had indeed taken up employment at the rec center coaching the junior track team, and spent several hours there organizing things for the spring season and getting acclimated with his upcoming responsibilities. Besides him, Yoongi actually decided to take up coaching part-time as well, even after all of his insistence that he didn’t necessarily want to, so he was gone just as frequently as Hoseok. 

Jimin was often occupied outside preparing the garden beds for fast-approaching spring, exercising horses, or tending to the grounds, and while Y/N helped as often as she could, there were only so many hours she could take digging in the frigid dirt and dodging chickens nipping at her heels after a day at work. As for Namjoon and Jeongguk; the two of them were predictably busy with their own hobbies, the wolf hybrid catching up on the book club assignments he was behind on, and Jeongguk obsessively watching videos about paranormal equipment. That left her with Seokjin, who she spent most of her time with, and Taehyung, who was either hardly at home or avoiding her like a poisonous spider.

Sighing, Y/N twirled a pen between her finger tips. With the house cleansing out of the way, she had no more excuses to try and avoid patching things up with Taehyung, or at the very least, attempt to have some kind of productive conversation with him. It broke her heart that it seemed that the home Taehyung had grown to truly love wasn’t something he found comfort in at the moment, so it was her main priority to swallow her pride and restore things to normalcy.

She thought back to the early winter, prior to Christmas, when Taehyung was his happiest. Getting into his photography, sharing his work with her and the others at the expos, hanging out with her and Yoongi in the music room on Fridays while they had their piano lessons and he would listen to records on the floor. Frowning, she reached for the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies she brought along with her for the post-lunch lull she was enduring, which she had been using the past few weeks to try and glean anything enlightening about his behavior. 

Y/N tried to read a chapter of each guidebook simultaneously, so she was finishing up the last few pages of the eighth chapter– one on dietary preferences– for Kodiak hybrids before she’d move onto the next for not just that one, but the six others, as well. The chapters on various diets were entertaining, for sure, but Y/N realized that her boys pretty much ate whatever was in front of them, regardless of the ‘preferences’ listed in the guide books. For instance, elk hybrids allegedly favored fresh, light, vegetable based foods; but Jeongguk was one of the biggest meat eaters in the house. She hadn’t noticed Taehyung having a particular, all-consuming craving for salmon, either, so if anything, the chapter was plainly  useless. 

Yawning while turning the page, she choked on her own spit when she read what the next chapter was so boldly titled: Mating, Heats, Ruts. Immediately beginning to sweat, much like how she did when she found out what scenting was, she scanned the front windows of the shop, making sure no one was strolling towards the entrance to browse for spell candles. 

“What on god’s green planet are heats and ruts?” Y/N panicked, though truthfully, thanks to her past as a vet, she knew exactly what they were in the animal kingdom. She had a nervous feeling that they weren’t so different in the hybrid world, either. “Oh Jesus…”

Hastily, she blew past the chapter title page, hesitantly beginning to read and forgetting all about ‘balanced diets for your hybrid’. For the thousandth time, and likely not the last, she was faced with new information about hybrids she probably should have already known by then. 

Mating: Some hybrids will find what they will consider to be their ‘mate’ within their lifetimes. Depending on species, these hybrids will mate ‘for life’ more often than not. The instinct to mate is triggered by the hybrid seeing another as their ideal counterpart. Like their fully animal counterparts, the purpose of ‘mateship’ is for reproduction, but because hybrids are human as well, love and romance is another consideration that the hybrid will factor in when selecting their mate. It is debated whether or not hybrids have control over choosing a mate, some experts claim that is entirely instinct-based, others believe that the hybrid will select a mate once they deem their selection worthy. 

For Kodiak hybrids, specifically: the species is known to be serially monogamous, meaning that unless they chose a mate that they intend to stay with for life, they will select a different partner to spend their heats/ruts with each cycle. For those who have mated, jealousy can be a very big issue when it comes to their mate. 

Heats/Ruts: Hybrids, when they reach sexual maturity around the age of eighteen, will develop seasonal heats/ruts; the season during the year at which the cycle will happen depends on the species. Typically, heats/ruts can be handled alone by ‘unmated’ hybrids by the hybrid themselves, and will often seclude themselves from their adoptive guardians. Other hybrids seek out a partner to help them through this cycle to ease discomfort, but it is species dependent, as well as dependent on the hybrid’s personality and temperament. 

There have often been many cases where a hybrid will not experience an intense heat/rut until they feel comfortable in their environment, but this behavior is seen in exotic hybrids or ones with skittish/distrustful personalities. 

As for hybrids that have selected a mate, their heats/ruts will be unbearably uncomfortable and cannot be handled by the hybrid alone. The mated hybrid will feel excruciating pain and discomfort if unable to complete their heat/rut without their mate, and can be threatening to the hybrid’s health and wellbeing. It is important for adoptive guardians who may have a mated pair of hybrids to give them the space to work through the cycle. 

Heats/ruts typically last 2-3 days at their height, but days leading up to and after the cycle can leave the hybrid sensitive as well. For more information on how to make your hybrid comfortable during their cycles, refer to page 809. 

Kodiak hybrids typically experience their heats/ruts during May-June.

Y/N’s mouth was dropped open and rather dry, reading the pages frantically three times over. Warmth flushed her from head to toe, not exactly surprised none of the boys brought up that aspect of their natures– and it wasn’t like she ever asked. Although she was surprised, and just a touch annoyed, Yoongi at the very least never said anything to her. Fanning herself, she pulled up multiple tabs on her phone, scribbling a messy note on an old receipt. 

Seokjin/Yoongi: Ruts any time of year. Lasts between 4-5 days

Hoseok: December-early spring. Usually monogamous. 3-4 days

Namjoon: Mid spring- early summer, but also for two weeks in the second half of winter. Monogamous, mate for life. 4-5 days (excluding the winter rut)

Jimin: Winter. Strictly monogamous. 3-4 days

Taehyung: May-June, serially monogamous. Rut can last anywhere from two days to two weeks

Jeongguk: August-early winter. “Courtship” is important. Rut can last days on and off, sometimes for up to several weeks depending on hybrid. 

Y/N was boiling hot all over once she finished jotting down her notes, overwhelmed and embarrassed. Before she could get ahead of herself, or even ashamed that she didn’t know about these specific things about the boys, she crumpled up the sticky note and shoved it deep into her tote bag. She had stressed early on to each of them to tell her if they were ever uncomfortable or needed something, so she concluded (shakily) that since none of them brought up their ruts, maybe they hadn’t experienced them full-force yet. Greedily chugging water from the bottle Yoongi packed her, she narrowed her eyes at the picture of him she stuck to her work computer monitor, swearing to back him into a corner and get him to spill. 

Trying to think about literally anything else than her hybrids and their ruts, she pushed the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies aside and returned to what she was working on for Yoongi’s birthday. The hand-written symbols on the page, ones that were once unfamiliar to her, became a form of artistic expression thanks to her leopard hybrid, and had been erased and rewritten dozens of times by then. Y/N knew she was a perfectionist, but her dissatisfaction with herself had never been so frustrating. Both envying and admiring Yoongi’s raw natural talent, she scanned the page of sheet music, filled with notes she was trying to arrange into a pretty composition of her own.

There was, of course, the struggle of picking a suitable name for the piece as well. There was a list of titles she was playing with, but none fit the vision she had for the composition exactly. Humming, she erased a section of the very last measure, deciding to end the song more gently than she originally planned. Minutes ticked away at lightning-speed while she wrote and rewrote notes, and before she knew it, her shift was up and not a soul came into the shop to disrupt her process. 

By then, she supposed she had to be satisfied with the piece; Yoongi’s birthday was the next day. There would be time for her to practice during the day, as she had taken it off from work to celebrate, Yoongi would be spending half of his birthday at the rec center setting up things for the junior basketball team’s spring season. Hastily scooping up all of her books, she locked up the shop, wondering who would be waiting for her at home.

“Hello?” Y/N fumbled for her phone buzzing away in her pocket, simultaneously stumbling into her car. 

“Y/N! Christ, what are you, in a tunnel or something?” Ben responded immediately, making Y/N snort. 

“No, I’m getting in my car. Just locked up the shop. Can you hear me now?” Adjusting her grip on her phone, she realized she was covering the microphone with her scarf. “How are things?”

“Good, it’s getting warmer finally, huh?” 

“Not warm enough. Hoseok is killing me complaining about the cold all the time. Seokjin might hate it more, but he doesn’t complain nearly as much!”

“That fox is a character. Everyone’s doing well, though? How about the new jobs you told me some of them are getting?” 

“It’s only day two, but I think the three that picked up work at the rec center are enjoying it. I miss them though…” Y/N pouted, Ben chuckling through the receiver. “Namjoon and Jeongguk are going to start coming to Judy’s with me next week. And Yoongi’s birthday is tomorrow, so I’m excited for that!”

“Big plans?”

“Mmm… maybe not by your standards. Something that suits him, though. I’m taking him out on a date.”

“Romantic. He’ll love it, I’m sure,” Ben agreed with her. “Then again, you could get him a frying pan and he’d treat it like a diamond.”

“Stop,” Y/N groaned, embarrassed. “So, I read something interesting today about hybrids.”

“This ought to be good. What did you find out this time that was obvious to all but you?” Ben teased, Y/N sticking her tongue out at him even though he couldn’t see. 

“Okay, Mr. Wonderful. I learned about mating and ruts. I didn’t realize that was a thing for them,” Y/N snapped, Ben dissolving into thick laughter, which irked her further. “What?!”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I can just picture the fucking look on your face reading that in one of those guidebooks you are hoarding,” Ben took a breath, Y/N similarly imagining how red in the face he was getting from laughing at her. “Any comments?”

“Well, yeah. Why the fuck haven’t any of them brought it up?”

“Do you discuss your menstruation or ovulation with them? Why would they, Y/N? It’s kind of a personal thing.”

Y/N flinched, once again struck by Ben’s ability to cut to the chase when she was being a little ridiculous. 

“Fair, I suppose,” Y/N squeaked. “I mean, I thought the scenting was a tricky subject to breach.”

“Well, if you’re curious about it, you could always just ask Yoongi or Seokjin, if you’re feeling especially bold,” Ben said, with a teasing lilt. Y/N was a touch mortified. “They love you, they’re not going to shy away from that conversation. I’d avoid bringing it up to that elk hybrid of yours, I think he’d make fun of you more than I am.”

“Another valid point,” Y/N muttered, not wanting to give Jeongguk another round of ammunition to amuse himself with at her expense. “Whatever. Whatever! Maybe I’ll ask Yoongi or Seokjin, or maybe I’ll just wait until they bring it up. I feel like I’ve got bigger fish to fry at the present.”

“I’m sure. You got hybrids, ghosts, and romantic feelings for all of your housemates. You’d make millions on reality TV.”

“Thanks, Ben. Remind me to drop your call next time.”

“See you at brunch on Sunday!” Ben signed off cheerfully, Y/N rolling her eyes and throwing her car in drive.

A slightly-cloudy sky peeked through the windows of the house the day of Yoongi’s birthday. Y/N had shown him, as well as Hoseok, off that morning, the two of them bound for the rec center. The fox hybrid was trying to get Yoongi to wear a pointy birthday hat that was leftover from his birthday, but Yoongi scrambled towards the car before Hoseok could slap it on his head. 

Y/N had only a few hours to practice her new composition before Yoongi would be back and they’d head out for the dinner reservation she made, so after downing some coffee while staring at Jimin cutting down some dead saplings in the backyard, she made her way to the music room. Feeling somewhat stealthy with the sheet music tucked under her arm, she passed by Seokjin’s room, the pipes in the wall clanging together telling her he was probably bathing. 

The feeling of sitting at the piano bench without Yoongi beside her had Y/N frowning. She had grown ever so attached to his warmth and presence, his gentle, reassuring guidance while she’d play. Huffing, she placed her sheet music on the stand, rolling her wrists like Yoongi would, and began to practice. 

For her first composition, it wasn’t half bad. It was nowhere on the level of what Yoongi could come up with, but he had years of composing on her, so Y/N tried not to compare herself to him too harshly. Once again, she changed the ending of the song with her lip tucked between her teeth, worried that she might not ever get it right– on top of that, she still hadn’t picked a name for the piece and she was running out of time. 

She was in the middle of playing through the song a sixth time when she was interrupted by the jiggling of the music room’s handle. Before sitting down at the piano, Y/N hadn’t locked the door just in case someone wanted to come and find her, so with minor embarrassment, she halted her playing, glancing at the door expectantly. When the door swung open, she held her breath, recognizing the curly head of black hair right away, a shard of ice piercing through her heart. 

Taehyung’s steps into the room faltered, headphones askew on top of his head, as soon as he caught scent of her and realized he wasn’t alone. Beautiful eyes going round, his rounded ears flattened while a feral rumble of shock rolled through his chest, going quite still. Gawking at each other, Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, eyes shifting from her to the collection of CD’s on the shelf. Fingers frozen over the ivory keys of the piano, she watched the Kodiak hybrid inch towards the shelf with urgency, probably trying to get the hell out of dodge. Y/N’s body moved before her mind did, launching her off the bench and across the room. 

“Tae, hi,” she blurted, knowing that he could hear her with his Kodiak set of ears, the rounded brown appendages fluttering with the sound of her voice, a Nirvana CD clumsily slipping out of his grasp and clattering to the floor. “Whatcha up to? I didn’t know you were home.”

Taehyung, moving like he was stuck in molasses, slid the headphones off of his ears to hang loosely around his neck, facing Y/N fully. Quickly, she ducked down, scooping the CD off the floor and offering it to him with a friendly expression. Her heart was pounding, ready to bite the bullet and have a real conversation with him no matter what it took. Taehyung’s shoulders relaxed downwards a few inches, his sweater slipping over his wrist as he took the CD, switching off the device he had clipped to his jeans. 

“They didn’t need me at the rec center today,” was his response, swallowing. “I just decided to stay here… I thought you had work on Thursdays.”

“I usually do, but I took today off!” Y/N watched Taehyung nod, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. With the direction of the conversation already, Y/N was feeling queasy; and with the way that he kept glancing at her chest, she could tell he could hear her heart threatening to burst into pieces. “Uh… come here, look! I wanted to show you some pictures I took this week around the shop. The town square looks so pretty right now, the grass is just starting to get green!”

Y/N thought on her feet, grasping for Taehyung’s wrist, which he let her take as well as tow him to the leather loveseat, apparently too stunned to protest. There was electricity zapping through the hand wrapped around his sweater-clad wrist, and considering she hadn’t touched Taehyung in so long, it had her emotions kicking into overdrive. 

“Y/N…”

“Sit here, please? I’ve wanted to show you for a little while. It won’t take long!” Y/N hoped her tone wasn’t dripping with utter desperation, but something flickered in Taehyung’s carmine eyes, softening them, so he heeded her request and sat beside her stiffly. 

Squirming in satisfaction– the small victory boosting her confidence somewhat– she flicked through her phone, still holding onto Taehyung all the while. Finding the folder of amateurish shots of around her workplace, she placed her phone in Taehyung’s limp, open palm, the Kodiak hybrid’s sharp canines biting down on his lower lip. 

“Do you want me to do a shoot here?” Taehyung asked with confusion, his deep voice making her shiver imperceptibly. 

Y/N peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, chest squeezing painfully at the sight of his gorgeous face, entirely focused on the pictures he was scrolling through. Dropping her gaze, she briefly glanced at his neck, the bruises she saw there days ago long since faded. However, the memory in her mind’s eye remained, drying up her mouth. 

“Would you want to? I can take you there soon, the cherry blossoms in the courtyard will bloom in the next few weeks,” Y/N prayed they were moving a step forward, Taehyung humming lowly, continuing to scroll through her camera roll. Y/N had nothing to hide, so she let him, hoping to continue chit-chatting. 

“Yeah, maybe when the flowers bloom, then. For the spring expo.”

“Sounds like a plan, Tae,” Y/N hesitantly leaned her shoulder into his, her hip colliding with the CD player strapped to his belt. “Ooh, any music recommendations for me lately?”

Taehyung’s chest rumbled again, the sound animalistic and raw, and Y/N wasn’t used to hearing it so often those days. Resisting the desire to tuck some of his curls behind his ear, Y/N waited for a reply, Taehyung avoiding eye-contact by examining the pictures on her screen. 

“I’ve just been listening to grunge, like always. Someone showed me an artist named Mac Demarco recently, which you might like.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of him. An indie artist, right?” Y/N wondered who exactly showed him new music, itchy jealousy crawling all over her skin.

Taehyung didn’t answer, his thumb stilling over the touchscreen of her phone, intensely staring at the picture he paused on. Curious, Y/N peered over his shoulder to see what captured his attention so thoroughly, a tiny squeak leaving her mouth at what she saw. Taehyung had scrolled so far through her camera roll that he reached the mirror selfies she had taken the night of Hoseok’s birthday, after she finished her makeup and shimmied into her dress. 

Originally, she sent the pictures to the Santos twins, but she never intended for other eyes to see her so scandalously posing in front of her bathroom mirror, so she was definitely mortified that Taehyung was gawking at them, Y/N clearing her throat sharply. Taehyung wasn’t broken out of his trance until she repeated his name several times, her phone clattering to his lap as his eyes focused on her again, his irises dark and predatory. 

“Taehyung, um. I wanted to talk to you. Last weekend, when you came home from the rec center… I was short with you. I’m sorry,” Y/N’s palms were sweating, Taehyung’s expression surprisingly not wiping blank like she expected it to. “I hope I didn’t imply that you need to tell me where you are at all times, or felt like I was coming down on you or upset with you.”

“I– um, I didn’t think that,” Taehyung’s voice was rough, the corners of his mouth turning down as he angled his body towards her. 

“Oh, okay. Again, I just wanna stress, you don’t have to ask me for permission to go where you want, alright? I miss you, though, Tae.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting around the room like he was trying to find a response written on the wallpaper, bouncing his thigh up and down. 

“Miss you too,” Taehyung admitted quietly, winding the hem of his sweater around his finger tips. “A lot.”

Y/N’s eyes began to sting, the raw vulnerability coming off of him in that moment tangible and heavy. His words were profound to her, and if anything, it gave her courage. Not knowing if she’d ever be brave enough again to hurtle off the edge of no return, she reached for Taehyung’s hand, tracing a thumb over the vintage silver ring on his index finger; this time, Taehyung was the one to shiver. 

“Uh, so Tae. Hm. You know…”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Taehyung’s phone was ringing in his pocket, but he promptly ignored it, so Y/N scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment, attempting to continue when the buzzing stopped. 

“Right. So, you know I really care about you–”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. 

Grimacing, Taehyung dove his free hand into his pocket when it began to go off again, sending the call to voicemail blindly, Y/N losing confidence by the second. 

“Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I really care for you, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately, but I need you to know–” Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. “Why don’t you get that? It seems like it might be important.” Y/N swallowed down the last of her declaration: I need you to know I love you. 

Ticked, Taehyung dug his phone out of his pocket, Y/N catching the caller ID before he picked up. Someone named ‘Diana’ was eagerly trying to reach him, ice water being dumped over Y/N’s flame, her heart stopping dead in her chest when Taehyung let go of her hand and answered the phone. 

“Di, what’s up?” Taehyung held a finger up to Y/N, jaw tense, Y/N flinching at the sound of a raspy female voice coming through the phone pressed to the side of his face. 

It was like she had become a balloon rapidly deflating, like the string tying it together was pulled free. Palm tingling now that Taehyung’s hand wasn’t resting in hers, she sat there completely flabbergasted.

“No, I’m not coming by the rec center today, Di. I’m developing the photos we took in the darkroom at my house, they’ll be ready next week. I don’t know if I’ll see you this weekend…”

Y/N had heard enough. Knees knocking together, she stood from the couch, Taehyung’s eyebrows pulling together in confusion, ignoring Diana’s whines on the other line. Speedily collecting her sheet music from the piano, she gave Taehyung a wave and a half smile. 

“You finish your call, I gotta get ready for Yoongi’s birthday dinner tonight. Talk later?” Y/N was proud that her voice wasn’t shaky or full of pain, Taehyung blinking at her and his expression finally wiping blank again. He gave her a thumbs up, looking out the window as she left. 

“Yeah, I know Di. I saw you last weekend, though.” Taehyung’s tone was beyond agitated as she shut the soundproof door, not wanting to spend one more second listening in on the conversation. 

She was there, right there. About to tell Taehyung how she truly felt about him, to push past all of the angst between her and him, all for her hopes to crash around her with an interruptive phone call. Any confidence she had to confess her feelings to him was dashed and divided as soon as she heard the Kodiak hybrid call the woman on the phone Di. Taehyung had never given Y/N a nickname before, and that realization had her thinking that perhaps she had overestimated how he felt about her. Perhaps, to him, she was his guardian, someone off-limits romantically, someone that he would deem inconceivable to have those sort of feelings for. Y/N was the type to race, barrel, and fly into conclusions, so she had no trouble believing these spiraling thoughts as she locked herself in her bedroom.

Running her fingers through her hair, yanking the roots, she tried to take deep, centering breaths, like the ones Namjoon taught her how to do. Thankfully, after a few rounds of clutching her bedpost and breathing like a yoga instructor, it seemed to do the trick. Staring at herself in her vanity mirror, she came to one more, positive, at least, conclusion: at least Taehyung wasn’t upset with her, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so avoidant anymore. 

Sighing raggedly, she checked her watch, swearing colorfully. Yoongi would be home shortly, so she’d have to move her ass like it was on fire to get ready for the dinner reservation she planned. Putting Taehyung out of her mind, as difficult as it was, she changed gears when she glanced at the silvery dress she picked up for the occasion, which happened to be one of Yoongi’s favorite colors. While she was turning on the shower tap, her phone chimed in her pocket, Y/N forgetting that she managed to swipe it out of Taehyung’s lap when he answered Diana’s phone call. 

Yoongi 👼🏻: On my way home. 

Y/N: Okay, birthday boy ❤️

Yoongi 👼🏻: 🙄❤️

Surprisingly, there was about half an hour to spare by the time Y/N had finished getting ready. Throwing a light sweater over the satiny dress she pulled on– mostly to prevent Seokjin from having a stroke that she was scantily dressed in early spring weather again– she made sure her hair and makeup was how she wanted it and set out to find her leopard hybrid. 

In the hallway, the scent of greasy pizza hit her square in the face. Suspecting that Hoseok probably had Yoongi stop by Sal’s for some dinner before she and the leopard hybrid left for the night, the sounds of an action movie blaring in the parlor had her snickering. For beings with superior hearing, her boys loved to jack up the surround sound. Pausing by the staircase, she could hear Yoongi playing piano upstairs, probably waiting for her. Giddy, she skipped up the stairs, holding onto the old carved banister with reverence. Yoongi seemed to be playing the song he composed for Y/N, making her blush and nearly swoon into the music room. 

Yoongi was seated on the bench where she was perched just hours ago. Dressed sharply in black dress pants and a matching dress shirt, the monochrome outfit highlighted the glimmer of his accessories– rings, bracelets, earrings, and of course, the sparkly chain clasped around his throat. His triangular ears immediately twitched towards her direction even if his face didn’t, his tempo never faltering even when she started heading right for him, a tender smile on her face when she ended up behind him. Ducking, she pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, in between his spotted ears, giggling when his tail tickled the bare skin of her thighs. 

“You look nice,” Y/N purred into his hair, breathing in his shampoo. It was then when Yoongi stopped playing, craning his chin upwards to nuzzle his nose into her neck, making a similar purr to hers. “Happy birthday, Yoongi!”

“Ugh. I’m old,” Yoongi complained, his eyelashes tickling the skin of her throat. 

“No you’re not. You’re just 30, the same age as Seokjin,” Y/N poked his shoulder, sliding her palm along his back as she rounded the bench, sitting on his free side. 

“Silly girl, furthering my point. He’s old, too,” Yoongi grouched, ears turning back when Y/N swat at his forearm reproachfully. “Don’t whack me, it’s my birthday.”

“You’re sending some mixed signals about that, angel,” Y/N snorted, feeling his hand curl around her hip, fingers sliding along the satin material sensually. “Excited for dinner?”

“You keep hyping it up, are they going to bring out a cake and sing to me?” Yoongi asked, trepidation coloring his gravelly tone. 

“Oh shit, do you want me to call and ask if they can do that?” Y/N joked, pretending to pick up her phone and dial the restaurant. Promptly, Yoongi snatched her phone away, stuffing it into the pocket of his dress pants. “Kidding. I just hope you like the food.”

“I’ll eat anything,” Yoongi shrugged, pink blush dusting his cheeks as shy purrs filled the room. 

“Wanna play ‘Moonlight Lovers’ before we go? I practiced for you,” Y/N changed the subject, cozy tucked into his side. 

“Did you?”

“Mm-hmm. I promised, didn’t I?” Y/N teased, humming when Yoongi planted a kiss on her jaw bone. To his dismay, she got up from the bench, making haste to the opposite end of the room. “You’re gonna sing while I play?”

“Sure, but? What are you doing, silly?”

“Look forward, angel!” Y/N pointed straight ahead, encouraging her leopard hybrid to tear his scrutiny from her fumbling with a telescope-like device in the corner. Slowly, he did. 

The lights were low, so Y/N was pleased that the projection lamp displayed the image of the pearly white moon perfectly onto the wall beyond the grand piano. For a small fee on the internet, she was able to give Yoongi the full moon whenever he wanted, and he was a stunned, a still figure on the piano bench when she returned to his side, snuggling back into him. 

Y/N didn’t wait for a response to the surprise, instead launching straight into the jazzy first bars of the song with practiced ease, grinning when Yoongi’s sock-clad food pressed over hers on the sustain pedal. Clingy as ever and seemingly recovering, Yoongi rested his chin on Y/N’s shoulder while she worked her way through the first few measures, nuzzling closer to her when she shivered at the ticklish sensation of his ears against her skin. 

The world existed and it was just her and Yoongi, his voice quiet when he began singing the first verse, Y/N following along in her head since she had memorized the lyrics by then. Not knowing where his body began and hers ended, it was a miracle she was able to concentrate playing on tempo. The pace picked up at the refrain just before the chorus, and Y/N pushed past her nerves to join Yoongi in singing. 

And we met under the moonlit sky

It was you, of all, who caught my eye

When you’re gone, I’m incomplete

No one but you

Has been this sweet

And under the moonlit sky

Across seas, you and I 

Never again, will say goodbye

Y/N didn’t consider herself to be a world-class singer by any means, but with the way Yoongi’s arm tightened around her back, she could tell that he liked the sound of it, his own voice cutting off momentarily when she first began to harmonize with him. She played the rest of the song like that, Yoongi still tucked into the crook of her neck, his eyes closed.

Soaking in the moment, something in his chest unfurling and threatening to burst free, he clung to Y/N, spellbound as she perfectly played the last few measures of the song, gentle silence ringing out in the room when she finished. Unable to move, speak, or breathe, Yoongi went limp when Y/N kissed his forehead, letting him process. 

“Perfect,” Yoongi managed, squeezing Y/N around her middle, filled with both nostalgia and joy, the artificial moonlight projected in the room somehow feeling so real. “You really must have practiced hard.”

“What can I say? I had the best teacher ever,” Y/N replied, bashfully, happy to hold Yoongi as long as he wanted; even risking missing their dinner reservations. 

“I’m proud of my student. She’s come a long way,” Yoongi murmured, straightening up but still maintaining his possessive hold on her. Melting at the pure adoration on her face, Yoongi couldn’t help but cup the side of her face. “My mom would have loved you.”

Y/N’s face grew hot, Yoongi felt it under his palm, her lower lip wobbling. 

“Really?”

“Maybe not as much as I love you, but yeah, she would have. You two have the same heart,” Yoongi smiled, not feeling an ounce of sadness like he usually did on his birthday the previous three years. “Wanna know a little bit more about her before we go? We still have time.”

“Please?” Y/N’s expression grew eager, Yoongi finding it adorable, pinching her nose playfully. 

“Her and I lived in a tiny apartment above The Black Lodge, courtesy of the owner– Barry was his name– I suspect that Barry might have been in love with my mom. Barry was old-school, though, and never acted on anything considering a lot of guys his age thought human and hybrid relationships were taboo,” Y/N pouted, but Yoongi shook his head and rubbed circles on her waist with his thumb. 

“Anyways, yeah, we lived in a one-bedroom above the bar courtesy of Barry. My mom always insisted I take the bedroom, and she’d fall asleep on a loveseat in the living room watching old Marilyn Monroe movies. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, ever, just like you. She smoked those long, skinny cigarettes and her favorite drink was a Manhattan. My mom could write a song in twenty minutes, I don’t know how she did it. She would sing like her voice came up from the Earth’s crust and flowed through her mouth. And her perfume… she’d always wear something floral to remind her of the spring, when I was born.”

“Your mom sounds glamorous, like a movie star. I bet she was beautiful, too,” Y/N’s voice was dreamy, thick with emotion. She pictured a woman just as striking as her Yoongi, with the same spotty ears and tail, the same lithe, graceful figure. 

“Mm, she was,” Yoongi agreed, distantly wishing he had a picture of her to show Y/N. “Alright, we should head out. You can ask me more questions on the way there, if you want.”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that Yoongi had opened up to her so much over time. There was something so wonderful about knowing someone on their deeper levels, especially a loved one, so Y/N cherished every tidbit of information Yoongi would offer her. Blissfully, knowing truly nothing could ruin her mood, she let Yoongi wait outside and order the taxi while she bid goodbye to the others in the parlor. 

“Y/N, pretty, one of these days you’re gonna catch a cold,” Seokjin accused from his spot on the floor, wrapped in a throw blanket himself, staring pointedly at her bare legs. Y/N simply shook her head, bending low, and kissed his cheek softly, a feline chirp of pleasure leaving his lips and his orange eyes glowing in the dim light of the living room. 

“We’ll be back in a little while. Please don’t eat the birthday cake until then,” Y/N drove that specific point home by looking directly at Namjoon, who was sheepishly gnawing on his fingernails on the couch, his book forgotten in his lap. 

“Pick me up some?” Jeongguk lifted an empty carton of Marlboro reds in the air, tapping it hollowly, Y/N scowling. 

“What’s the magic word, sweets?”

“For fu-” Jeongguk coughed when Namjoon sharply thwacked the back of his head with his book. “Please.”

“I have half a mind to buy you some nicotine patches,” Y/N muttered, accepting a jolty, goofy hug from Hoseok on the leather recliner. “Not to stir the pot, but once again, Jimin. You’re in charge.”

A series of exasperated groans filled the room as Jimin preened at the responsibility, nodding once at Y/N importantly. Taehyung, all the way at the back of the room by the window overlooking the backyard, was busy fussing over his camera, even if his ears were angled to the sound of her voice. 

“I’m the eldest, shouldn’t I be in charge?” Seokjin sulked, his dark ears downturned just like the full corners of his mouth. Y/N simply snorted, knowing he was just pouting on purpose, giving him one last hair ruffle before starting to the foyer. 

“I’ll be back soon, my sweet boys, alright?” Y/N blew the six hybrids a kiss, the various reactions of amusement and embarrassment making her feel warm and fuzzy as she made her way to the leopard hybrid waiting for her on the porch. 

“I used to walk by this place on my way to the barber,” Yoongi remarked when the cab dropped them off at the restaurant, Y/N lacing their fingers together and admiring the way the city lights reflected off of his hazel eyes.

“Oh yeah? The one who gave you crazy haircuts?” Y/N mussed Yoongi’s long locks, smiling at him widely. “Speaking of. Never cut your hair short, please.”

“Why not, you like it like this?” Yoongi smirked devilishly, letting Y/N tug him into the restaurant.

“Yeah, it suits you! Don’t touch it, I’ll be really mad,” Y/N threatened, approaching the hostess’ booth. “Hi, we have an 8:00 reservation under the name Y/L/N.”

The restaurant Y/N found for Yoongi’s birthday was a jazzy hole-in-the-wall, the dining room filled with dim candle light. The place almost looked like a 20’s speakeasy, decked out with cushy red velvet booths, black tables, and old lamps scattered about. Y/N knew where Yoongi’s sight immediately went: the glossy grand piano beside the bar, where a gentleman in a suit was playing something slow and seductive. Still holding his hand, Y/N pulled Yoongi after the hostess, delighted with the intimate booth they ended up in, with a perfect view of the piano. 

“This is a lot nicer than The Black Lodge,” Yoongi said dryly, still glancing around curiously, his nose twitching. “What kind of food do they have?”

“Italian, baby. We’re in the North End,” Y/N giggled, nudging his shin under the table and passing him a menu. Yoongi pouted at her teasing, immediately flipping the menu over to check the drink list. “After we eat, we can get some pastries to bring home!”

“You better hide them from the wolf, he’ll eat them all,” Yoongi warned, though Y/N had to admit, he was right. 

“I’ll just get extra,” Y/N shrugged, the waitress promptly coming by to take their drink orders. Yoongi picked out a red wine, so Y/N went ahead and ordered the bottle, which had him squirming in his seat uncomfortably. “You don’t like being spoiled, angel?”

“Just not used to it,” Yoongi shook his head, his ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. “But… this is nice. You’re pretty good at planning birthdays, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I should turn the talent into a business,” Y/N smirked around the lip of her wine glass, the Pinot Noir coating her throat like velvet. “What are you thinking about getting to eat?”

“Hmm… I feel like you can’t go wrong with steak,” Yoongi fiddled with his earrings, scanning the menu thoughtfully. 

“I think I’m gonna get the ravioli,” Y/N announced, stomach already growling, Yoongi’s acute hearing picking it up and making him snort. “Stop laughing!”

When the waiter returned, he mercifully brought bread and oil, which Y/N happily snacked on with her wine, enjoying both the music and alone time with Yoongi. 

“How’s the coaching gig?”

“I don’t know yet. The season doesn’t start until next week, all I’ve been doing is trying to figure out how to make practice plans. I’m not even sure I’m coach material.”

“Of course you are. You’re the best player on your own team, and kids love you. Besides, you taught me how to play piano in just a few months, you’re a natural born teacher, Yoongi,” Y/N shot down his doubts immediately, Yoongi looking away from her, shy. “I mean it! You’re patient, encouraging, and you keep me motivated. You’ll do really well.”

“You trying to butter me up?” Yoongi scoffed, tracking his index finger around the rim of his wine glass, eyes narrowed playfully. 

“Is it working?” Y/N shot back, leaning slightly across the table, getting a few inches closer to his face. “Besides. It’s rewarding to make you proud.”

“Is that right?” Yoongi cocked his head, eyes dropping to Y/N’s hand, where she was tracing the bracelet around his wrist delicately. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Y/N exclaimed innocently, withdrawing her touch and sitting back with a wink, sipping her wine again. 

“So, everything went well during your thing with the wolf and elk?” Yoongi changed the subject, a wicked gleam still in his eyes. 

“Surprisingly, yes. I wish I could have filmed Jeongguk speaking in Latin for you. It was like watching an exorcism movie,” Y/N joked, Yoongi shaking his head in amusement. “The family moved back in yesterday. Next week we’re going to meet with them and make sure the cleansing and banishment did its job.”

“Well, I think a ‘congratulations’ is due,” Yoongi refilled both of their wine glasses, Y/N giggling when they clinked them together. 

The man who was playing the piano finished his song, the intimate restaurant breaking out in polite applause. Y/N specifically looked for a restaurant like that one, one where diners could get up and play if they desired. It seemed Yoongi was realizing what was going on, an elderly woman getting up from her booth and ambling towards the piano with her martini. Her and Yoongi snickered when the woman began to play ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, vocalizing into the microphone a tad off-key. 

Before Y/N could make a comment, their food arrived, which was a good thing since the wine was starting to make her feel flushed and ready to tackle her handsome date. The liquid courage was something she needed, though, as she began to anticipate the surprise she planned for Yoongi, sneaking a look at him while he was mid-bite of his steak. The meal passed by amicably, Yoongi letting her feed him a sliver of ravioli across the table, Y/N happy that she was able to treat Yoongi to a nice birthday dinner after three years of him likely not celebrating the day at all. 

“Espresso?” The waiter returned to collect the plates once they were done, Y/N nodding, hoping to draw out the dinner just a little longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the old woman at the piano begin to get up from the bench, Y/N digging through her purse and standing, causing Yoongi to lift an eyebrow at her. 

“Be right back,” Y/N breathed, setting off in the direction of the piano before her nerves could get the better of her, sheet music in one of her hands. 

She could feel eyes on her as she approached the bench, clearing her throat and setting the music on the stand, thankful that the piano was similar to the one she had back at home. Clearing her throat, she scanned the restaurant once, finding Yoongi across the room, staring at her with utter confusion and anticipation. Smiling at him, she leaned towards the microphone. 

“I hope you’re all having a nice evening,” Y/N began, trying not to cringe at the sound of her own voice. “I wanted to play a song I wrote tonight for someone special to me, on his birthday. This song is called ‘Soul Recognition’.”

With that, Y/N took a deep breath, easing into the first few measures. While at first, she expected to feel nervous and shaky, the mere reminder that Yoongi was watching her play had her relaxing and getting into the flow. Even though she was focused on the sheet music in front of her, she could feel Yoongi’s eyes on her from the other side of the room– that unspoken connection she had with him the very inspiration for the song’s title she had finally decided on. 

Yoongi didn’t even register the waiter returning with two small cups of espresso, completely spellbound watching Y/N play a song she composed for him. Completely taken off guard, unaware that his mouth was wide open, all other noise in the restaurant dimmed completely while he drowned in her melody. The song was sweet, yearning, gentle, Y/N’s hands gliding over the keys smoothly, and the lights of the restaurant reflecting off of her shimmery dress and making her look like a star. Overcome with an intense feeling in his chest, not unlike the one he experienced earlier in the music room, Yoongi stopped breathing and the Earth stilled on its axis. Something clicked into place as he watched her, something both primal and cosmic, and all he could think about was making her his completely. 

Yoongi didn’t even hear the applause all around him when Y/N finished her piece, the ending joyful and full, all he could do was stumble out of the booth, smacking cash onto the table and urgently crossing the restaurant. Y/N’s eyes went wide, bashful for some reason, meeting Yoongi in the middle. Before she could say anything, her face was in Yoongi’s hands, his lips crashing down on hers desperately, making her whimper in surprise. Y/N could taste something in his kiss, something different, important, and she was floating from it. Not caring about the people watching or the increase in applause at their spectacle, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, kissing him back just as passionately. 

Yoongi pulled away all too soon, his eyes glassy, and pulled Y/N into his side, happy purrs vibrating through his chest. 

“Did you like it?” Y/N asked meekly, a little dazed from the kiss, letting him guide her out of the restaurant with haste. Stopping outside, next to a bakery with the smell of chocolate flooding out into the street, Y/N offered Yoongi the hand-written sheet music shyly. 

“It was beautiful,” Yoongi’s voice was thick, overwhelmed. “I loved it. You’re perfect, baby.”

Yoongi cupped her face again, kissing her cheeks with reverence. Her insides igniting, she hummed with satisfaction, his approval and proud tone of voice making the weeks of striking out composition wise worth it. 

“Let’s get those pastries before we go home. You’re not leaving my sight tonight, though,” Yoongi warned her, grabbing a hold of her hand, dragging her to the entrance of the bakery. The way he warned her was full of dark promise, almost feral, Y/N deciding she couldn’t care less about the pastries. 

Y/N hardly had time to place the ginormous box of pastries on the kitchen island before Yoongi was hauling her away, making her squeal as he slung her over his shoulder. The house was mostly dark, but it sounded like a few of the hybrids were still watching movies, so the way the leopard hybrid was so brazenly carrying her up the stairs had her cheeks on fire. 

“Yoongi!” Y/N whisper-shouted, the hybrid grunting and pushing the door to his bedroom open, setting her down as soon as they were inside. “W-what are you– the others!” 

Y/N watched Yoongi close and lock his door, distractedly pushing a towel under the threshold, as if that would do anything. A low, bone-chilling growl ripped through his throat at her mention of ‘the others’ Y/N’s gut tightening at the sound. 

“It’s still my birthday, you’re still going to spend the rest of it with me, right?” Yoongi’s voice dropped an octave, stalking towards her slowly, Y/N backing up until her knees hit the foot of his bed, staring up at him nervously. “Won’t you?”

“Yes, Yoongi,” Y/N whispered, entranced. With the sound of his name coming from her lips, Yoongi had that feeling again, one that was taking over him completely. 

Cocking his head, his gaze dropped to the cardigan slipping over her shoulders, reaching up to push the material off of her, the garment falling to the floor. Shivering at the temperature of the room on her bare shoulders, Y/N swallowed thickly, waiting for him to make the first move. There hadn’t been an instance where she had been intimate with Seokjin or Yoongi while the others were in earshot, and the idea of being listened to had adrenaline pulsing through her veins, shamefully. 

“Yoongi,” Y/N squirmed under his scrutiny, taking in every inch of her in the cocktail dress that left little to the imagination. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet,” Yoongi sighed, as if the thought somewhat disappointed him, a fingertip sliding slowly up the side of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. “Think you can do that?”

“Anything for you,” Y/N admitted without hesitation, watching his expression soften. Deciding to act on her own, Y/N leaned forward up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Yoongi’s neck, giving a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Love you.”

Yoongi shuddered, cupping her hips, letting her kiss him gently, Y/N pouring all the love she had for him into the gesture. He returned it in kind, pulling her impossibly close, swiping his tongue along her lower lip heavily. Y/N was already failing at his request for her to be quiet, tiny mewls falling into Yoongi’s mouth, making him smirk against her. Winding her fingers in his hair, Y/N pressed her body even closer to him, feeling his chest rumble beneath her. 

“Lay down, baby,” Yoongi mumbled against her lips, lightly pushing on her hips, causing her knees to buckle and her to collapse backwards on his bed. 

She watched, heat flashing over her skin, as Yoongi stared down at her, methodically unbuttoning his black dress shirt, the sight of his chest being revealed bit by bit drying up her mouth. Planting her feet on the bed, she brought her knees together, attempting to rub her thighs together for friction, Yoongi’s pupils dilated at the sight. 

“Eager?” Yoongi teased, pushing his dress shirt off his shoulders, licking his lips. He couldn’t deny that he, himself, was nearly bursting at the seams. 

“Always,” Y/N looked up at him through her eyelashes, ready for him to pounce on her. “Come here.”

Grunting, unable to hold himself back, Yoongi was on top of her in a heartbeat, his lips crushing hers, Y/N arching upwards into his chest, tracing her hands all over his silky, feverish skin. Flicking her tongue against the roof of his mouth, Yoongi made a choked noise of pleasure, pressing his hips into hers. 

“I love you, baby,” Yoongi murmured, tucking his face into her neck and sponging the sensitive flesh with kisses, Y/N writing beneath him. “Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, hmm?”

Yoongi sat back on his heels, Y/N sitting up slightly and putting her arms in the air, waiting for Yoongi to strip the fabric from her body. Mouth watering at the sight of the swollen petals of her lips and the glazed look in her eyes, her pounding heartbeat was music to Yoongi’s ears. Sliding his hands up her thighs, Yoongi got a hold of the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head, Y/N’s face on fire when she remembered she didn’t wear a bra with her outfit. Yoongi, however, groaned thickly, pushing on her hips again, making her fall back against the pillows with a squeak. 

Immediately, his mouth was on her chest, Y/N biting down on her fist when his lips wrapped around a nipple, whimpering as his sharpened canines scraped over the sensitive bud. Yoongi was usually a talker in the bedroom, but the mood was different that night, like he was trying to taste every inch of her. Gliding her free hand through his hair, Y/N made pathetic, small noises as he had his way with her chest. 

“Y-yoongi,” Y/N felt her lace underwear sticking to her center already, though truthfully, they had grown damp the moment he kissed her in the restaurant. Tongue passing over one of the ridges of her ribs, Yoongi hummed in response, enjoying being completely tangled up in her. 

Gasping sharply, she felt Yoongi cup her through her panties, lips returning to her mouth, his tongue rolling against hers sensually. Swallowing the noises she was making, Yoongi growled at the wetness seeping through her panties, tracing a circle around her clothed clit. Y/N cried out, her embarrassment clear as day on her face when she realized the sound was anything but quiet, Yoongi lowly chuckling against her throat.

“Quiet, baby,” Yoongi reminded her, though he did absolutely nothing to encourage her to actually be quiet when he pushed the gusset of her panties to the side and dipped his fingers between her soaked folds. Hips bucking into his hand, Y/N looked at her leopard hybrid imploringly, eyebrows pulled together as he touched her. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi groaned, easily sliding a finger into her sopping cunt, Y/N clawing at his chest and leaving red scratches in her wake. “Missed this pussy…”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the mewls she was making, especially when he added a second digit to join the first, thumb pressing down sharply on her clit. Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, frustrated she couldn’t be as vocal as she wanted to be, she bit down on Yoongi’s shoulder when he curled his fingers into her G-spot. 

He worked her up slowly, the lewd sounds of her wetness slipping into his palm driving him absolutely crazy. Biting down on Yoongi’s shoulder didn’t work for long as the coil in her abdomen began to tighten, a shuddering moan filling the bedroom, Yoongi hissing and withdrawing his fingers from her cunt, a dismayed whine falling from Y/N’s lips. Before she could complain, Yoongi was pulling her panties off of her body, balling them up, and while her mouth was still open, Yoongi pushed the fabric into her mouth. Eyes bugging out of her head, Y/N was trembling beneath the leopard hybrid, who appeared quite smug that he managed to gag her. 

“There we go, huh?” Yoongi cooed, stroking through her folds again, Y/N yanking at the belt loops of his dress pants and unintelligibly groaning something. “What’s that? Wanna cum?”

Y/N nodded eagerly, Yoongi’s dark, condescending chuckle making her ears burn. Contrary to his question, he didn’t slip his fingers back into her weeping cunt, instead he teasingly traced her entrance, Y/N throwing her head back in frustration. Yoongi was close to losing his own patience, hastily ridding himself of his pants, tossing them somewhere behind him. 

Saliva soaking the fabric of her ruined panties, Y/N ached to take the gag out of her mouth, but Yoongi shot her a warning look, so she simply squirmed on the bed and nearly choked on the panties when he settled his hips against hers, rolling them. Yoongi nearly collapsed at the friction, and Y/N keened at the sensation of his bulge colliding against her tacky core, desperate for him to be inside her already. 

“That’s a good girl, behaving,” Yoongi mumbled into her ear, kissing just below it while a free hand squeezed at her breast. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the gag out soon. Wanna hear you when you cum for me, baby.”

Feeling wetness gushing out of her in response to his filthy words, she tried to implore him to get on with it with her eyes. Rolling his hips against her again, the two of them writing together like desperate teenagers, Y/N ran her hands down Yoongi’s toned back, the leopard hybrid sharply biting down on her clavicle when her fingertips brushed the base of his tail, his hips stuttering. 

“F-fuck, Y/N,” Yoongi whined, Y/N never hearing him sound so needy. Using her fingernails, she lightly scraped through the silky fur, Yoongi finally snapping. 

Shucking his boxers off, Y/N’s mouth filled with saliva as she watched his erection spring up from the material. Distractedly, Yoongi peeled her panties out of her mouth, Y/N gasping for air when he hooked one of her legs around his waist. Again, Yoongi kissed her, a flurry of tongue and teeth, needing to taste her, to consume her. Y/N could hardly keep up, holding him tightly around the neck, the coolness of his silver chain hitting her in the face as he lined himself up. Breath catching, she moaned into Yoongi’s plush lips as he pushed in, his teeth gritting at the tight fit. 

“Fuck, baby,” Yoongi panted, planting one of his palms beside her face for leverage, the walls of her cunt spasming around him as she got used to his size. “So good–”

“Please, please,” Y/N whimpered, trying to keep her tone in check so he wouldn’t gag her again. Yoongi’s ears fluttered at her sweet, ruined voice, the grip he had on her thigh hooked around his waist bruising. “Baby…”

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Yoongi knew what she wanted without her having to vocalize it. Slowly, he rolled his hips, the drag of her walls around his cock intoxicating, both of them breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. It was the look on her face that had Yoongi control dissolving into nothing, the look of complete and utter love, and with a snarl, he tucked his nose into her neck, snapping his hips more harshly into hers. 

“Baby, my baby,” Yoongi moaned into her throat, tasting sweat on her skin. Wild, being driven crazy by the muffled cries she was trying to keep in check with a hand pressed over her lips, Yoongi found himself babbling and unleashing the emotions he was feeling the entire night. “I love you so much. My mate.”

Y/N gasped, and it had nothing to do with how his cock was hitting every sweet spot inside of her, it was his words. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Y/N kissed him, relishing in the feline purrs of elation he was making. 

“M-mate?” Y/N managed breathlessly, arching into him when his pelvis brushed against her clit with each stroke, his lips in her hair. 

“Mm-hmm. Mate, you’re mine,” Yoongi mumbled deliriously, the pitch of her moans telling him she wasn’t going to last much longer. “Forever, baby.”

With a hand around her throat, Yoongi pinned her to the mattress, the speed of his thrusts picking up, a feral sort of possession beginning to take over him darkly. By then, he didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard what they were doing, focused solely on pleasuring his mate. With the weight of his palm on her throat and the way he angled the tip of his cock directly into her G-spot, Y/N was clenching around him unexpectedly, the strength of her orgasm taking the wind out of her. 

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, my sweet mate,” Yoongi lightly squeezed the sides of her throat, not far behind her, truthfully. “Shit. I’m–”

“Yoongi,” Y/N’s voice was broken, her skin covered in a thin coat of sweat, and when she leaned up to kiss him again, Yoongi was gone. Hips stilling, he came with a ruined moan, Y/N shivering at the sensation of his hot cum filling her, pressing shaky kisses to the side of his face as pleasure tore through him violently. 

Collapsed on top of her and not entirely sure he could move, Yoongi tried to catch his breath as Y/N tenderly ran her fingers through his hair, her own chest heaving beneath him. The feeling he had earlier in the day, the unfurling of something from inside, he realized what it was the second she finished playing the song she wrote from her. Y/N was his mate, and he admittedly should have figured that out sooner, but the realization had all the stars in his sky lining up. There had never been a time where Yoongi felt closer to his animalistic side rather than human, which he used to be afraid of showing to Y/N. But there she was, accepting of him with wide open arms and unconditional acceptance. His mate could be no one but her. 

“Am I really… your mate?” Y/N asked hesitantly, after several minutes of enjoying post-coital bliss. She didn’t really care that Yoongi’s heavy body was crushing her, simply letting him hide away from the world in the crook of her neck, here he was still mouthing away at the skin. Pausing, Yoongi pulled away slightly, worry creasing his brow. 

“Does that bother you?” Yoongi asked carefully, Y/N blanching and immediately shaking her head. 

“Absolutely not, why would it? I adore you, Yoongi,” Y/N insisted, brushing sweaty hair out of his face. Relaxing again, Yoongi purred, nudging the tip of her nose with his. 

“‘M tired,” Yoongi mumbled, Y/N wincing when he pulled out of her, blindly reaching for a towel on the floor to mop up the mess between her legs. “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

“Is that another birthday wish, angel?” Y/N teased, Yoongi grumbling and rolling off of her, gathered the crumpled quilt at the foot of his bed and pulled it up over the two of them, effectively keeping Y/N there. “Too tired to quip back?”

“Smart mouth,” Yoongi offered, opening up his arms and looking at her through lidded eyes. “Lemme hold you.”

Snickering, Y/N wiggled closer to her leopard hybrid, resting her cheek on his chest, pouting at the red lines she left on his skin. Tracing them softly, she pressed a kiss to one of the marks, Yoongi’s arms snaking around her middle. 

“Thank you for writing me a song,” Yoongi broke the silence, holding her tight. 

“Thank you for writing me one. It’s about time you had one too,” Y/N replied, Yoongi’s chest shaking with quiet laughter at the response. Yawning, she felt sated, lax in his arms, and while she was in for an interesting morning encountering the others, it was one of the furthest things from her mind. “Love you.”

Yoongi didn’t respond with words, instead, he kissed the top of her head, drawing patterns over her waist until her breathing evened out, making sure she was asleep before he allowed himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep. 

Sunday was the day of the week Y/N had laundry duty, and she was knee-deep in dirty socks. Thankfully, she had a helper with her, even if the rest of her housemates accused him of somehow helping Y/N ‘cheat’ at laundry duty. Grimacing at a particularly dirty pair of socks, she tossed them into the wash, Seokjin helpfully tossing scented laundry beads into the machine with a smile. 

“Did you finish your book for tomorrow’s meeting, honey?” Y/N asked him, Seokjin wrinkling his nose at one of Jimin’s muddy socks. 

“Yeah, it was a pretty quick read this week,” Seokjin replied, a cute grin on his face when Y/N shut the washer’s lid, leaning against it leisurely. “This week isn’t going to be as busy for you, is it?”

“No, thankfully. Last week was nuts,” Y/N sighed, placing the detergent back on the shelf. “I told you I switched around my work days, right? I’m going to do Tuesdays-Thursdays, not including the odd consultation here and there.”

“I remember you telling me, yes,” Seokjin tickled her sides, wanting to see her smile. “Four day weekends, that’ll be nice!”

Squeaking, she felt Seokjin unexpectedly pick her up by her hips, spinning her around and setting her on top of the dryer. Now eye-level with him, Y/N blushed, straightening out the collar of his loose tee-shirt. 

“It will be. More time to spend with you,” Y/N agreed. More time for her to spend with all of them. Seokjin handed her a pair of jeans to fold– Yoongi’s, by the look of them, making Y/N pause and think about her leopard hybrid again. 

Ever since Yoongi called her his mate, there was little else she thought about. Not only that, but it had her thinking about ruts again; when Yoongi would have his, she would be the one he would spend it with. Going stiff, she halted her folding, Seokjin raising an eyebrow at her while he placed a folded graphic tee of Jeongguk’s on the shelf. 

“Something on your mind, pretty girl?” Seokjin’s tail wound around his leg curiously, Y/N jolted out of her thoughts. Seokjin, out of all of her hybrids, was one of the easiest to confide in. Recalling her phone conversation with Ben, she decided to ask her burning questions after all. 

“Yeah, actually. Can I ask you a couple of things? About hybrids,” Y/N twitched on top of the dryer, all of Seokjin’s attention on her at once. He nodded straight away, predictably. 

“Um, how do I put this…” Y/N started, embarrassed. “You know what? Screw it. I wanted to ask about ruts. Is there a specific, um, I don’t know. Procedure to go through? Like if one of you wants a partner to help you through it, who do I contact?”

Seokjin’s neck colored bright red, apparently not expecting questions like that. An array of reactions played across his handsome face: bashfulness, disbelief, and pure shock. 

“I– I don’t know about the others, pretty, but when mine happens, I,” he swallowed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, I’d hope that you would be the one to help me through it. I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

Taking a second to process that, Y/N grew hot, Seokjin uttering the last part of his response as if the idea of spending his rut with anyone else was completely repulsive. 

“You wouldn’t?” Y/N clarified stupidly, Seokjin making a feline noise of annoyance. 

“Of course not. You’re the only one for me, pretty,” Seokjin drove home, squeezing her knee. “As for the others… Well, when their times come, I’m sure if they need something, they’ll tell you. Mmm?”

“So… how do you know when it will happen?” 

“Honestly, the instinct, or ruts in general I should say, usually don’t  kick in full-force for us until we meet someone we feel strongly about romantically. Prior to that, it’s usually just a week or so of secluded ‘downtime’, if you will. Mine has never been strong enough to need a partner, but I suspect that will change now that I’m with you…” Seokjin explained, Y/N hanging off every word.

“Because of me?”

“Well, yes,” Seokjin pinched her cheek. “Of course.”

“Okay. That answers my questions at the moment,” Y/N mumbled, skin still on fire. 

Seokjin snorted, recovering smoothly from the bombshell she dropped on him, stepping forward to kiss the tip of her nose. Eyes fluttering shut, she soaked in his clean scent, appreciating the way he never teased her about matters surrounding her lack of knowledge on hybrids.

“Alright, let’s finish up in here. I’m gonna teach you how to make sourdough today, remember, pretty girl?” Seokjin pushed another pair of jeans into her lap, winking. 

The woman standing in front of her, Namjoon, and Jeongguk seemed like an entirely different one from the one in their memories. Ms. Sanders– Erika– no longer had purplish circles under her eyes, her posture wasn’t shrunken, and she flung the front door to her house open with confidence. Stunned, her and her two hybrids lingered on the concrete porch, the woman eagerly gesturing them inside. 

“Oh my goodness. I don’t know what to say. The house is like a completely different home,” Erika rushed out, Y/N breathing in the crisp, fresh air in the living room with deep satisfaction. “I cannot thank you three enough. Whatever you did worked completely.”

“So, everything has been going well since last Wednesday when you moved back in?” Y/N sought to confirm, sitting beside Jeongguk on the couch and accepting a mug of tea from the young mother gratefully. 

“Tommy’s nightmares stopped. Julie’s coming out of her shell again. I haven’t seen a single shadow, or heard any knocking on the walls. I can’t believe it,” Erika gushed, glancing at the three of them like they were her saviors. Jeongguk, beside her, fidgeted in his seat in reaction to the attention, while Namjoon stood off to the side, sipping his mug of tea with pink ears. 

“I’m so happy to hear that. I brought you a few things, just to give you an added layer of protection. I made these amulets for you and the children to wear when leaving the house, and Jeongguk has added some incense from the church to this bag for you to burn as well,” Y/N handed the mother a gift bag, which she accepted gratefully. 

Jeongguk explained how and when to use the incense, and Namjoon answered a few questions about the investigation, but after the tea was finished, Y/N and her hybrids took that as their cue to leave. Erika was in the middle of giving Y/N a very tight hug when the sound of footsteps came bounding down the stairs, making the three of them pause by the door. Tommy appeared in front of them, looking well-rested and healthy, holding onto his toy robot and staring up at Namjoon with complete awe. Y/N watched, stunned, as Tommy threw his arms around Namjoon, pressing his cheek into the wolf hybrid’s stomach, Jeongguk’s smoky chuckle filling the room as Namjoon went statue-still, hesitantly patting the young boy’s back. 

“Oh, I mentioned he loves wolves, didn’t I?” Erika clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes misty but expression joyful. 

Y/N’s eye caught the top of the stairs, where Julie was leaning against the banister. The teenager nodded, just once, at her and Jeongguk, her subtle thank-you to them. Once Tommy managed to peel himself from Namjoon, the three of them were leaving the Sanders’ home for the final time, the small family waving at them from the living room window as they pulled away in the van. 

“Ow. Shit,” Jeongguk hissed from the backseat, Y/N flinching at the sound of his strained voice and promptly flying from her seat beside Namjoon to see what was wrong with the elk hybrid. 

To her horror, there was blood leaking from his hairline into his face, and he was poking around the base of his antlers again. Or antler, she realized, as one of them had fallen from his head and clattered to the floor, blood staining the van’s carpet.

“Oh my god! What happened?!” Y/N rushed over to him, cupping his face frantically. “Did you bump into something? What am I gonna do?”

Jeongguk grabbed her wrist, grimacing. 

“I’m fine, kiddo. Remember when I shed my velvet? I shed the antlers in the spring. They’ll grow back. It just hurts like a bitch when they fall out,” Patting her wrist, Jeongguk winced when the second antler fell to the floor, more blood spilling onto his forehead. “You can let go, I’m not dying.”

Reeling, the spots where his antlers once were gory and painful looking. As per his request, she released his face, staring at the antlers on the ground. Bending, she picked them up, Jeongguk clicking his tongue at her while he dabbed his face with a tissue. 

“Just chuck those out the window,” he muttered indifferently, Y/N scowling at him. 

“Absolutely not. What if I wanna keep them? They’re pretty!” Jeongguk stared at her like she grew a second head. 

“What, are you gonna make a lamp out of them or something?”

“No, you jerk. I don’t know, maybe I’ll put them on my altar,” Y/N held the antlers away from him, worried he’d try to take them out of her grasp. “You don’t look nearly as threatening without them, by the way.”

Indeed, now the only thing on the top of Jeongguk’s head were his tapered chestnut-colored ears, which were twitching cutely at the sound of her voice. She wondered when his antlers grew back, if he’d look like Bambi, his doe eyes and all. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want with them,” Jeongguk held his hands up, but there was faint color on his high cheekbones. 

“I will,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, marching back to the passenger seat. Namjoon glanced at the antlers in her lap with minor interest, amusement clear as day on his face. “Wanna get hot pot again before we go home?” Namjoon ended up really liking the restaurant, and she felt like having a celebratory lunch. 

“With me looking like this? Are you serious?” Jeongguk was incredulous, gesturing to the blood caked in his hair through the rearview mirror.

“Why not? Fits your goth agenda,” Y/N teased, Namjoon absolutely losing it beside her, eyes scrunching up into crescent moons. 

“Goth agenda? Are you trying to push your luck today?”

“Yes,” Y/N sang, noting that Namjoon was already driving in the direction of the restaurant. “And I’ll continue to.”

Yoongi wiped the sleep from his eyes, blindly stumbling towards the music room before he went downstairs for his coffee. He was in the middle of composing something new to teach Y/N, and wanted to retrieve his book of blank sheet music to work on over breakfast. Truly still waking up, he didn’t notice that Taehyung was in the room until he caught a whiff of the Kodiak hybrid’s scent. Pausing at the threshold of the door, Yoongi was surprised Taehyung didn’t flee the room as soon as Yoongi walked in. The Kodiak hybrid appeared deep in thought, the record he was playing on the turntable scratching uselessly on the label, like he had already listened through that side already. 

“Uh… hey,” Yoongi greeted him, noticing the tired look on the other hybrid’s face. Not expecting a response, since Taehyung pretty much avoided him since finding out about him and Y/N, Yoongi shrugged, heading to the piano to scoop up what he needed. 

“How’s Y/N lately?” Taehyung startled Yoongi by speaking gruffly, the leopard hybrid not understanding where he was going with that question. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? You live under the same roof,” Yoongi raised his eyebrows, Taehyung snorting sardonically. 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Taehyung pushed a hand through his dark curls, Yoongi rolling his eyes. Yoongi was fed up with the Kodiak hybrid’s behavior, how it was affecting Y/N, and how oblivious the kid was in general.

“And why do you think that is? You avoid her like the plague. She’s just giving you the space you’re practically begging for,” Yoongi crossed his arms across his chest, tail curling around him agitatedly. 

“I just– I don’t know. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, I met someone, but she’s…” Yoongi let the wheels begin to turn in Taehyung’s head, trying not to be impatient. “She’s–”

“She’s not Y/N,” Yoongi finished bluntly, not sufficiently caffeinated enough for that conversation. Taehyung flinched like he was electrocuted, looking at Yoongi with alarm. 

“What do you mean?” Taehyung accused, heart racing. 

“What do you mean, Taehyung?” Yoongi threw his hands up, exasperated. “Avoiding her, trying to distract yourself with someone else. You need to just admit it to yourself, or you’re gonna develop an ulcer.”

“Admit what?” Taehyung spat, aggravated, standing and sizing up the leopard hybrid. 

“That you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @goooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @missyoueverysingleday @cathy-1997 @prybts @doublebunv @milopenne @steadycreationangel @rinkud @breadcheeksseokjin @nikkiordonez12

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[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.  

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first. 

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how. 

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care. 

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made. 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled. 

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill. 

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied. 

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen. 

This was my punishment. 

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want. 

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age. 

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies. 

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build. 

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating. 

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall. 

My blood roared in my ears. 

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right?  You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair.  It had taken everything in me to push her away. 

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me. 

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."  Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?" 

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course. 

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder. 

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood. 

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time? 

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table. 

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many. 

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.  Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet. 

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall. 

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course. 

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg. 

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut. 

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers. 

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror. 

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse. 

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't. 

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within. 

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. 

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this. 

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated. 

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off.  "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full. 

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me? 

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before? 

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little. 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves? 

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life? 

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me. 

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips. 

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for. 

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better." 

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!" 

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me.  Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger. 

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this. 

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her.  Gods, how I love her. 

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.  

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder  of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that. 

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.   

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse. 

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next. 

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment. 

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half. 

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in.  Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting. 

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right? 

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her. 

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her. 

But I knew it was wrong. 

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her. 

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence. 

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face. 

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—" 

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know. 

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat. 

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment. 

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off.  "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out. 

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out. 

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me. 

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep. 

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency. 

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks. 

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty. 

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it. 

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. 

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence. 

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed.  "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."  I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages.  "You want me to do it?  Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows.  "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk. 

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag.  "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest. 

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it? 

It was over. 

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin. 

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch. 

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill. 

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank. 

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination. 

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but  — manageable. 

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed. 

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side. 

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it. 

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it? 

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable. 

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched. 

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun. 

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion. 

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it." 

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be. 

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional  sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh? 

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything. 

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh? 

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned. 

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head. 

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter? 

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut. 

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin.  I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line. 

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips. 

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second. 

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward. 

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole. 

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin. 

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body. 

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—" 

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips. 

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine. 

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release. 

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips. 

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. 

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm. 

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm. 

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit. 

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath. 

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance. 

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her. 

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release. 

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me. 

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight. 

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious.  "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are. 

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[futureplayboibunnie]

Heartless Pt.1

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

okay i’ve redirected this fic and made it into a slowburn multi chapter series, in hindsight my last idea was too abrupt. i feel like this storyline is wayyyy better. I LOVEEEE SLOWBURN. i hope ya’ll like this one better! Part 2 up now!

PS. if you don’t like this type of stuff, don’t be stupid and comment on it because I really don’t care enough to hear it, use ur fingers and scroll. it’s not that hard.

You thought your wedding day would've been more romantic than this.

More personal, more involved, a consolidation of the many moments you shared with the man you were going to love forever, but free will and liberation were something that you gave up when your parents decided that it was in your family's entrepreneurial interest to participate in a partnership with the O'Hara Dynasty.

You weren't mad. It was just...different. You knew this day was coming but it was all wrapped together quite nicely, in a neat little bow.

Everything was done with the utmost sensitivity and respect, the O'Hara family's Consigliere placed piles of paperwork in front of you, NDAs were rarely ever necessary, and guns and fists normally did the trick but Miguel personally wanted all of this to be clean. He was getting married for the sole purpose of extending his power and influence, being a part of the 5 Families in this city wasn't something that was done without shedding blood. And Miguel shed a lot. This was a very important occasion to him, marriage was important in all generations of his family, and almost every single Don arranged a marriage with a woman from another Dynasty just for the purpose of spreading influence and agendas. Miguel and his brother talked for hours about it and in the end, he had to do what was necessary for his family and his capos. He needed to conserve what was his whilst also inserting his power.

Dealing with ill-tempered men and being a sounding board for their last scraps of sanity wasn't new but Miguel wasn't that. He was just silent in a way you didn't like. It was almost unsettling. Maybe it would be easier to hate him if he was an asshole, but he was very kind and respectful in the little words he said to you.

All of this was strictly professional, a beautiful show for the underworld. It was ridiculous and you felt like a fool, and after the day you had, it felt perfectly reasonable to feel that way.

It was your wedding day and word got around fast.

The dress he picked was fine.

The ceremony was fine

The ring was fine

Everything was just fine.

Now you were in his cold, lavishly destitute penthouse at an ungodly hour, sitting around, still in the wedding dress that you haven't taken off for some reason- maybe to compensate for the fact that you'll throw it in a corner, leave it in the cold and black dark, collecting dust for you to never see it again. Miguel's capos had to scamper around and follow you just about anywhere but for once, they left you alone with Miguel shooing them out.

Is this what your life would be like? Sitting around, waiting for something to happen? Was everything meant to be so banal and grey?

“You looked lovely today.” A low voice grumbled behind you, you whipped your head around to see Miguel leaving his study and entering the living room, he was still wearing his tux with that unknotted ugly bow tie that was crooked the whole ceremony. He looked tired. You gave him an agreeable smile in response.

"Thank you.” You said politely, there was just nothing purposeful behind your voice. All there was between you and Miguel was agreeable conversation, polite and meaningless drivel to distract from the very true and real fact that you were betrothed, you both owed each other something. Miguel gave you protection and you gave Miguel his pathway to influence- it was a business transaction, that was all, but it didn't mean that all of this wasn't abnormal. “I can't reach the zipper, can you please zip me down?” You asked as if it was a normal question- it wasn't for your kind of relationship but what the hell was normal nowadays? For Christ's sake, you were married to a man you barely knew and you slept in different rooms.

Miguel approached you in silence, watching you stand up from the couch and turn around. He liked the dress, he picked it out himself, you looked nice. His fingers found the zipper and pulled down slowly, watching the slivers of skin appear with every small tug down.

As far as women go, Miguel wasn't really that interested in sleeping around, every woman he shared himself with became a target or an opportunity pry into his head- he didn't want anyone messing with his internal affairs. Sometimes he'd cave and fuck one of the women serving him drinks at private poker nights, they always made eyes at him, begging him with fluttering eyelashes and wet lips to fuck them senseless. He was a man after all, sometimes it was enjoyable, sometimes it wasn't, he just needed to get off.

You on the other hand, you were unreadable in a way that he didn’t know how to approach.Though sometimes he did find you talking to him like an acquaintance vaguely irritating he would definitely be a hypocrite for calling you out.

It felt like you were holding your breath when he was finished, you settled baxk into your senses, he gazed over the patch of skin peeking out of your dress. He stopped his gawking when you turned around and gave him a weak smile like you would a friend or a neighbour. "Thank you. Goodnight Miguel.” You walked passed him and went to your designated room. Miguel did the same

You never really thought of yourself as an incurable romantic, but this was truly dull and you contemporary marriage like this. Even if it was to one of the most dangerous men in the city.

-

You awoke to a cacophony of sizzling and rustling noises coming from outside your room, your dreary eyes lulled by sleep couldn't fight against the delicious smell wafting from outside. Before you could fully register that breakfast was being made, the first thing you noticed was the heavy feeling of dread resting on your chest, you raked a tired hand over your face and rubbed your eyes awake. Opening them up fully, you saw the white fabric on the floor. In another life, the husband you actually loved would be laying next to you, whispering sweet nothings. Your wedding dress and veil were strewn about as if it was an article of clothing a teenage girl would carelessly discard while figuring out what to wear for a date with Tommy or Billy or Jason or whoever. But this wasn't high school drama, this was the type of life you were conditioned into.

Blood, war, and money.

You weren't complaining, the protection it offered you was immense. Miguel was a corrupt man dealing with equally corrupt politicians and people of interest, he had to adapt in his work but a part of you didn't believe he was the poisonous person everyone always made him out to be. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him in his raw, primal ways, beating people bloody. That's what made you weary.

You shifted up and headed over to the walk-in wardrobe. This was the part that really stunted you, Miguel wanted you to wear what he specifically liked, everything was picked out by him and you still didn't know how to feel about it, but it made you grimace. You stepped in and glanced at the hangers, they were all ordered out by color and style. You noticed that he seemed to like satin and silk, and he was very particular about color, he liked black, silver, grey and even a baby blushed pink in certain articles. Your fingers grazed over the silk of the nightwear dresses, and the fabric of the gala dresses- you didn't like the idea of having to play pretend in front of too many people. You idled towards the drawers and wondered what he preferred when it came to underwear. You raised a cynical eyebrow and your lips pursed in curiosity as you let your finger pull it open.

Your mouth unhinged in a surprise you expected, but not in the way you thought of. He definitely had a thing for lingerie. God, there was a pair of everything, lacy, strappy, padded, unpadded, sheer garters, sparkly garters, knee highs, thigh highs. He was very particular indeed. It was tailored to your perfect cup size. Fucking hell. He liked Brazilian underwear but he seemed have an affinity for a thong too. You sighed and closed the drawer, you didn't want to read into it. Your eyes wandered to the muted pink silk robe hanging next to the drawer. Hm. That'll do for breakfast.

Miguel looked up from his newspaper to see you padding barefoot to the table where a spread was laid out. His maid, although young, ditzy and so obviously desperate to fuck him, was a very talented cook but the coffee she made always tasted like dirt. “Thank you.” He said to her plainly, he couldn't even look at her due to him being distracted by your presence. Your face creased into a light frown as you stared at the eye candy handing Miguel his coffee before she left as Miguel waved his hand. Of course the women who worked around him had to be insanely beautiful.

“Good morning.” Miguel grumbled before taking a sip. You were wearing the silk robe he liked. Good. Good girl.

You didn't say anything back, acting aloof and nonchalant seemed to be the only way of conserving whatever sanity you had left. The back of your throat had back drool when you stared at the delicious spread in front of you. You didn't know what you wanted to eat first. You grabbed a few pickings of everything, topped off with a mimosa. You ate in polite silence, minding your business, uninterested in anything he had to say at this point. Miguel settled down his newspaper and glared at you, you weren't particularly bothered by his presence, and that made him...unsettled. It went on like this for a solid few minutes.

“What?” You asked him, not even giving him the decency of looking him in the eye. Miguel was silent for a moment, contemplating your presence before he opened his mouth.

“We're leaving the city tonight.” He said oh so casually in that deep, low voice of his.

"And why is that?”You sighed tiredly, a slightly amused smirk twitched at your lips at this out-of-the-blue statement.

Miguel clicked his tongue and cooed at you, “Because cariño, my Consigliere has informed me that our marriage is not boding well with the other 5 Families, they think it's a covert attack in some sort of way, a questioning of power or sorts. And also..” He cut himself off for a reason unknown to him. “He also thinks it's a prudent idea to have a honeymoon, to hone everything in and make this...real.” He murmured as he rolled up his shirt sleeve.

Your eyes pricked up at the word 'real.' Wasn't this real? The papers were real. The ring was real. But the actual connection…? You glowered at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Do you think this is real?”

Miguel didn't know how to answer that. “Isn't real relative?”

“No.” You replied thickly like you didn't even need to think about it.

“Look. I don't want to discuss this.”

“So you can't compromise.” You shot back.

“No, I won't.” He pushed his chair back aggressively and sat his coffee down hard, he looked irritated by all of this. He didn't like that you thought you had the power to interrogate him.

Miguel walked past you as he went to exit the room but then for some reason he halted in his tracks. Compromise. Miguel is not known for compromising. The people around him know that for a fact, but he doesn't want this marriage to be another agenda that he has to put up with. He didn't want to hate you.

He sighed.

“Choose where we go. Tell my brother and he'll tell my pilot.” Miguel said coldly, his tone clipped and gruff even when he was trying to build a bridge of some sort.

It didn't seem like you had a choice, so now you were just another lackey he ordered around.