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almostfoxglove · 25 days

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HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is.

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun.

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation.

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight?

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below.

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands.

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs.

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze.

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring.

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin.

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word.

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take.

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe.

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on.

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed

@burntheedges @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave @for-a-longlongtime

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @jolapeno

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours

@noisynightmarepoetry @clawdee

#dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york #dave york smut #pedro pascal #dave york x you #the equalizer 2 #dave york fanfic #au august #shortieswritingchallenge #punkshort #myfics #almostfoxglove #smut #one shot #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #fic: holdstill #do not perceive me for 3-6 business days

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jeonstellate · 8 months

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my future in your eyes

mingyu still holds onto you, even after all this time.

๑彡 kim mingyu x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 divorced!au/ex-husband!au, post-break up!au, exes-to-lovers!au — fluff

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from zack tabudlo’s as you are.

๑彡 i’m lowk proud of this ngl bc— it’s fluff, but it took me relatively quick to finish?? usually i get stuck for weeks if the wip’s fluff ><

Kim Mingyu is a man of confidence.

Not that he uses his confidence to swindle strangers, as the dictionary suggests the title means. Rather, he exudes confidence — regardless of what he does.

There is always an air confidence around him. He can be in clothes that don’t fit the event’s theme and he’ll still seem perfectly dressed. He can be barely conversant in another language and he’ll still sound like he knows what he’s saying. He can just be standing there, doing nothing, and he’ll still appear like he’s doing something right.

Some people mistake his confidence for arrogance. Most find it admirable. But, in truth, Mingyu hardly cares.

Especially if his so-called confidence vanishes whenever you are in the vicinity and within his line of sight. Just like now.

He sees you in a table with Seokmin. Your back is towards him but he recognizes you, anyway. Despite the distance, he has no problem witnessing how animatedly you talk with your common friend.

It’s almost like he is back in college: you and Seokmin in one row, him and Minghao a few rows back. He can almost hear Minghao state matter-of-factly, "You’re staring," like he often does back then.

Really, all that’s different is Minghao’s currently preoccupied being the groom to comment on his staring. (There are definitely more things that are different now, but he doesn’t want to even begin thinking about them.)

Seokmin catches his stare. Not soon after, specifically before Mingyu can even look away, he sees him leave the table. Seokmin throws him a familiar meaningful look before disappearing into the dance floor.

Truth be told, Mingyu’s confidence comes naturally. It isn’t something that he purposely channels. It’s just always there . . . unless you are involved. Then, suddenly, he has to painstakingly gather the confidence to be near you.

"Is this seat taken?" He tries his hardest to mask his awestruck look with one of kind politeness as he waits your response.

He almost forgot how to breathe when your eyes lock into his. "You may sit if you wish," you offer him a small, polite smile. "I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon."

"Thanks." He effortlessly returns your gesture before situating himself on the chair your common friend abandoned. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"Really well, actually. I didn’t expect to recognize a lot of people from college." Your eyes don’t leave his as you answer. He tries not to stare back too intently, to look within your eyes to see something . . . anything. "And you?"

Mingyu waits for a beat, gathering enough confidence to say what he wants to. "Better now that you’re here." With me.

He lets out a barely audible embarrassed laugh. He has half a mind to take it back, but quickly changes his mind when he sees you biting your lower lip — an obvious attempt to stop yourself from laughing.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. There’s pride in knowing he’s still able to make you laugh, despite it being your first meeting in literal years.

You look down in a presumable attempt to calm yourself down. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, though, as he refuses to lose you from his sight. As such, he immediately notices the sudden shift in your expression.

"You’re still wearing it." Mingyu follows your line of sight — and ends up looking at the source of your comment. His hand on the table, specifically the band of gold adorning his ring finger. "Our ring."

Our wedding ring.

You and Mingyu married soon after graduating from college. It had been a blissful marriage, one that filled a home with nothing but love and support.

Your divorce was on the basis of irreconcilable differences. It was a mutual decision, for the interest of your career paths diverging too far. There was never a bad blood.

"Ye— yeah." Mingyu stutters involuntarily. He clears his throat before continuing, "It’s a great conversational piece."

Although the divorce has been finalized years ago, Mingyu still plays the faithful and loving husband role in front of strangers. He uses the ring on his finger to his advantage: may that be to wordlessly signal that he’s already taken or to gain the favor of a potential sponsor.

Likewise, even if he knows the ring might be a disadvantage, he refuses to take it off — nor to purposely hide it from sight. The same way he never tells a stranger that he is no longer tied to someone else.

"Does it work?" You ask in wonder.

"We are conversing now, aren’t we?"

You chuckle, "Touché."

Mingyu wants to tell you that he hasn’t taken the ring off since you slipped it on his finger during your wedding. Not even after your divorce has been finalized all those years ago.

He wants to tell you his ring finger is thinner near his palm because of his adamant refusal to take his wedding ring off once in a while. Not willing to separate from the only physical reminder of your marriage, not even for a second.

He wants to tell you the ring is more than a conversational piece. He wants to tell you it’s his lifeline, something he can’t bear to lose. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mingyu uses all the confidence he has gathered to ask you a simple question. "Dance with me?"

He offers you the hand adorned by his wedding ring. He tries not to show the uncertainty he feels by masking it behind a smile.

He almost lets out a relieved sigh when you place your hand on top of his. But he stops breathing momentarily when he catches sight of the sole jewelry adorning your hand.

"You’re still wearing it," Mingyu echoes your comment breathlessly. "Our ring."

He snaps his eyes back to your face, just in time to witness your smile widen. "Yeah," you say. "It’s a great talisman to ward off potential suitors."

He leads you to the dance floor, silently marveling at how your hand still fits perfectly with his. "Does it work?"

"It’s very effective," you assure him. "Although I don’t think it works well against ex-husbands."

Another slow song starts playing right when you reach the dance floor. You and Mingyu unconsciously claim your respective hand placements during your first dance — and for any waltz you danced after.

Then, suddenly, it’s like you traveled back in time.

Mingyu pulls you closer, a ghost of a smirk is at the edge of his lips. "I think it works well attracting ex-husbands."

#kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu imagines #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #kim mingyu scenarios #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu oneshots #mingyu oneshots #seventeen oneshots #ex-husband!au #post-break up!au #exes-to-lovers!au #kim mingyu #mingyu #seventeen

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acidsoju · 3 months

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PLAY REVENGE teaser

genre: non idol au, romance, neighbors to enemies to fake dating. pairing: soobin x fem!reader. warnings: nsfw. summary: in which your boyfriend cheats on you with your neighbor's girlfriend and you are decided to play revenge, with a little help from your grumpy and reluctant neighbor. a/u: for now, this is the base idea; while writing on this i'll see whether it'll be a long one shot or devided into chapters.

“Fuck, kiss me.”

Soobin’s face goes blank as he stares down at you, thinking to himself― hoping to himself that he had misheard you but the eagerness twisting your factions as you turned around to look up at him, your eyebrows knitting and your eyes dropping in a millisecond to his lips, had him realizing that this wasn’t another one of your dumb and annoying jokes.

You move too fast for him to understand anything of the current actions developing. First, he watches you take a quick peek from the corner of your eye, curiosity winning over him to copy you and look to where you were so preoccupied looking over to, but all Soobin could catch a glimpse of was the pair of all-too-well known yet blurry silhouettes before your hands harshly grabbed onto the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him down with an unknown force to your height, warm lips smashing against his.

A shocked groan erupted from the back of his throat while his eyes opened up like two round plates. His hands instantly moved up to your shoulders, trying to regain some composure and control of the situation while mindlessly talking a step back. But, on the contrary of him, all you did was follow the steps he gave and wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking in the annoyed huff exhaled by him.

“Stick… to the plan…” you managed to mumble against his lips, putting an inch of distance in between for him to comprehend you before your lips were all over his again. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture Soobin rolling his eyes at you.

His hands were doubtful at first, but ended up switching places and resting on your hips, tense fingers pressing against your hip bone.

“Soobin?!”

“Y-Y/N… what is this?”

Just then, at the familiar voices of both of your exes, standing a few feet away from the two of you, stunned expression on their faces, you pulled away from your neighbor's lips, your arms remaining over his shoulders, keeping the two of you extremely close, more than you’d ever want to.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth in surprise with one hand, eyebrows jumping. “Well, this is kinda awkward… don’t you think so, baby?”

“Wh-what did she call you?” Soobin’s eyes flicked from your eyes shining in scheme to the girl who had been his girlfriend just until last week, when she decided to break up the long-term relationship they had shared for many years, only to launch her new relationship with, what a surprise, his neighbor’s boyfriend… or ex-boyfriend, a couple of days later.

“This is a joke, right?” Soobin’s eyes moved following the path the questioned flowed, falling over the tall boy he had seen only once, by mere chance, standing next to his ex, staring at you with an eyebrow raised and his eyes opened in disbelief. “… Well? Say something, Y/n, what is the meaning of this?”

Finally, Soobin looked back at you, swallowing back down the incredulous scoff he so wanted to let out when he saw the corner of your lips stretching into an amused smile, hiding behind the hand covering your mouth. He found himself pulling you a little closer by the hand that had been resting on the side of your hip this whole time, giving Yeonjun the best glare he could pull off which, considering all the circumstances of the things that had gone down in less than a month, was pretty easy to do.

“She doesn’t own you any explanations.”

“And who are you to talk on her behalf?”

“Me?” you looked up, observing how Soobin scoffed before the corner of his lip stretched into a tiny, smug smirk; head tilting down to meet your eyes, hand on your hip tightening its touch almost painfully for you to let out a whine, almost. “I’m her boyfriend, of course.”

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fruitmins · 1 year

Text

Agust Dad—Prologue

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: smut that includes unprotected s*x (don’t do that), cuss words, mention of alcohol and drinking, kinda rough s*x, a little dirty talk

<<next part>>

➭note: yoongi is leaving for the military so let’s make him a dad to patch up my grief☺️ Have to give credit where credit is due; this was inspired by a writer named sopebubbles. And ik it’s not clear but he is still in BTS. ⚠︎ this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. yoongi is used solely as a face and a name for the story. this is not a representation of real-life scenarios.

“I think, we should make a toast, to Mr Agust D himself of course.” The head producer said over the chatter in the lobby, noticeably drunk but it just so happened that everyone else was also. Even you.

But that was the point of the pre-release party. It was to celebrate how rich everyone were about to be and that everyone could relax after several hard months.

Even though you were only at the album camp for a week, only working on one song and from a entirety different company, somehow you found yourself at the rented hotel partying like the rest of the producers.

The infamous artist groans in embarrassment and this eggs everyone on further, raising their glasses towards him and applauding. “We are never doing this again.” Yoongi slurs, a little tipsy himself as he chuckles, the alcohol starting to loosen him up a bit.

It wasn’t like Yoongi always had his guard up, at least not around his colleagues anyways. He was just incredibly professional and slightly uptight. The two of you had spoken a handful of times while at the camp, mostly focusing on the song and the two of you worked well together.

You were from a more smaller company and when the two of you first met, he said he looked up some of the other collaborations that you did and was fond of your work. It was incredibly easy working with him and his team. No one could deny that the two of you had chemistry when it came to music. If you had a thought or suggestion Yoongi would practically finish your sentence. And if he wanted to change something you would already be on it.

Most of his other producers were amazed at how fast the two of you were working and how smooth it was going, which was half of the reason they wanted you to attend the party in the first place. The first producer to make the Agust D smile while working on a song instead of being tense.

But despite everything, you two hadn’t spoken much since then, so it was a surprise to you when he had stepped up to you when you alone in the kitchen, getting yourself another drink.

The first bottle of whiskey was already run dry, so you were to busy stumbling as you stood on your tippy toes to reach the other bottle in the cabinet to notice he had walked in the kitchen and was watching you from afar.

You hadn’t realized that he stood only a couple steps away from you, watching and analyzing your every move. His eyes wandering your body and curves as you struggled to reach the desired item. He couldn’t help but stare at your ass that was covered by your tight black skirt and watched as your breasts jiggled the more you stumbled and reached for the drink.

With his own new desire in mind, Yoongi finally advanced towards you. Making his movements slow and menacing, not stopping until he was behind you and his back was almost pressed against you.

Feeling the sudden body heat you spun around, your eyes widening even further when they meet his dark brown ones. You back away slightly, trying to create some distance but move hip first into the counter behind you causing you to wince in pain.

“You should be more careful, Y/N-ah.” He spoke in a soothing low tone, suppressing a small smirk when he saw how flustered you got, your cheeks even more red now and not just from the alcohol.

“Sorry, Min Yoongi-ssi.” You mumble with a nervous chuckle trying to stay professional and not get sucked in by his expensive perfume and deep gaze. It had already been heard enough to ignore his beauty during camp.

He lets out a deep chuckle, cracking a small friendly smile that hides his true intentions. “No need to be so formal Y/N.” He says, tilting his head slightly to take in more of your features.

He had spent almost a full week with you, and of course he noticed how pretty you were but he paid no mind to it. After all, he was focused on his work and he had seen better woman before. But now he had gotten a good full look at you with more of an (hazy) open mind.

“Ah, Y/N-ah don't you know? You shouldn't apologize to me when you're in no wrong. You shouldn't lower yourself to me so much." He said his smile turning more into a smirk.

“And plus, I’d say we have gotten quite close,” he spoke, his voice getting more quiet as he leaned more into you, pinning you between the counter and his body. “Don’t you think?” He asked with a smile smirk, having gotten you right where he wanted you.

“Wow,” You breathed out, glancing around the empty kitchen as if you were imagining everything that was happening. Guiltily, you had already had some inappropriate thoughts about him before thanks to his song lyrics but you knew better not to act on them.

“I guess so...” Your voice trailed out and you think you’re being discreet about finding an exit but Yoongi notices.

He leans more against you body so that by now they are touching. He continues to focus his eyes on you before effortlessly reaching an arm above your head as he grabs the drink for you.

Your eyes light up at the drink, even though it’s clear you don’t really need any more. “Thank you Yoongi-ah~” you slur while reaching for it but he pulls his arm back and takes the bottle out of your reach much to your confusion.

He chuckles with a soft smile at the cute expression, this one being more genuine than the last. “I don’t think you need anymore of this.” He says with a smug smile as he looks down at you. Yoongi moved one of his arms down and placed his hand on your hip that bumped into the counter earlier. The other hand still on the drink. He smirked once again as he moved his face closer to yours. "I wouldn't like for you to get hurt again."

Your throat hitches as you feel his warm hand on your hip, drawing small circles into it as he spoke in a soft tone. You finally see the hint of lust in his eyes that you failed to notice before and your heart thumps.

“You’re right. I think I’ll just go back to the party.” You say with a nervous chuckle, trying to somehow squeeze past him to get to the lobby while still being trapped between him and the counter behind you.

"I wouldn't advise you to go to the party. It's noisy and loud, there'll be too many people." Yoongi subtly brought his other arm with the bottle down and placed it on the counter, blocking all of your exits.

Now knowing where this was going you lean back more into the counter. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” You whisper looking down and away from his face so you’re not tempted to do anything that could possibly put your job in jeopardy.

“Why?” He said in a confident deep tone. “You know company’s have loosened up, and we’re grown adults.” Yoongi said with a soft chuckle as he leans closer to where you could feel his breath on your shoulder, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

“We’re from different companies.” You whisper, breathing getting heavy as the tension in the room starts to get hotter. Three drinks ago you wouldn’t even be considering about this, and maybe he wouldn’t even be either. But here you were.

“That's the best part." Yoongi said in a low voice as he took two fingers to move your chin so you were looking directly at him. He brushed your hair out of your eyes before tucking it behind your ear.

"No one from your company is even here and no one of my company knows you." He states calmly, giving you his signature smile for reassurance but the look of passion in his eyes tells a different story.

Your breathing becomes hitched as the hand on your hip begins to move to caress your side. He takes a swig of the alcohol as if to say ‘fuck it’ before quickly planting a hungry kiss on your exposed neck.

You bite your bottom lip to hold in a gasp as his wet soft lips hit your skin. His grip tightens on your hip as he kisses a trail down your neck "You're so beautiful," he breathes against your skin, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Your mind is hazy from the alcohol and his touch and suddenly all logical thinking begins to dissolve. All you can think about is how touch deprived you’ve been for years. How one of the most richest and famous person alive were telling you how beautiful you were. You can’t remember the last time you’ve let yourself let loose and release some steam.

He leans in close and presses his lips against yours, his tongue moving against them in a slow glide before pulling away. "No one has to know. Except for you and me." He says in a husky voice.

Now that he has you in his grasp, he gently takes your hand in his and leads you both out of the kitchen and upstairs to a one of the many empty hotel rooms that would soon be filled with drunk coworkers.

As soon as you step inside the room, he shuts the door behind him and locks it securely. He moves towards you again, placing a sloppy but firm kiss so you can taste the mix of alcohol on his lips while holding onto your waist tightly.

This time you return the kiss, now with your own hunger. “So pretty..” he praises again when he pulls away to catch his breath.

He starts kissing down your neck, his hand quickly moving to reach down to your blouse and unbutton it. You can feel the heat rising between you two, your breaths become shorter and quicker, your hearts racing in sync as he successfully gets your shirt off and on the ground.

You don’t have time to think as his hands move up to your breasts, feeling their weight and massaging them as he kisses you deeper. As he reaches your cleavage, he begins to undo your bra, letting go of your breasts so he could remove it completely. He holds the kiss as he does so causing your breathing to become faster and heavier at his touch. It was like an addiction, that you couldn’t get enough of.

He steps back, taking in your beautiful breasts for a moment before concluding that you needed all of your clothes off. He moves down and starts kissing all around your neck, chin, and jawline, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses and uses this as an opportunity to push you towards a nearby couch.

He kicks off his shoes as you collapse on the couch and he does the honors of taking off your heels for you as you quickly get off his shirt. He leans forward, and presses another passionate kiss against yours. “I’ve waited months for this..” he mumbles into the kiss, lying right out of his teeth.

His hands start to roam again, this time he takes the waistband of your skirt and pulls it down to your legs. “Let’s make sure you’re nice and wet for me..” he says in a deep husky voice as he slips his hand through your underwear feeling your wet fabric first.

You shiver when his fingers brush against your slit and as soon as he feels how soaked you are, he smiles widely leaning in to kiss you again. “So wet..” he hums before pulling his warm fingers away to pull down your underwear completely.

So having seen and felt enough, Yoongi unbuckles his pants and lets them fall to his knees. You can see the outline of his hard cock tugging at his boxers. He finally removes his boxers and his cock springs out, precum already leaking in anticipation. If being completely sober you would be more embarrassed of the situation, but your mind is to clouded by lust and warmth that you can take in his body completely.

He moves closer towards you once more, pressing himself firmly against you so that you're able to see every inch of him pressed against your stomach. "Mmmh...you like what you see?" he asks softly, as he wraps his hand around his cock.

You nod, a little to quickly as you watch him with pleading eyes. He smirks at your needy gaze, his hips moving into his hand involuntarily as he rubs his hand over your thigh.

Feeling your heat, he leans forward and kisses you, deepening the kiss as he slides his hands up your thighs to your hips. He squeezes them tightly, holding you in place as he slowly rubs himself against your entrance. He places one hand behind your neck while the other holds your hip firmly, gently pushing his cock inside you. You gasp loudly from the sudden pressure, but Yoongi only grins widely as he begins thrusting his hips slowly.

He lets out a grunt as he slowly pushes his painfully hard cock inside you, “So tight.. So wet..” he practically growls at the feeling of your warmth.

Your eyes shut tightly as he continues to slam his cock against your walls as he grips your hip tightly with both hands. “Look at me when I fuck you, Y/N..” he says in a demanding tone making you moan loudly in response your eyes fluttering open to look at him and you can admit it’s a beautiful sight. Never had you thought you’d be getting fucked by a famous idol like this, but now that it was happening you might as well take in all the sights.

“Fuck..that’s right..” he mumbles in a rough voice as he grips your hips tightly, his muscles tensing with every thrust he makes. It doesn’t take long after that till you’re clenching around him, moaning loudly as he drives you to a much needed orgasm that fills you with ecstasy.

His breathing becomes heavy too, sweat dripping off his forehead as he continues pounding. "Good girl..." He whispers huskily before kissing you passionately again.

In one swift motion he takes both hands and grips your hips tightly, lifting you up and off of the couch so he can sit down instead and places you on top of his lap still keeping himself buried deep within you.

Once comfortable sat up against the couch, he starts to move inside of you once again, starting off slow before speeding up. His thrusts are rougher than before, his hips slamming into yours as he holds your tightly to keep you in upright on his lap.

His thrusts become more needy and sloppy, causing you to bounce back and forth across his lap as he grunts softly as he feels himself getting close. He leans forward, holding onto your waist for support as he begins moving faster and harder, driving his cock deeper and deeper inside you until he finally releasing all of his hot cum inside of you.

The two of you stay like that a for a little, his warm cock buried deep inside of you as you try to steady your breathing.

Once Yoongi sees your breathing start to slow and you begin to come down from your high, he shifts his position so his laid down on the couch and you’re on top of his chest.

Your eyes flutter close shortly after, and when they finally open back up in the morning, Yoongi is gone.

Leaving you alone with the gruesome realization of how big of a mistake you’ve made.

#bts fanfic #bts x female reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts reactions #bts x you #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n #bts stranger to lovers #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic recs #bts dad au #bts pregnancy

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withleeknow · 8 months

Note

hiya! I noticed you have your requests open and if you don't mind, could I please suggest: "for once... I was right" with "don't you dare walk away from me" for Lee Know - maybe angsty but I don't mind you just going with the flow.

thank you!

blue hour.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: exes au, exes to ...? 🫢, angst; minho's pov mostly, open ending kinda, some light cursing, unedited don't look at me word count: 2.2k (i got carried away a little bit) listen to 🎧: breathe again - sara bareilles

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

“this should be the last of your things.”

“thanks,” you say, rummaging through the box that minho hands over to you. everything that you left at his place throughout the entire time you were together; every sweatshirt of yours in his closet, every piece of jewelry on his nightstand, every bottle of nail polish that you kept in his bathroom reserved for nights where you two would pamper each other. they're all here, except for... “did you see my red scarf though? i can’t find it anywhere.”

“no, i checked,” he says. “this is everything.”

“hmm, okay.”

you hold the box between your arms, and minho can’t help but feel something twist painfully in his chest. it’s like you're holding your relationship, or what’s left of it anyway, ready to make your swift exit from his life. two years of love, all dumped into one stupid cardboard box.

you both stand there in silence for what feels like forever, just staring at each other, then at your surroundings, neither of you saying anything. minho knows why he hasn’t bid you a farewell goodnight yet; it’s because he doesn’t want this to end. even though it’s a sad occasion, the finale to your story, he still wants to the seconds to stretch on, for the minutes to last longer. after all, isn’t this the last time he'll ever see you?

why you haven’t left him to his devices and gone upstairs, he isn’t sure.

another moment passes. life goes on but it seems like you two are in your own bubble where nothing moves forward. everything stays rooted to the spot.

“do you want to go for a walk?” you ask after a while. the question surprises minho enough that he lets it show, and it makes you quickly tack on an excuse. “the weather is nice and i... i don’t want to be on my own.”

yes, he does want to go for a walk with you. anything to be with you even if it’s only for a moment longer.

“sure,” he says. “let’s go for a walk.”

“okay. i’ll leave this upstairs and get my jacket.”

he watches as you disappear inside your building, only to reemerge momentarily afterward, a wool jacket draped over your frame. he wishes you’d worn something lighter, just so he could have an excuse to wrap his arm around your shoulders if it gets colder.

you walk side by side around your neighborhood, a distance between your bodies that never used to be there before. it’s strange, of course it is. but minho supposes this is yours and his new reality now.

“how are the cats?” you ask.

“they’re okay. dori had a cold a couple weeks ago, but everything’s fine now,” he tells you. “they... they miss you.”

i miss you too - that's a thought that he doesn’t say out loud, only keeps it to himself because it feels too humiliating to utter those words to you.

“they’re cats. how can you tell?”

“i can always tell.” he shrugs. “they wait by the door when i’m already home. they sleep on your-... they sleep on the other side of the bed.”

if you notice his slip up, you don’t say anything. you purse your lips and nod somberly, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “they’ll forget about me soon enough,” you say.

minho glances at you. he wants to rebuke that statement, to argue with you over something as silly as whether or not his freaking cats will retain their memories of you in the future. but he just bites his tongue and swallows down the lump in his throat, humming to let you know that he’s heard what you said. not a hum of agreement, just one of acknowledgement.

“how’s work?” he asks. god, it’s just so fucking weird to be asking you these things. you know each other inside and out and yet, you’re here making small talk.

torn apart when all you two should be is together.

“it’s alright. still the same, kinda boring. you know there’s not a lot that can happen in that place in one month.”

yes, because it’s been a little over a month since you parted ways, since you moved back into your old apartment and left his home perpetually cold and empty. he can’t blame you for leaving when he was the one who agreed to break up. he can’t blame you for his heartache when he was the one who broke your heart first.

he didn’t mean to, but isn’t that what they all say?

“do you still want to leave?”

“sure,” you reply. “if i can find something better, i’d leave that place in a heartbeat. but for now, it’ll have to do. it used to be a bit more bearable though.”

“i hope you find something that makes you happier.”

“thanks.” you give him a smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. “how about you? how’s life?”

minho almost says the first thing that comes into mind. life is terrible without you. i think about you every single minute of every day but you're not here and it’s my own damn fault.

he could lie and come up with something much more palatable, because he doesn’t reckon his truth is something you’d like to hear right now.

but he doesn’t want to lie to you. in the time that you were together, minho never lied to you, not even once, not even over something stupid and insignificant. beside, he’s got a feeling that you would see through his bullshit anyway.

his answer ends up being a sad shrug, then, “it’s life. i’m hanging in there.”

your footsteps slow until you stop completely. this makes him stop too, turning around to look at you with his head tilted to one side, confused.

“it’s not like you to sound so defeated,” you comment.

“what?” he asks with a sigh. “it’s the truth.”

“it’s not the whole truth.”

“what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to be honest with me,” you tell him, your shoulders slumping just slightly. “i still care about you. i want to know you’re okay.”

minho takes a step closer until he’s right in front of you, the closest that you two have been all night. his body feels the warmth radiating from yours but he has to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching you.

“if you really want to know, i haven’t been myself since you left.”

guilt flashes in your eyes. it wasn’t his intention at all.

you bite your bottom lip, inhale a shaky breath, before you speak, “i’m sorry for leaving.”

“don’t apologize. i’m sorry for driving you away.”

then he watches the tears well up as you look at him. he’s been wondering this the whole night, how you seem so cavalier about it all, how you’re able to speak to him so casually as if you’re just old friends with some shared history, and not as though the wound is still fresh. he’s still bleeding and you’re acting like you’ve already healed.

but he sees it now. you’re just as sad as he is, just as miserable. the only difference is you’re better at hiding it, or maybe you’ve just had more time to get used to the way it hurts.

is this how you felt in the weeks, the months, leading up to your departure? every time he neglected you, prioritized something else over you, missed every date and overlooked every text message? every single instance where he was too busy for you?

he never wanted to break your heart, but alas, here you are.

he didn’t want you to go, and yet, when you felt like you couldn’t handle the loneliness anymore, he hadn’t stopped you from walking out the door. he gave up, and he gave up so easily.

nothing along the lines of ‘don’t you dare walk away from me’, no tearful argument, no explosive and definitive end to your relationship. minho just let your love slip away.

how must that have made you feel on top of everything that he did - or didn’t do - to you?

minho has been called every variation of ‘cold’ before. to everyone else, he’s callous, rough, intimidating and unapproachable. but to you, he’s kind, soft, gentle and loving. it never mattered what anyone thought of him, as long as you always knew that he loved you, that you saw him for who he was.

but toward the end, what if you saw him how the others did? what if you had deemed him cold too?

the mere thought makes him sick to his stomach.

you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “you don’t have to say that. it’s in the past now.”

fracture upon fracture upon fracture. minho doesn’t know how much more of this his heart can take.

his fingers twitch, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching for your hands. to his surprise, you let him.

your hands, so delicate in his, so warm.

“i should’ve fought harder for you,” he says, his voice so small that you barely catch the words at all.

but his eyes… he hopes you can see it in his eyes - the regret, the longing, the pain of losing you dimming the light of the stars he holds there.

giving his hands a light squeeze, you say, “and maybe i should’ve held on tighter instead of letting go.”

“i made you feel like you weren’t enough. it’s the worst thing i ever did to you. i understand why you left.”

you try to calm your breathing, because you really don’t feel like breaking down in front of him right now. you don’t say anything in response; what are you even supposed to say? you told him everything that you wanted to the night that you two broke up. everything that you tried to bottle up for months was laid on the table that night. you watched as he listened to you, watched as his heart broke alongside yours. that was it.

“i… i’m sorry,” minho stutters, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks scared. “i’m sorry. can’t we try again? i swear i won’t let you down again. i swear to you.”

“min…” the nickname slips out of habit and for a second there, minho thinks you would say yes. but then… “i know you’re sorry. i know we didn’t break things off because we fell out of love. but i don’t think you’re at a point in your life where i can be the most important thing right now. you may not mean to, but there’ll be things that you prioritize over me… and i’m not at a place in my life where i can settle for being on someone’s back burner either. the timing’s just off. it’s not your fault, life just got in the way.”

minho stares at you, the stars dying out one by one. the hurt is beyond what any word can describe but in a way, he understands. it fucking sucks, but he gets it. he has to accept it now.

he nods solemnly, tracing odd patterns on your palms. then he asks, quietly, “can i hold you? just for a while.”

please indulge me, he thinks. this is the last thing i’ll ever ask from you.

you don’t reply with words. instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. you two stay there in each other’s embrace for god knows how long. it could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours. you always lose track of time when you’re wrapped up together.

you hold him like he - tough and intimidating minho - is made of glass, and he holds you like he doesn’t ever want to let you go.

but he has to eventually.

you untangle yourself from him to find that he’s been crying. the tears on his cheeks catch the light from the street lamps, reflecting like crystals in the night. when you wipe them away, you tell him, “for once, i was right.”

“about what?” he sniffles.

“you really are a hopeless romantic,” you smile, trying to lighten the mood. as much as you can anyway. “i knew you’d prove me right one day.”

minho wants to scoff but his eyes are burning from the tears and his throat feels like it's closing up, so he lets you have this one. the last one, right?

maybe he is a romantic, and maybe it’s only for you. maybe it makes him a little hopeless.

the walk back to yours ends too quickly. but truth be told, even if you had walked together until the sun came up, it still wouldn’t have been long enough for him.

you both stand there, two heavy hearts looking at each other, looking for one another.

there’s no goodbye, only goodnight.

and you’re the one who says it first.

minho returns your sentiment with a choked up voice, a brush of his fingers against yours, and when you finally turn to walk up the steps, his gaze lingers on your retreating figure.

then he calls your name softly. “hey, uhm... i’ll let you know if the scarf turns up, okay?”

you turn back with a knowing smile. it’s still sad, but there’s some faith hidden there.

“i hope it will.”

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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sonotpattismith · 4 days

Text

I'll Never Cross The Line (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

don't touch, I'll never cross the line, so I pushed you down a million times / if I don't try, then it's my loss- an inch away from more than just friends. word count: 11.2k (SORRY) warnings: bartender!sukuna au, suggestive content, 18+ a/n: This wasn't a request, just an idea I had inspired by Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan. I HIGHLY recommend listening to it to set the vibes. Side note, if ANYONE can find or knows the OG artist for this drawing PLEASE lmk so I can credit them. It was the only art I found that fit the vibe I had in mind for bartender Sukuna 😮‍💨

You know, maybe retail wouldn’t be the worst option. Sure, you would definitely make significantly less without the steady stream of tips, but surely it would be better than dealing with drunken groups of men every weekend, right? You’ll grow a backbone-- you’ll tell them to quit being assholes. Of course, that was about fifty tables ago, and you knew you would never have the nerve to stand up for yourself, much less piss off a table bad enough to leave you a shitty tip. So, you forced a smile and said ‘of course, I’ll have the bar remake this for you’, and, no, you wouldn’t say anything about the disgusting little nickname that continued to roll off their tongues at you.

Gulping back the bile that rose in your throat at the feeling of their eyes on your ass as you walked away, you begrudgingly made your way to the bar. It had been almost a year since you had quit your cashier job in favor of something that could make you a little more money. It’s not that you hated your job, but you did wish you had a little more courage to stand up for yourself in instances like these that seemed to happen more and more as your hostess experience grew. In addition to having to suck up their complaints with your non-confrontational, fake smile, it didn’t help that the new bartender that was hired a few weeks back was even more terrifying than the belligerent men you were exchanging drinks for.

Sukuna, you recalled another hostess saying his name was, never really did anything to warrant such fear from you, or any of the other staff for that matter, but his aura was definitely no sunshines and roses. He stood at a staggering height as he maneuvered nonchalantly behind the bar, intimidatingly bulking muscles flexing under his typical black t-shirt as he shook a drink over his shoulder. His face was littered in mysteriously intricate black tattoos that were complimented by the black studs in his ears. The man was fairly quiet, save for the rare occassions you’d hear his booming laughter echo throughout the dimly lit restaurant when chatting up a customer. Other than the rare small talk with some random customers that happened to catch his interest, Sukuna kept to himself.

So, realistically, you shouldn’t be so scared to ask him to kindly remake these old fashions so that your table would stop bitching to you about how ‘watered down’ they were. Still, as his brooding figure grew closer and closer, you couldn’t stop the pounding in your chest. Shaky hands placed the three glasses onto the bar before him. His seemingly bored eyes looked down at the full glasses before darting back up to you with a raised brow. As if the dude couldn’t get more intimidating, you now noted with how close he was that his eyes were almost a deep ruby color. Who the fuck has red eyes?

It was a moment of silent staring at one another before he noted you were too scared to open your mouth and spit out whatever the problem was. Sukuna was used to the timid looks by now. As far as he was concerned, it came with the tatted up, quiet, and large territory. Most of the hosts and hostesses seemed to want to keep their distance from him, but he never took it personally.

“Problem with the drinks?”

“Um.. well, I’m sure you made them fine, but…” You chewed on your bottom lip apprehensively, trying to figure out how to not make it sound like you didn’t think he knew how to do his job. His marked up face remained neutral, towel drying a glass in the meantime as he awaited your explanation. You glanced over your shoulder to the offending table, cursing under your breath when you noted they were looking back at you and whispering to each other as if asking ‘what the fuck the hold up was for’. Quickly turning to face Sukuna again, you were unsure which party you were more intimidated by. He had followed your gaze already though, regarding the group of men with an unimpressed expression. Opening your mouth to explain before you pissed either off even more, the bartender cut you off.

“Those assholes giving you a hard time?”

Your mouth hung open like a fish for a moment, and a glimmer of hope sparked in you. Closing your mouth, you grasped the edge of the bar and desperately leaned closer to him.

“Yes, they’re total creeps, and they keep saying that you watered down their drinks, and I know you probably didn’t, but they’ve been bitching at me for like ten minutes. So if you could please just remake them, I would forever be in your debt.”

Sukuna stared down at you throughout your desperate, breathless explanation, and you could swear you saw just a glimmer of amusement behind those intense eyes. Without a word, he brought one of the abandoned glasses up to his lips to try it. Licking his lips boredly, he shook his head.

“Doesn’t taste watered down to me. Does it taste watered down to you?” In an instant, he was holding the drink up to your lips. Already flustered at the predicament you were in, you hesitantly took a small sip, cringing as the bitter liquid hit your tongue. The man before you hummed in question, setting the glass back down between you.

“Uh… I don’t really drink anything that doesn’t come with a little umbrella in it. So, maybe I’m not the best person to judge?”

A small, amused smile graced his lips, and, in just that second, the new bartender appeared far less intimidating than you previously believed him to be. Shaking his head, he grabbed the glasses and emptied them into the drains, moving to begin remaking the drinks. Usually, he would have sent the drinks right back to the table with a scoff, but it wasn’t too busy at the moment, what with everyone’s eyes glued to the game playing on the screen above him, and he had a feeling you would combust on the spot if you had to return the same, unaltered drinked to the group of degenerates that had been oogling you since you walked up to his bar.

“I’ll remake ‘em, but do something for me, will ya?”

You leaned forward, watching the muscles beneath his tight shirt flex with each calculated movement he made. In your head, you were practically floating through air knowing you were dodging the bitch-out you had been positive he was going to give you about bothering him with such a thing. You glanced up at him in question as he began pouring the mixed drink into the three, clean glasses he had set in front of you.

“Tell ‘em if they don’t stop acting like a bunch of lowlives, you’ll spit in the damn drinks next time.”

Your eyes widened at his proposal. His brow quirked up in challenge as he pushed the drinks forward. Nodding his chin toward the table, he urged you on.

“Go on, I wanna see their faces.”

“I-I can’t say that, Sukuna…” You refused, shaking your head with a nervous chuckle.

“Why not? You the type that lets assholes walk all over you?”

“Well,” You blushed furiously in embarrassment, wishing you could defend yourself against his accusations. He was right though; you should grow more of a backbone. The other hostesses, while they knew how to pick their battles, seemed to have no problem putting their foot down to disrespectful customers like these. You had been like that for as long as you could remember, not speaking up unless spoken to, and certainly not speaking up when you were being spoken against. “No, but I’m the type that at least wants a good tip if I’ve had to put up with borderline harassment for two hours.”

As if on cue, your table hollered at you with a low whistle to question what was taking you so long. Grasping the glasses between your fingers, his large hand quickly stopped you, taking the drinks from you. Your eyes widened in horror as he moved to step out from behind the bar, nodding to a customer that he’d be with them in a minute. From outside his usual post, the large man appeared that much taller as you came face to face with his broad chest.

“I’ll do it then.”

If there was one thing Sukuna couldn’t stand-- it was weak people. Even more so, the people that were so weak they prayed on the smaller people, the kind that were too nice to do anything about it. Sure, it pissed him off that you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but that was a problem for another time. At the present, there was a table of three drunk men calling the nice, sparkly eyed young waitress over like a dog. Not only that, they had already pissed him off by making him redo the perfectly fine drinks he’d finished not even five minutes ago.

He felt a pair of small hands grasp desperately at his bicep as he moved to deliver the fresh set of drinks. For a moment, you felt intimidated once again as he glared down at you. Without a word, you quickly released him, deciding the dock in your tip was a better fate than whatever was lurking behind that terrifying glare. Chewing anxiously at your fingernails, you watched with bated breath as Sukuna approached the table, slamming the drinks down in front of them. You almost wished you could hear what he was saying to them-- what with the way their faces morphed before the six-foot something beast standing threateningly in front of them. If you weren’t so fucking anxious, you would have laughed.

Before you knew it, he was making his way back behind the bar with that nonchalant expression back on his face. You stared incredulously up at him in question.

“Well?”

“Don’t worry, doll. They’re gonna be real nice to you the rest of the night.”

And they were. You weren’t sure what the bartender said to them, or threatened them with, but they were saying please, thank you, and calling you ma’am the rest of the night. Hell, they’d even still left you a decent tip. For the weeks that followed, you regarded the bartender a bit more comfortably-- greeting him with an appreciative smile each time he came in, making sure to wave goodbye to him on the nights you clocked out before him. He was still quiet and reserved, but would engage in the occasional small talk with you when you’d bounce over to him with a bar order.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after that incident that you found yourself actually requesting his… services again. There had been a few instances when you considered getting the big, scary bartender to come set your table straight for you, but the last thing you wanted to do was annoy him when he was busy enough as it was. This night though, the family before you damn near had you in tears by the time they were done with you. It started with an incorrect substitution, which, okay yeah, that fuck up was on you, but you apologized profusely and even offered to comp the entree for them. It all only went downhill after that though, and you had already been called incompetent, useless, and bimbo all in the span of an hour.

So, as you tentatively approached the bar that didn’t seem all too busy at the moment, you just felt like that much more of an idiot. Sukuna was speaking casually with a customer as he screwed off the top of a fresh beer bottle and handed it to him. He leaned against the counter, too engrossed in his conversation to notice the timid waitress anxiously awaiting him to finish talking. His ruby eyes drifted absentmindedly to where you were standing, doing a double take when he saw your flushed cheeks and wringing hands.

As he excused himself from the conversation and walked toward you, you silently set an already half-drank piña colada on the counter. He regarded it with a scoff, nodded up at you in question.

“What’s with the face? You look like someone killed your puppy.”

“Table three says that you made this a virgin.”

“And they only noticed after drinking damn near the entire thing? I can smell the rum from here. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

You glanced up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, praying he’d get the hint and go straighten them out for you so you didn’t have to deal with it the rest of the night. Catching on to your puppy-dog eyes, he quickly shook his head, pushing the drink toward you.

“Uh-uh,” He refused, and your shoulders dropped in disappointment. “I ain’t always gonna be here. You gotta grow a pair, doll.”

For a moment, you thought he was completely brushing you off when he walked back over to the wall of liquor behind him. After snatching a low level, glass bottle off the shelf along with a shot glass, he made his way back over to you and filled the tiny cup. He shoved it forward and jutted his chin at you. You stared incredulously at him.

“Go on, take it.” Sukuna urged, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning closer to you. His ruby eyes stared at you with an intensity that was almost making you forget how shitty that table was making your night. “Drink that, then I want you to waltz your pretty ass back over to those degenerates and tell them if they wanted a double then they should have asked you for one before you rung it up.”

“B-But… they--” You stumbled over your words, not anticipating this turn of events. Hell, you figured he would just have to glare over at them and that would scare them enough to stop fucking with you for the night. His brows rose challengingly at you.

“I ain’t makin’ anymore of your drinks till you do it.”

When you continued gaping at him apprehensively, he picked up the shot glass with one hand and grasped your chin with the other. A furious blush spread across your cheeks as you tipped your head back in tandem with his fingers’ urging push. The bitter liquid ran down your throat, burning all the way down to your stomach. You sputtered pathetically as he released his grip on your chin and placed the forgotten piña colada back in your hand with a devilish, yet encouraging smile. Nodding dumbly as you wiped the remaining alcohol from your chin, you turned back around to head toward the table, your fingers trembling with each step.

Sukuna felt his chest swell with pride as he watched the family’s face contort in shock at the timid waitress finally standing her ground. Cackling shortly in amusement, he shook his head and moved to clean your leftover shotglass.

You were absolutely buzzing as you walked cooly away from the stunned table, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the shot Sukuna had practically forced down your throat, or the thrill of having actually stuck up for yourself for once. With an excited beam, you bounced back over to the bar as soon as you had finished checking up on your other tables. Your smile slowly faded upon seeing that the man you were looking for wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s Sukuna?” You asked your coworker who had seemingly taken over as bartender for the time being. He appeared slightly flustered trying to figure out the mixes of certain drinks. Glancing up at you absentmindedly, he nodded toward the back, muttering something about a smoke break. Without thought, you made your way through the kitchen and out the back door.

The man in question was leaning against the brick wall, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he typed out a message on his phone. You suddenly wondered if you were bothering him by coming out here during his break. It was too late though, and he was already looking up from his phone at the sound of the door opening. Timidly, you slid out from the crack of the door, attempting to find that excitement that had led you out here in the first place.

“Well?” He questioned, removing the cigarette from his lips and puffing a cloud of smoke out the side of his mouth. You watched as he slid his phone into his back pocket and easily pushed himself off the wall to approach you. Something about his sudden, undivided attention made you forget your shy nature all together, that eager smile lighting up your face once again.

“You should’ve seen their faces!” You giggled energetically up at the man who somehow looked even scarier under the dim lighting of the back alley.

“I did see ‘em. I told you, assholes like that only shit on you so much cause you let ‘em.” Sukuna smiled amusedly at the excitement clearly ripping through you, ruffling a hand through your hair.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You mused, fixing your now frazzled hair before sighing and leaning back against the wall. “I’m definitely not getting a tip though.”

The man beside you scoffed before flicking his cigarette to the ground, smushing it carelessly under his heavy, black boot.

“What are you so damn worked up over your tips for anyway?” He questioned with an annoyed expression, recalling that being the excuse the last time you refused to confront your less-than respectful table.

You looked down at the ash left behind under his boot, shrugging nonchalantly before glancing back up at him with a shy smile.

“Oh, I’m saving up the tuition for a program I really wanna get into.” You explained, light pink dusting your cheeks. He hummed gravely beside you, regarding you silently. “Almost there, too. The sooner the better, y’know?”

It had been silent for a beat too long, and you were suddenly very aware of his intense, unwavering gaze on you. His head leaned against the brick wall as he stared down at you thoughtfully. Your head span a bit under the pressure, seemingly trapped within his shadow.

“What about you?” You squeaked out, desperate to break the unexplainable tension that had risen between you. He quirked a brow at you. “Y’know, why are you working here?”

You sighed in relief when his eyes drifted to the side pensively. It was almost impossible to think clearly with those intoxicating ruby eyes bearing into your soul as if he meant to rip it out and eat it.

“Told my brat nephew I’d stay outta trouble if he got into college.” Sukuna explained, casting a sidelong glance your way as he crossed his bulky arms over his chest. As you watched him now, you noted that the designs that defined his face and arms were also poking out the neckline of his shirt, and you wondered if he was completely covered in them. A small smirk tugged at his lips upon noticing your stare, but he didn’t mention it. “He’s a smart kid. Helluva’ lot smarter than I ever was, anyway.”

Warmth spread in your chest at the way he spoke so fondly of his nephew, even if it was in his own, guarded way. It made you want to learn more about him. The longer you spoke to him, the more you realized all those assumptions you’d held about him were quite possibly completely false. Maybe it was guilt that had you digging for more-- at least that’s what you would tell yourself.

“What kind of trouble were you getting yourself into, Sukuna?” You pressed teasingly, but the dark, guarded smile that fell upon his lips told you that you probably shouldn’t have asked. Leaning down till his face was a mere centimeters away from yours, he tutted.

“You don’t really wanna know the answer to that, doll.” He whispered challengingly at you, revelling in the way your cheeks lit up under his gaze. It wasn’t very nice of him, he knew that; you were that shy, bubbly type that never had a chip on your shoulder-- the kind that you couldn’t really joke around with cause you were too gullible to tell the difference. Sukuna just couldn’t help himself though, he found himself wanting to test you, to break you out of that shell. His eyes dropped to your lips, the ones that were currently being abused between your anxious teeth. Reaching up to cup your chin, his thumb gently pulled the irritated, plump skin to safety.

“I have a boyfriend.” You quickly stammered out, heart pounding against your chest. In the back of your mind, you knew you probably should have said something earlier, but there was just something so alluring about the mysterious aura that shrouded him.

He paused, an amused smile lighting up his face once again as he allowed his hand to drop from your chin as he backed up a respectable amount.

“‘Course ya’ do.” He laughed lightheartedly, running a hand through his pink hair that had become tousled with the wind. “Shoulda’ started with that. I wouldn’t have been so damn nice to ya’.”

A surprised expression struck your face, words getting stuck in your throat.

“C’mon, I’m just fucking with ya’.” He laughed again, shoving gently at your shoulder as he began walking back toward the door of the kitchen. Slowly, you began laughing too. He was sending you on a rollercoaster of emotions you could barely keep up with, but he did it so effortlessly it was as if it was second nature to him. “Geez, you were gonna let me get away with that one too, huh? Hope you don’t let your little boyfriend walk all over you like that.”

Despite the teasing undertones in his voice, he was seriously thinking about what you’d allow from a partner if you let him and all the lowlife customers throw you around like a ragdoll without complaint. Looking down at your shoes, you let that comment slide with a shake of your head. Quickly trying to collect your thoughts, you followed him as he opened the door for you.

“So, you’re trying to stay out of trouble.” You recounted, desperately trying to change the subject. He hummed in acknowledgement as he made his way back behind the bar, nodding to your coworker who appeared eternally grateful to put down the drink he was making and allowing Sukuna to take over. “Why bartending then?”

“Why? Think I could’ve made it in insurance?” He quipped with a knowing smirk, watching you shrink down, not wanting to answer his question for fear of offending him. The man shook his head, placing the now finished drink down on a napkin for the customer beside you. “No mornings, decent pay. Probably easier than whatever the hell they got you doing.”

You hummed in thought, watching him expertly pour a round of shots to place on one of the host’s awaiting trays. Sighing tiredly, you looked around at your tables, noting you’ve probably already been away for too long. Brushing the hair from your face, you grabbed your notepad from your apron to get back to work.

“You should let me train you back here.” Sukuna suddenly suggested, not looking away from his concentrated mixing to see your shocked expression. “Don’t gotta be running around all day, rack up helluva’ lot more tips too, ‘specially with a face like yours. Have the money for your school crap in no time.”

You blinked up at him when he finally turned to face you.

“The boss probably wants more help on the floor.” You explained dejectedly, despite the hope still hidden in your tone at the prospect.

Sukuna tutted dismissively with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ll talk to ‘em. Asshole’s scared of me anyway.”

He wasn’t sure why he was doing so much for you. After all, when he had fulfilled his end of his promise to Yuji and gotten himself a real job, he said he’d keep to himself. People pissed him off too much, and they usually had a bad impression of him anyway upon first meeting. It was easier, and less obnoxious, for him to allow their imaginations to run wild about what could be lurking under that quiet, brooding persona of his. Maybe it was that beam of sunshine personality that reminded him so much of his damn nephew, or maybe it was that ambition to keep on getting bitched at everyday just so you could make it through school. It was admirable, that type of determination.

Either way, the excited expression that washed over your face softened his hard-ass heart just a little. So, when you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck from across the counter, he let you, hoping damn well he knew what he was getting himself into.

For the coming weeks, you came in an extra shift each week to train with Sukuna behind the bar. He taught you the basic drinks all bartenders should know, the various terms that would likely be tossed your way that you’d be expected to recognize, the sanitary procedures. Surprisingly, the monstrous looking man was actually quite patient with you when you made seemingly stupid mistakes. Sure, he’d tease you endlessly over the time you asked him what kind of alcohol went into a shirley temple, but he certainly didn’t get pissed off as easily as you thought he would.

Even on your regular floor shifts, you found yourself gravitating toward the bar during your downtime under the guise of watching what he was doing. Truthfully though, you had become a bit attached to the way the brooding giant was clearly warming up to you. Despite his previous insistence on you learning to hold your own against bitchy customers, he was always the first to swoop in when a drunken customer’s voice got a little too loud for his liking. Sukuna made you drinks without your having to ask (non-alcoholic on shift, of course, though you wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck a shot or two into a couple of them after a particularly grueling shift).

You attempted to press further about whatever the hell it was that he was doing before becoming a bartender, but he was always quick to dismiss the question with a guarded joke or roll of his ruby eyes. While you were kind enough to change the subject each time, there were certain times when he seriously made you wonder about his past life. Today, for example, when you were working the floor and came to drop off an order with him with your usual, peppy smile.

“What’s with the pigtails? You in fucking grade school or something?” Sukuna questioned with a scoff, flicking one of the strands between his fingers. You grinned shyly, twirling your hair with sudden apprehension.

“No, they’re…” That typical red hue flooded your cheeks again, and he was beginning to find the color synonymous with you in his mind. He raised a questioned brow at you, and you looked down at the counter. “They’re supposed to get you more tips, y’know?”

Something about that prospect unsettled something deep within the pits of his stomach. Not hiding the way his top lip twitched up in disgust, he glanced down at the ticket you handed him before getting to work.

“And is it working?”

“So far, so good, captain!” You beamed with a mock salute, bending over the counter to whisper your night’s total thus far into his ear. He whistled lowly, shaking his head in disbelief. His lips parted to make a snide remark about the kinds of creeps that frequented this restaurant, but he was cut off when one of the aforementioned creeps hollered out to you something alluding to your captain comment from earlier. Sukuna couldn’t hear it though-- not over the sound of the distinct smack of the man’s hand on your ass. You quickly straightened your posture, cursing yourself for remaining bent over in such a way to invite such unwanted behavior.

Before you could turn your head to face the offender though, Sukuna’s intimidatingly large form was hopping over the bar with an ease you would have assumed impossible for someone so bulky. You yelped out in surprise when you were pushed back, watching in horror as the bartender grasped onto the back of the man’s shirt with vigor and dragged him out the front door.

“Sukuna--”

“Stay here.”

You had no choice but to comply with his barked order, because in an instant, a crowd had formed around the door to watch the incident with bated breath. Part of you wanted to push through the crowd to either see what the hell he was doing to the man, or to attempt to stop him before he got himself into trouble. A larger part of you, like most of the time when it came to this infuriatingly guarded man, wondered if you really even wanted to know. There wasn’t much time for you to ponder on this decision though, because just a short two minutes later, he was bursting through the front doors once again, shooing everyone back to their tables in aggravation.

Without so much as a word, he walked back behind the bar and took a shocked customer’s order. You awaited as he finished the interaction, staring at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. As if sensing he could no longer ignore you, he looked back up at you nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just leaped over the very counter he was standing behind like a bat out of hell.

“Asshole said he’s sorry, by the way.” Sukuna huffed out, clearing a few empty glasses from the bar. Looking down at his hands as he quietly gathered up cups, you noticed his red, split knuckles.

“Sukuna…” You began, but you weren’t sure where it was going. One part of you was touched that he would stand up for you in such a way without hesitation. While you would have preferred he hadn’t gone to such… extreme measures though, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found the whole thing, after the fact, extremely attractive. You shook your head quickly, dismissing those thoughts from your wandering mind. You were in a relationship, after all. In the midst of all the excitement though, you were beginning to draw your own, new, more informed conclusions about the bartender. “What was it that you said you did before this?”

He made you wait until he was on another smoke break to explain himself to you. You both sat, squatted on the ground of that back alley as he blew his smoke away from you, looking up at the flickering, fluorescent light above you two.

“You… you were a hitman?”

“C’mon, now you’re giving me too much credit, doll.”

Your mind whirled with this new information, but, to be fair, you had already come to a similar conclusion just an hour prior when you watched him drag a full grown man out of the restaurant with ease. Chuckling half-heartedly at your wide eyed expression, he continued with a sigh.

“I got paid to scare some dudes off. Didn’t kill nobody. Just… roughed ‘em up a little, y’know? Debt collectors, landlords, weirdo boyfriends. Paid good. Got Yuji through school.”

“Yuji?” You questioned, peering up at him curiously. Suddenly recalling your previous conversation about his reasons for being here, you continued. “Your nephew, right?”

He nodded firmly, a fond smile on his face.

“His folks didn’t have the money to send him to college. I didn’t want him to end up like me. So… whatever paid the bills, know what I’m saying, doll?” His eyes shifted to peer at you with a sidelong glance. Even without direct contact, his eyes sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded softly, a small smile gracing your own lips.

“You're kind of a badass uncle, Sukuna.” You teased, playfully bumping your shoulder into his. His boisterous laughter bounced off the walls of the dark alley before he shook his head dismissively. “Pretty cool if you ask me.”

“What? Your man boring or something?”

For a moment, your mind short-curcuited again in the way Sukuna was so good at doing. You pondered his question for a moment, shyly looking down at your feet.

“I mean, he’s no ass-beating vigilante if that’s what you’re wondering.” This made the man beside you chuckle at your perception of his past occupation.

“How long ‘ya been together?”

“Seven years.”

A low whistle echoed in your ears, and Sukuna snatched your left hand from its place on your knee to inspect your fingers.

“No ring?” He scoffed, setting your hand back down with a smirk. “You seem like the type.” The joking nature in his tone helped to disguise the fact that he felt someone had just taken a knife to his testicles. When you told him you had a boyfriend, he figured it was a short thing, something that would pass eventually, and maybe he’d get a chance to swoop in soon. Seven years though? He was starting to feel as though he may have been holding out hope for nothing.

“He’s finishing school first.” You defended deftly.

“Yeah? What’s he gettin’ his degree in? How to fumble 101?”

You couldn’t even try to suppress the amused smile that fought its way onto your lips. The truth was, your relationship hadn’t been the same for a while now, and, by a while, you meant a few years. The two of you had been highschool sweethearts. So, when you graduated, it almost just seemed right to continue the still budding relationship. It was fairly textbook, graduating together, moving into your first, modest apartment with one another, but things quickly became very routine.

It’s not that he was a bad guy per say, but sometimes you felt as though you were the only one trying to keep that spark alive. Granted, he was a busy man, what with his graduate program and internship taking up most of his time, but even on his free days, he was often either holed up in front of his computer or with his friends. The stress of all his responsibilities had definitely been catching up to him. When you tried to confront him about the way you barely even felt like friends anymore, let alone lovers, he was far too irritable to hold a conversation with about it.

Sukuna watched you get lost in thought, and he wondered if he’d crossed a line. Throwing on a casual smile, he bumped your shoulder as you had just done to him.

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is if you get tired of waitin’, I’m next in line, ya’ hear?” Deep down though, he wasn’t joking, and you knew it too. Despite this, you chuckled along with him and shook your head. You stopped him with a hand around his large wrist as he moved to stand.

“Thank you, by the way.” You said sincerely, being selfish in the way you allowed yourself to drink in the manner in which the dim lighting hit his dark features. He looked like he was crafted with a magical pick to cater specifically to each of your hidden desires. “For… roughing that guy up for me.”

For the first time, the smile that graced his lips wasn’t teasing, or sarcastic, it was genuine. It made him look far softer than his harsh appearance let on, and you wanted nothing more than for him to look at you with such care forever. Reaching up to grasp the back of your neck, you tensed a bit as he pulled you forward. His warm lips only pressed against your temple though, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or not. As he pulled away from you, he ruffled your hair.

“Anything for my favorite girl. Now take your hair out those damn pigtails.”

Safe to say, you never tried that little tip-grabbing trick again. Well, except, you attempted it just once more. It was a week when your shifts had been slower than normal, so you were a little desperate. All it took was one pointed glare from your favorite bartender, and you were making a beeline to the bathroom to take them out. After the last week though, you didn’t have to worry about it so much since you finally began taking over some shifts as a bartender with your newfound training.

Sukuna was right, the influx of tips you recieved as a bartender was incomparable to what you were pulling in on the floor. The only downside to this arrangement was that they never scheduled two bartenders at the same time, so you didn’t see your mentor as much as you once did. Maybe it was for the best though, because your sudden, schoolgirl crush on the man that you swore was just a workplace fantasy, was beginning to bleed into your own relationship.

You found yourself comparing your boyfriend to him each chance you got. It wasn’t fair- you knew that- comparing him to a man he didn’t even know existed. So, you tried to bring it up to him. Of course, you didn’t bring up your incredibly attractive, overwhelmingly cool, and strong coworker who had made it very clear that he was into you. You did ask him if he could be a little more attentive when you would tell him about your day, leaving out the way Sukuna would completely ignore customers until you finished whatever story you were babbling to him about your current tables, his chin propped up on his fist in feigned boredom. In addition, you pleaded with him to take himself a little less seriously than he had been since beginning his internship, not mentioning the way Sukuna let you paint his nails black in the breakroom after you joked about how it would complete the edge-lord look he had going on.

Each time though, you were shut down. Even more mortifyingly so, you had been branded as the ‘nagging girlfriend’, and although you tried desperately not to, you took it to heart. You were more hesitant with the manner in which you’d even ask what he wanted for dinner, worried he may snap back at you the way he’d done that night. It felt as though you were back in front of those difficult customers, too afraid to stand up for yourself and your expectations as you knew deep down you should have.

So, when you walked into your shift that day, tying your apron around your waist since you’d picked up to work on the floor tonight after a desperate call from your manager, your breath hitched when you saw that familiar presence behind the bar. Biting back a smile lest you appear too excited, you moved to punch in. From across the room, he caught your eye, his bicep flexing as he maneuvered the shaker aggressively over his shoulder, and his movements faltered for just a second. It was long enough for you to notice though. His blinding white canines shone under the light as he flashed you a wolfish grin.

Your heart skipped a beat as you went about your shift. It wasn’t until your third table that someone finally ordered a drink from the bar, and you had an excuse to make your way over. He was busy with another customer. The restaurant was fairly packed tonight, but you figured that much when your boss practically begged you to come in. Waiting patiently on the side, you noted with a fond smile that he still had that chipped, black polish on his nails from when you painted them about a week or two ago.

“If it isn’t my replacement.” Sukuna tutted as he finally made his way over to you. He slid a shirley temple over to you, something he had begun doing every shift since your little hiccup behind the bar. Unable to hold back your grin, you popped the cherry still floating at the top between your teeth, humming in satisfaction. Leaning against the counter, he tilted his head at you in amusement. You didn’t miss the way he dragged his eyes down your face appreciatively. “Heard you’re becoming a fan favorite, doll. How’s that tuition fund coming along?”

“Piggy bank’s almost full, Kuna-Kuna.” You informed with a beam that had his hard heart melting. If he wasn’t so engrossed in the way you smiled so sweetly at him, he would have been just a tad bit mortified that anyone else would hear that nickname you had given him. Despite that, he didn’t have the heart to tell you to quit calling him that in front of people. “Even submitted my application last week.”

“Yeah?” He smiled proudly at you, drinking in the way you were looking at him like he put the stars in the sky. You nodded softly, taking a sip from your drink in hopes it would cool the heat rising in you. Leaning in closer to you as if he had a secret, he winked at you. “Shoulda told me earlier. Would’ve made it a dirty shirley.”

You would be lying if you said your shifts didn’t flow a lot more smoothly when Sukuna was there with you. Whether it be the pick-me-up drinks mid shift, or the teasing banter each time you set down another ticket for him, he brought a blinding excitement to your days that were noticeably darker when he wasn’t around. Then again, he couldn’t stop all misfortunes from coming your way.

You waved a quick goodbye to him and the remaining host as you punched out of your shift, a fond smile seemingly stuck permanently on your face as you got into your car that night. As you turned the key in the ignition, the car sputtered pathetically before turning back off. With furrowed brows, you attempted it again, only to get a shorter, more concerning response from your barely-hanging-on vehicle. Groaning softly, you banged your head gently against the wheel. A frightened gasp escaped you as you unintentionally honked the horn. Cursing under your breath, you sent a quick text to your boyfriend explaining your predicament.

Talk about timing :( You okay to call an Uber? I’ve got an exam tomorrow I’m in the middle of cramming for.

A small lump began to form in the back of your throat as you read his message. Realistically speaking, there was no problem with you calling an Uber to come get you, but, in combination with all the rest of the shortcomings that have been popping up in your lackluster relationship as of late, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the dread of it all. You thought about what your future might look like, and what you wanted so desperately for it to look like. A tear slipped down your cheek, and you suddenly felt as though you were mourning the loss of how your highschool self envisioned yourself-- your relationship, your self worth.

A sharp rap on your window had you gasping out in between your quiet sobs. Looking up, Sukuna’s large head was peering in through your window, his eyebrows pulled together in a way that made him look absolutely terrifying. You shook your head at him, waving dimissively as you tried to quickly wipe your tear-stained cheeks. His expression deadpanned, and he only knocked again, more purposefully this time. Sighing in exasperation, you hesitantly rolled your window down.

“The fuck are you crying for?” He asked before the window was even all the way down. Your abrupt change in mood almost gave him whiplash, seeing as you were all sunshines and roses as you closed the restaurant alongside him just a few minutes ago.

“Nothing--”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me.”

You dropped your head into your hands, another sob forcing its way up and out your throat. Sniffling pathetically, you mumbled into your palms.

“My car won’t start.”

It was silent for a beat as he assessed the situation with an exasperated expression. He wasn’t buying it.

“Your car won’t start…” he questioned as if asking if he was following along correctly, to which you nodded, still unable to face him. “So you’re boo-hoo crying in the parking lot?” You hummed in agreement to his words, not caring how pathetic it made you sound. Anything as long as you didn’t have to explain the shambles your relationship was currently in. “Your man can come get you though, right? Not the end of the world, doll.”

Your silence made him lean in closer, prying your hands from your soaked face. Now forced to face him, there was a look of defeat on your broken face that made him want to beat your boyfriend’s ass to a stone-cold pulp.

“He’s… he’s got a big test tomorrow.”

He tried to bite back his irritation at your poor attempt at an excuse, but he couldn’t help the way he sucked his teeth and took an extentive breath out to calm his temper. Casting a forlorn glance to the side before taking one more look at your once sweet face littered with pain, he reached in to unlock the door and then swung it open.

“C’mon,” Sukuna urged as gently as he could, grabbing your arm to help you out of the car as you stared at him in question. “I’m taking your sorry ass home.”

“No, Sukuna, I’m ordering an Uber. It’s--”

“Like hell you are, it’s almost midnight. Let’s go.”

Before you could protest further, your car door was being shut behind you, and he was walking you toward his bike. Turning toward you, he wiped at your tears haphazardly before placing his bulky helmet over your head.

“What about you?” You questioned with a still shaking voice as you watched him mount the bike with no protection.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’m already dumb as rocks. Gotta protect that brain of yours so you can get into your program, yeah?”

You were grateful for the heavy contraption covering your head so he didn’t see the small smile that sliced through your previously pitiful expression. He nodded for you to get on. Grasping his shoulder for support, you carefully slid on behind him. The warmth of his back set you ablaze as your body slid forward to meet his. You nervously wiped the palms of your hands on your jeans as he started the motorcycle, the roar of the machine rumbling in your sensitive ears.

His head tilted back to look at you with a raised brow. Pink hair rippled gracefully in the wind in the most picturesque way as he smirked at you.

“You gonna hang on, or should I let you fly off as soon as this thing takes off?”

With a thick gulp, you leaned forward in an attempt to grasp at his hips in a way that could ensure you maintain your composure throughout the ride. He tutted softly, grabbing your wrists and wrapping your arms firmly around his waist, shoving your cold hands into the pockets of his jacket. As he took off, the rumbling of the bike beneath you did nothing to help your flustered state. Against your frigid fingers, you could feel the taut muscles of his prominent abs flexing as he leaned forward on the motorcycle.

It took everything in him to concentrate on the road before him. As he felt your small fingers timidly exploring the expanse of his abdomen in a way you surely thought was subtle, the task at hand was proving increasingly difficult. And yeah, maybe he did speed up just a little bit to feel you tighten your arms around him. God, he could have moaned at the feeling. Some primal urge deep within him wanted to pull this bike over and tell you that you didn’t have to act so shy, he’d let you touch him anywhere your pretty little heart desired. What he’d give to have you explore all of him with those small, timid hands of yours.

Sukuna had to clear his throat as he rolled up in front of your apartment complex. For a minute, you both just sat there, allowing each other to be so close for just a minute longer. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding against his back. In the end, you were the first to pull away, wrangling the heavy helmet off your head. As you did this, he maneuvered off the bike with ease, only to grasp his large hands over your waist to lift you off and onto the ground. Unnecessary, but a little showing off never hurt anyone, right?

“Thank you, Kuna, really.” You mumbled as he took the helmet from your hands and settled it on the bike. You were peering up at him through your lashes, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were begging him to kiss you. Hell, maybe you were, but he knew deep down that’s not a line you would be able to live with yourself if you crossed. Still, you reached up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. It took everything in him not to lift you up and just take you home with him right then. So, he swallowed the feeling of sand running down his throat and opted to press a soft, safe kiss against your temple.

As you reluctantly pulled away from the now overly familiar and comforting scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smoke that clung to him, you smiled softly as you began walking away. You turned upon hearing footsteps behind you, following you.

“What… are you doing?”

“I’m taking you up to your apartment, the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” He stated obviously.

“Oh, you shouldn’t…” Your words drifted upon seeing the challenging look that settled over his face. Picking anxiously at your fingernails, you found it within you to continue. “It’s just-- I don’t want my…”

“You don’t want your boyfriend to see that someone else took his girlfriend home since he apparently had something better to do?” Sukuna guessed, that familiar irritation creeping up in his chest, and he had to tell himself to cool it. You could only nod dumbly. “Yeah? Well I ain’t fucking scared of him. I’m walking ya’ to your damn apartment.”

With the finality in his tone, you had no choice but to allow him to trail menacingly behind you all the way up to your apartment door. The blood was rushing in your ears with anxiety, and you hoped he couldn’t see the way your hands shook as you unlocked the door. Sukuna stood in the hallway outside, but that didn’t prevent your boyfriend, who was sat on the edge of the couch alongside his friends with a card game sprawled out on the table, from seeing the intimidatingly large, tatted up man who’d just seemingly dropped off his girlfriend through the crack of the door. His brows furrowed at the sight, his imagination running a mile a minute, and he slowly stood up from the couch.

God, in all his years being paid to rock the shit out of some seriously sketch people, Sukuna had never wanted to knock the teeth out of someone so badly. The dude was approaching the door as if he was really going to try something, and the bartender almost actually laughed at the thought of him trying. Before he had the chance to get questioned by your pussy-ass looking boyfriend, you had quickly shut the door in his face after muttering one last thank you.

You sighed shakily as you locked the apartment door. Without the looming threat of Sukuna causing a scene about what had transpired that night, you were able to take in the sight before you. His friends, the card game, the drinks surrounding them. Your brows furrowed.

“Who was that guy?” You heard your boyfriend question skeptically, but you were shaking your head in disbelief. Ignoring him all together, along with his friends that waved to you in greeting, you pushed past him to get to your shared room. “Hey!”

You attempted to shut the door in his face, just wanting to be alone for the night to process that your boyfriend just ditched you to play cards with his friends, and, worst of all, he lied to you about it. The door quietly shut behind him as he slid into the room, that suspicious look still everpresent on his face as if you were the guilty one here.

“Babe, who was that guy out there?” He asked again. His voice was level, but you could hear those undertones of fierce defensiveness-- the kind you hated feeding into. You wanted to brush him off, tell him he was just a coworker of yours, and that he should get back to his friends who were waiting for him. In the back of your head though, you could hear Sukuna’s gravelly voice.

Assholes like that only shit on you so much cause you let ‘em

That night, for the first time in your seven year relationship, you let your boyfriend have it. You stood up for yourself, and you confronted him about lying to you, about not being decent enough to come make sure his girlfriend was okay when her car broke down in the middle of the night, about how you’ve turned into someone he only seems to be annoyed with. It was the first and last time you had ever stood up to him. When you came to work the next afternoon, you were almost an hour late, but you had two duffel bags worth of your things in the back of your Uber.

As you pushed in through the double doors, you kept your head down as you made your way to the break room to drop off your bags. You heard your name being called, but you couldn’t face him right now. It was too embarrassing, the thought of having to tell him it didn’t work out after defending him for months. Your feigned ignorance to the call of your name didn’t stop Sukuna from bursting into the break room just seconds after you, watching incredulously as you hauled in two big ass bags.

“What the hell happened to you?” He questioned, grabbing the two, large duffel bags from your shoulders and setting them carefully on the ground. “Fuck, I almost clocked out and went over there myself.”

His irritated rambling only ceased upon seeing your swollen eyes and red cheeks. You didn’t have to say it, he already knew. Already feeling guilty for having raised his voice to you in such a state, he pulled you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms tightly around your small frame. Sobs wracked your body, but he thought maybe if he held you tight enough he could squeeze all the tears out for you. Your arms hung limply at your sides as you pressed your face pathetically into his chest once more before pushing him away.

You shook your head, frantically wiping your face and attempting to fix your hair. His red eyes were still intently on you, waiting with bated breath for you to either tell him what happened or snap, whichever came first. Slowly sinking down into one of the chairs, you brought your knees up to your chest.

“You were right, Kuna.” You cried out with a bitter smile, unable to look him in the eyes. “He only walked all over me ‘cause I was letting him. I’m not gonna let him do it again, alright?”

“The fuck did that asshole do to ya’?” Sukuna snatched a chair out to face you before settling down with his chest pressed against the back of it. Your eyes drifted to the side, and he felt his jaw click with how roughly he was grinding his teeth together. “Huh?”

“He…” Your bottom lip trembled again, but this time it was out of sheer embarrassment from what you were about to tell him. “He asked me if you were the reason I had been questioning our relationship.”

That caught the usually quick-witted bartender off guard. He didn’t even know that you had been questioning your relationship. Had he been the reason for it? He couldn’t help the thoughts that began racing in his mind.

“What’d you tell him?” It was all he could muster out, watching you with bated breath.

“I told him to fuck off.” Through your blubbering tears, you managed to laugh, and Sukuna felt himself smiling along with you, a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest at the thought of the once timid girl finally growing a backbone. “Just like you taught me, Kuna.”

Abandoning any thoughts of fleeting hope that maybe your possible attraction to him was the straw that broke the back of your already straining relationship, he reached out to ruffle your hair.

“That’s my girl.” He quipped, now working to smooth your hair down for you. His teeth caught on his bottom lip as he tried to suppress his next question, but he just had to know. “Did he cry?”

“Sukuna!” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his eager question. Sniffling back your tears, you shoved at his hands and fixed your face before standing up. “Maybe.”

A victorious, villainous sounding cackle fell from his lips, and he high fived you.

“Fuck yeah, he did. C’mon, heartbreaker, I’ll make you a dirty shirley to get you through your shift.”

It was definitely one of the harder shifts that you had had to brave through, but Sukuna was there each time you needed to take a breather. Hell, he had even gone as far as to run most of your drinks for you despite your boss’s demands for him to stay behind the damn bar for once. It only took one pointed glare from the bartender to straighten that situation out quicker than it had started.

Still, no matter how many marashcino cherries he snuck over to you during your shift, or however many time he pulled you out back for a smoke break when he could tell you were about to lose it, the end of your shift was drawing near, and you were about to be faced with the reality of your decision once again.

“Your car still acting up, doll? Need a ride?” Sukuna’s cool voice questioned from the bar as you got done wiping down your final table. You sighed, turning to lean against the now squeaky clean table.

“No, I’m gonna stay with a friend. She lives kind of far out, so I’ll just take an Uber and call a mechanic to come take a look at that piece of crap in the morning.”

“How far out? You ain’t on the schedule for tomorrow?” He asked, walking back with you to pick up your bags from the break room. You watched him tuck his helmet under his arm in addition to your hefty bags.

“About an hour or so. It’s alright, I just have to leave a little earlier than usual. Living the dream, am I right?”

You heard his tut softly, and his steps out of the break room halted.

“That’s bullshit, come stay with me.”

In an instant, your face flushed at the implications, and you were quickly shaking your head at him with a scoff. Sure, you would be lying if you said you weren’t extremely attracted to the man. Getting yourself into a situation that sticky only a day after exiting a seven year relationship though? A situation in which you’d be depending on said attractive man for the roof over your head? That sounded like a recipe for disaster.

“C’mon, I’ve got an efficiency that the brat uses when he comes to visit. Nice little kitchen and everything. You’d have your own space. It’s just sitting there, don’t be so proud.”

It wasn’t your pride getting in the way though. It was the fact that this man had made it very clear on multiple occasions that he was ‘next in line’ should your relationship fail. You weren’t sure accepting a room with those kinds of conditions was the best idea for you at this point.

“Sukuna…” You murmured, kicking a scuff of dirt off your shoe just so you didn’t have to look at him as you explained yourself. “I… I need some time. Thank you for being so nice to me and all, but… I’m just not ready for--”

“Jesus, I’m not tryna cash in your ass for rent, doll.” He explained, and there was almost an underlying tone of offense in his usually cool voice. Although, even he had to admit that he couldn’t blame you for assuming such a thing-- what with the way he flirted relentlessly with you, but that was more so just to be able to see the way you blushed for him. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Look, you can take the efficiency, and you won’t even have to see my dumbass if you don’t wanna. Separate door and everything. I’m not asking you for anything in return, just wanna make your life a little easier till you get back on your feet.”

It did sound like a romantic enough offer, you thought as you chewed on your lip pensively. Additionally, it wasn’t as if he’d ever advanced on you inappropriately, and he always turned it down a notch if he noticed his teasing was making you uncomfortable. After all, you could always reach out to your friend should things go south.

“No conditions?” You questioned apprehensively.

“Eh, might make you take some of my weekend shifts to make it up to me.”

An amused smile fought its way onto your lips despite yourself. You were disciplined enough to live with your extremely attractive, fit, and funny co-worker right after a bad breakup, right?

Wrong. You were not disciplined enough. It had been three days since you moved into the small efficiency at Sukuna’s modest home. You figured his little gig as a makeshift hitman must have paid him a decent amount to be able to afford a house on his own, but you weren’t gonna ask any questions. The space he offered you was neat, neater than you’d expected when he said his teenage nephew had been living there. There were photos hung up in the tiny living area, and you were shocked to see what looked to be a spitting image of the bartender, save for all the piercings and tattoos of course, beaming brightly at the camera alongside his larger, more brooding counterpart.

Sukuna meant it when he said you didn’t have to see him if you didn’t want to. You hadn’t heard so much as a peep from your neighbor except for when he’d offered to carpool with you to work. Even then, he would wait outside the front door for you, never once stepping into your space. You were grateful, you seriously, seriously were. Still, the thought of him being just a wall away from you every night was driving you a little bit crazy, and you were beginning to feel a bit like a freeloader.

So, that Sunday morning when the restaurant was closed, you got yourself up bright and early and began cooking. Waffles, eggs, bacon-- the whole nine yards. Once you were satisfied with your spread, you packed everything up and tried to appear confident when you knocked on his door. You waited. One minute. Two minutes. Was he even home? You peered out and saw his bike still parked out front, a large, black tarp covering it. When you turned back to the door, it was abruptly swinging open.

Oh, right. Sukuna mentioned something about taking the bartending position to get out of working mornings. You were reminded of that little fact as you took in his dishevled appearance. His pink hair was messily strewn out in every which direction, complemented by the way his eyes squinted down at you to adjust to the light. The only thing he currently donned was a pair of baggy, black sweatpants that clung dangerously low on his hips. Your previous assumption had been correct; those intricate little tattoos did cover his entire body, most notable being the two that accentuated his already defined v-line.

“Oh… I’m sorry. I just--”

“That for me?” He asked brashly, pointing lazily to the three tupperware containers stacked haphazardly in your arms. You could only nod, afraid of making more of an idiot of yourself than you already had. A rough grunt slipped past his lips, and he opened the door to let you in. “You coming in or what?”

You really had just intended to drop off breakfast for him, say your thanks, and leave, but this worked too. His space was neat, a little lifeless in your opinion, but what could you expect from a guy like Sukuna? Unlike the little efficiency you had settled into, there weren’t any photos hung around anywhere for you to pry into. As he set the tupperware down on the table and moved to grab some plates, you looked around his tidy kitchen. Hung on the fridge with a plain looking magnet was a letter of acceptance into a local university. Upon closer inspection, you noticed his nephew’s name on it. Jesus, he was making it really hard to not swoon.

As you two shared your homemade breakfast on his small dining nook, he asked you about how you had been holding up, and you were honest with him. It was definitely an adjustment, but you felt as though you had been mentally checked out of the relationship for some time, and maybe that was why you felt a little more put together about it than you probably should have. Despite this, you told him how the hardest part was not having that person around that you always felt comfortable telling everything to. You couldn’t gauge what the look on his face meant upon hearing this confession.

“You know… I got an email on Friday.” You began, deciding you needed something to break the sudden tension between you two. He hummed in question as he moved to clean your now dirty dishes in the sink. Your fingertips grasped the counter top in anticipation, and part of you questioned if he would be as excited as you were. “I got into the program.”

The dish he was holding dropped into the sink with a concerning clatter, and he spun around to meet your gaze.

“No shit?” Sukuna gasped in disbelief, suddenly appearing more awake and alert than he had in the past hour. Grasping at your shoulders, he smiled excitedly down at you. “No shit! Why am I just hearing the damn news now?”

You squealed in surprise as he lifted you up into a bear hug. His bare skin was warm against yours, and you took advantage of the proximity to trace your finger curiously down the tattoo on his neck. With a breathless laugh, you hoped he couldn’t feel your face heating up.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly in the celebrating mood three days ago if you can recall, Kuna…”

“Right, right,” He groaned, setting you down atop the counter so he could look you in the eye. His gaze was glimmering with pride, and you found yourself once again seriously questioning what dimension this man had fallen from. “So, what now? You gonna quit your job? Is it close by?”

“No, it’s local. I’ll probably see if they can keep me on part-time at least. Can’t leave my favorite bartender behind, can I?” Your voice was soft as you stared down at your lap shyly. With your gaze turned away from him, you missed the way his eyes softened at your words.

Throughout the past few days, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to pound on your door to check in on you, but he knew these next few weeks would be sensitive for you. He didn’t want to cross that line-- make you regret agreeing to stay with him. Your story stuck in his mind every night though, what your asshole boyfriend had asked you just before you left him. As you sat in front of him, eyes shyly cast down and talking so sweet to him in that way you were so good at, he felt his resolve slipping.

“Can I ask you a question, doll? And you don’t gotta answer it if you don’t wanna.”

This made you peer up at him in question, not anticipating how close he’d be when you did. You nodded with an inviting smile, almost scared of what he was about to say.

“That asshole… he asked if you were questioning things with him ‘cause of me.” Sukuna began, and he watched the knowing look fall upon your face. It was too late now though. Leaning a hand against the counter, he tilted his head sincerely at you. “Was it? ‘Cause of me?”

The thinning barrier between friends and more was disappearing right before your eyes, and you found it increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away from his. They captured you with a fierce presence, begging you to prove him right, to let him know it wasn’t just him. Your entire mind was being clouded by Sukuna-- his eyes, his scent, his aggressive dominance that demanded to be felt. So, against your better judgement, you inched forward.

“If I said it was… what would you do?” You questioned, your voice just above a whisper. His heart leaped into his throat. Something switched in his expression in just a second, and it almost darkened as he regarded you intensely. The hand he held beside you twitched, threatening to graze against the plush flesh of your thighs that spilled out from your pajama shorts.

“Nothing unless you asked me to.”

“And… if I asked you to?

You felt it then, his rough fingers creeping up to grip your thigh. A small gasp escaped your lips, and he watched the motion with a smirk. Leaning in until his lips brushed dangerously against the shell of your ear, he whispered lowly.

“I’d reach places in you that lowlife didn’t even know existed.”

No matter how badly you wanted to reach out to grasp at his tattooed shoulder for support, your hands seemed to remain superglued to your lap. Still, as your chest heaved softly, you could feel his firm pecs graze against your breasts teasingly. The proximity, the teasing, the anticipation-- it was damn near making you lightheaded.

“Sukuna?” You whispered, and he hummed in question. “Please… please, touch me.”

As his hand dove into the front of your frilly shorts, and you gasped so sweetly into his ear, Sukuna made a mental note to thank his brat ass nephew for telling him to stay out of trouble while he was gone.

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x oc #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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sleepynoons · 1 month

Text

In Another Life

You get unjustly kidnapped by Bonten because your ex-boss fucking sucks. Ran saves your ass but leaves Sanzu with the responsibility of watching over you. All you want is to be alive and happy with your child. But does Sanzu even care about protecting you? And if he does, do you… care about him? What happens if he wants to become a part of your family?

Will you let him into your life?

bonten!sanzu x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~9,600

cw: manga spoilers, single parenting/single parent!au, explicit language, suggestive content, depictions of violence/pain/injuries/drugs/alcohol/etc., mentions of domestic violence + abusive relationships, hurt/no comfort

notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings. cross-posted on ao3. this story means a lot to me, i hope you'll give it a try.

edit: tysm for 100+ notes y'all are making me cry, really appreciate all the support <333

SANZU LEAVES the bakery with a few bags of dorayaki tucked underneath his arm. He’s running ahead of schedule – he still has half an hour before Mikey expects him –, so he meanders through Tokyo's network of dark alleyways and hidden shortcuts.

He walks and walks and walks, letting his feet guide him wherever. He’s been working in the streets for long enough. He’ll know how to find his way back to Bonten’s headquarters no matter where he ends up.

He makes a left turn, a sharp right, two more left turns, until he hears the buzz of a nearby shopping district. He follows the sounds of people hustling about and finds a narrow path between two shops to slip through. He can see people walking by at the end of the path, but he doesn’t enter the busy streets, opting to observe and watch the crowds fluctuate instead.

And then he sees you. Clad in a flowing beige dress with a white t-shirt layered underneath, you’re staring off into the distance as the wind ruffles your hair. You’re laughing at something or someone, but as he tries to get a better look at you, a rush of shoppers streams past and blocks his view.

He slips a cigarette out of his back pocket, lights it, and breathes out a puff of smoke as he chuckles. When he glances back into the crowd, you’re gone. He turns around to retrace his haphazard path. Mikey likes his dorayaki warm.

–

Two weeks later, when Mikey’s supply of dorayaki has dwindled to a dangerous low, Sanzu returns to the usual bakery, accompanied by Ran this time.

The two are close colleagues, though Sanzu thinks “close” is too intimate of a description. Sanzu likes to keep people at arm's length away. Close enough to build cohesive, mechanical teamwork but not enough to skip pleasantries and create personal connections.

Sanzu is outside of the bakery, scrolling through his phone and tapping his foot as he waits for Ran. The latter always liked taking his time, and Sanzu’s patience was wearing thin. Luckily, his colleague walks out a few moments later. Sanzu is about to shoot a snarky comment when he notices that Ran is conversing with a woman.

It takes a few moments for Sanzu to remember who you are.

“Sanzu!” Ran calls happily. “Can you unlock the car?” Sanzu rolls his eyes before he slips the car keys out of his pocket. “Oh, and let me introduce you!”

You bow, offering your name and a few compliments to Sanzu’s suit. You wear a neat smile as you wait for his response. Sanzu, too, says his name and a brief “thank you,” all while avoiding eye contact.

Ran continues, “She goes to this shop regularly, as well. I wonder why we’ve never met before.” You nod in agreement before dismissing yourself, bidding the two a good rest of their day.

As Sanzu and Ran drive back to headquarters, Ran asks, “You know her?”

Sanzu groans before curtly responding, “No.” Ran hums, a smirk tugging at his lips, but does not press his pink-haired colleague any further.

It’s not like Sanzu was lying. He didn’t know you. He just saw you sometimes, and neither of you bothered to say anything when you did see each other.

However, after this interaction, you and Sanzu begin to cross paths frequently, always at the bakery every other Saturday at 8 AM sharp, when the dorayaki are almost out of the oven and the toasted pastries are being shelved.

Sanzu notices the pastries, such as the mango croissants and berry-filled sandwiches, because he always lets you order at the counter first. You always buy a lot. You carry at least two bags of food home, yet you never struggle with the weight.

He also notes the smooth lilt of your voice when you speak with the bakers. You seem to know the staff well, and he finds himself entranced by the highs and lows of your giggles, sassy retorts, and sincere praise.

You speak in the same sweet manner with him, which initially surprised him until he remembered that you aren’t aware of his occupation or lack of a moral compass. Although your exchanges are limited to questions of “How are you?” and “Any plans for today?”, he finds himself relaxing and basking in the casual nature of your exchanges. Usually, he replies to strangers with one or two words, but he comes to appreciate your lighthearted aura and matches the flow of the conversation.

And when the two of you part ways, you always say goodbye with a full smile, and with a few waves of your hand, you cross the street and disappear from his line of vision.

But Sanzu is not a consistent man (aside from his unwavering loyalty to Mikey), and his routines are often disrupted or forgotten. So when Sanzu finds you in one of Bonten’s warehouses, he mentally chides himself for being caught off guard. He switches gears and replaces his agitation with doubt and suspicion.

“What’s going on?” Sanzu asks Takeomi. His older brother huffs out a puff of smoke while handing him a thin laminated folder of photos and information.

As Sanzu flips through the documents, Takeomi speaks. “A client tried to rat us out. We captured a few of his employees to see if anyone knows anything.”

Sanzu hands the folder back before redirecting his gaze onto the kneeling employees. There are five in total – some of them shivering from the cold, others frightened still, all duct taped across the mouth. He narrows in on you for a second, observing the creases in your forehead and the tears that slip down your cheeks. His hands twitch.

“Did we get anything yet?” Sanzu asks again.

“Nothing so far. It’s a shame that we’ll have to kill them off,” Takeomi replies, though there’s very little remorse in his voice. It can’t be helped, Sanzu thinks, but he feels disappointment course through his body. He ponders on a compromise but drops the idea. Work is work, and you are no exception to Bonten’s procedures. All witnesses had to be killed, and Sanzu is not one to disobey Mikey’s orders.

But not all of the executives are as stringent as he is. Ran and Rindou saunter into the warehouse, and of course, the older Haitani bursts out with a joyful greeting when he sees you. You startle at his presence, and Sanzu can tell your shock and disbelief when your eyes widen. If your mouth wasn’t forced shut, your jaw would’ve dropped open as well.

Ran walks over to you and begins to untie the ropes binding your wrists, knees, and ankles.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Takeomi yells. A few ashes from his cigarette drift to the floor.

“Can we keep this one?” Ran yells back. “I like them!” Takeomi only scowls, peering at Mikey’s back. After waiting for a few moments, Bonten’s leader doesn’t react, and Ran smiles gleefully. Sanzu releases a breath he doesn’t remember holding. He reminds himself to maintain professionalism again. However, the more he stares at you panting and heaving, the more overcome he is by an itching need to take you somewhere far, far away.

“No.” He blurts without thinking, surprising Ran and Takeomi.

“Uh, sorry?”

“No, we’re not keeping her.” Ran knows not to argue against Bonten’s No. 2, but he huffs and crosses his arms, a scowl on his face.

“Then what else can we do to make sure she doesn’t say anything if we can’t kill her?” Takeomi asks. Sanzu doesn’t have an answer.

After discussing with Mikey, Takeomi, and Kakucho, Sanzu is tasked with the responsibility of checking in on you every two days. You aren’t opposed to the idea – not that you have a choice –, and you are escorted home by Sanzu soon after being notified of your release.

During the drive home, Sanzu asks you questions, gathering information and noting interesting tidbits. You’re the same age as him, a simple employee of a large corporation with a corrupt Board of Directors, and, to his surprise, have a five-year-old daughter.

While Sanzu has acquired many skills fit for a criminal, negotiating and speaking tactfully has yet to be something he is capable of.

“And the father?”

You glance out the window. “Ran away.”

“Why?”

You shrug. He clicks his tongue.

“Can I ask a question, if you don’t mind?” you ask.

After a few seconds of silence, you continue, “What’s going to happen to my coworkers?”

“They’re dead.”

The rest of the ride is silent, as well as the walk up to the third floor of your apartment complex. Sanzu needed to know where you lived, and the easiest way was to escort you to your home. However, before you slip inside your room, you turn around to face him.

Sanzu freezes.

Your eyes are fierce, an icy flame burning in your eyes. Your pupils dilate, more color than white, and you glare at him for a few moments. Then, in a level – almost cold and condescending – voice, you say, “My daughter will be protected.” Sanzu swallows, surprised at your intensity, before nodding once. You smile at his affirmation, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, and bid him farewell.

–

As promised, Sanzu visits you every two days. Most of the time, he simply drops by in the morning before you leave for work and says a quick greeting. You usually rush to the door from the kitchen, wearing a black apron covered with flour and powdered sugar. On Saturdays, the two of you visit the bakery together.

“Where’s your kid?” he asked once.

“Oh, I sent her to daycare already.”

“Even on the weekends?”

“She used to only stay for the mornings, but now she stays until lunch.” Sanzu is about to inquire about the change before it clicks.

“I must be keeping you,” he mutters and rubs his nape. Sanzu rarely apologizes, even implicitly, but he’d never wish for a child to suffer from neglect as he did.

“No, no, not at all! My daughter loves the daycare and her friends there. Besides, I like our time together.” You pat his shoulder before wrapping your hands around one of his. “You make my Saturday mornings.”

The way you effortlessly say “together” and hold his hand baffles him. He’s part of a major yakuza group. He killed your coworkers. By pure association, you and your daughter would forever be in danger. Furthermore, even if Sanzu wasn’t a higher-up in Bonten, it’s not like he’s an upstanding individual with a healthy lifestyle.

Sanzu had his fair share of relationships, though they were all very noncommittal and ended as soon as he shot them in the head. It’s not like he wanted to kill them, but whenever he was caught on the couch doing drugs, they always threatened to report him, and he didn’t want to waste time behind bars. Besides, he never considered a single one of them as a lover.

While you showed a lack of shock or discomfort whenever he visited on his more… spent mornings, Sanzu knew you would be no different. Out of best interests of both of you, Sanzu knew he should keep his distance.

But that’s kind of hard to do when you see someone so often, and Sanzu doesn’t realize it until Mikey calls him over.

“Sanzu, what’s this?” Hand steadying the tsuka of his katana, Sanzu turns around and faces his boss, who is sitting behind an ebony wood desk. A brown paper bag dangles from Mikey’s fingertips.

“Is that not dorayaki?” Mikey pulls out a large cream puff covered in powdered sugar and condensed milk.

Sanzu’s eyes widen. His job is to follow Mikey’s orders as they are delivered. Providing excess was as shameful as underperforming.

“My apologies, I must have grabbed it by accident.”

“I never knew you liked sweets.”

I don’t, Sanzu thinks. But he sure as hell knows who does.

“Do you want me to get more dorayaki tomorrow?”

Mikey looks at the clock before he tosses the bag into Sanzu’s unexpecting hands.

“You’re done for tonight.” Sanzu’s heart weighs a ton, acting almost akin to a kicked puppy. He has strived for years to become his boss’ right-hand man, yet he has failed at one of his most basic, routine tasks. “And bring more of those cream puffs in the morning.” Sanzu nods, refusing to disappoint Mikey further, and leaves the office to head toward the garage.

In the driver’s seat, the executive pulls out his phone. It wouldn’t hurt to try, he thinks. He calls you. It rings for a few moments, but you eventually pick up with a soft “Sanzu?”.

“I’m heading over to your place,” and he’s backing out.

Sanzu’s not sure why he’s in a rush. Probably ‘cause of Mikey, he convinces himself. But he’s also aware of the time. It’s a little past midnight, so your kid’s probably asleep.

When he appears in front of your entrance, he doesn’t even need to ring the buzzer before you throw the door open.

“Is something wrong?!” You’re heaving, hair messy from sleep and blue-light glasses slipping from the arch of your nose.

“I should be asking you that,” Sanzu replies.

“You’re the one who called me and said that you were coming over with no context! Is something wrong?” Your cheeks are flushed with exasperation, and he can’t help but stare at you with slight amusement. Sanzu gestures to come in, and you scramble to get out of the way.

“Your kid,” he says as he takes off his shoes, “what’s her name again?”

“Chizu.” You’re really glaring at him now, with cheeks puffed out, and Sanzu thinks this entire situation is comedic. “Why are you asking me that?”

“You know, people would usually ask why before answering.” He takes another glance at your stiff figure before continuing. “Anyway, I accidentally bought a cream puff from the bakery this morning, and I remember you telling me once that Chizu enjoyed these.”

“That’s all?”

Sanzu hums in affirmation.

You relax, relieved that it isn’t an emergency and even a little touched that he remembered what you said. Before you can thank the pink-haired man, a door cracks open.

Your little girl whines. “Mommy, you’re loud.”

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart. I was just doing some paperwork in the kitchen. I’ll be more careful, alright?” You crouch down to embrace your daughter, but your shoulders aren’t wide enough to hide Chizu’s line of sight from Sanzu.

As a result, the little girl is wide awake. She wriggles out of your hug, darts under your open arms, and speeds toward the man.

“What’s your name?”

Sanzu looks at you, and you grimace with a weak apology. Sighing, he squats down and decides to indulge the little girl.

“My name is Haruchiyo. It’s nice to meet you, Chizu.” Your daughter gasps in delight, excited that this stranger already knows her.

“How do you know my name? Who told you?”

Sanzu chuckles at her awe. “Your mom always talks about you.”

“So you’re Mommy’s friend? I thought Mommy doesn’t have friends.” You cringe a little.

“Your mom is very proud of you, so be nicer to her, alright?” Sanzu tries to pat the little girl’s head but ruffles her hair instead. He then gets up and ambles toward the door.

Taking his cue, you also rise and shuffle towards the door. “It’s getting late, Chizu. Go back to bed.”

Before the two of you even notice, Chizu’s tugging at Sanzu’s slacks, little balls of fists wrinkling the fabric. “Haru, stay!” Sanzu struggles to hide his annoyed groan, and you struggle to convince your daughter to let go.

“Haru, stay! You’re Mommy’s friend, so you have to stay!” Chizu’s whining transforms into loud pleas, and when she gets this way, you know the only way to appease her is to give her what she wants.

“Haru…,” you mouth. “One night wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

Sanzu shoots you a deadpan look, and you return with a steady one.

Finally, he gives. Chizu’s sobs were grating his ears, and driving back to his cold and empty condo was just not worth the effort.

“Stop spoiling the brat,” he mutters through gritted teeth as the two of you lead Chizu back to her room.

–

You haven’t woken up next to someone in years. Chizu is already 5-years-old, meaning it has been almost six years since your ex-boyfriend left you.

It’s early, sometime between four and five in the morning. Sanzu is snoring next to you, and you’re extremely tempted to brush out his bangs. You’re unsure if your need to touch the man comes from a place of genuine attraction or of chronic loneliness. So you settle down and decide to admire him as you wait for sleep to take over once again. You notice that Sanzu looks like he’s in pain when he’s asleep.

–

Sanzu hasn’t woken up next to someone in years. He never let any of his previous girlfriends stay the night (probably another reason why they always wanted to break up).

It’s early, probably a little past seven. Much of his job and Bonten’s activities happened at night, so he usually would never wake up until afternoon the next day. He only wakes up at nine in the morning every other Saturday.

You’re sleeping on your side, one arm folded into your chest and the other draped over the blanket. He wonders how you’re breathing because half of your face is smothered into the pillow, but he doesn’t question it because you’re constantly exceeding his expectations. Sanzu feels the urge to get up and cover your dangling leg with more of the blanket. Yet he decides against it; jostling the bed might wake you up. So he waits for sleep to take over once again.

–

The next time the two of you meet is two days later in the lobby of your apartment complex. Sanzu spots you first and waits for you to notice him. You do a few moments later, after shuffling a crumpled folder into your shoulder bag. You manage a weak smile and try to smooth down the wrinkled front of your blazer as you shuffle over to his side.

You greet, “Late night?”

Sanzu snorts. “Always.” You wait. You’ve always thought Sanzu’s eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue, but you have a much clearer view as the man stares at you. It’s an electrifying, piercing blue – bright and almost neon. “The boss wants to see you.”

You choke. And barely manage to sputter, “Boss? You mean, your boss?”

“He wants to know how to bake bread.”

“Oh.”

Very normal. Your average neighborhood (and potentially national) yakuza boss wants to bake. Just another day.

Next thing you know, you’re in front of a large apartment building that screams elitism from the gold engravings on the steel fence to the three large cherub fountains in the center of the courtyard.

“This is where the boss stays most of the time.” As the two of you ride to the top floor of the complex, Sanzu explains to you that this entire section of the prefecture is owned by Bonten. Many of the executives live here or nearby for ease of communication, as Tokyo is the organization’s center of operations.

Given all of that information, you expected more… grandeur. There should have been dozens of guards, weapons out in plain moonlight, and security checks to prevent you from exposing Bonten.

As soon as the elevator door opens, Ran rushes over and waves enthusiastically. “Good to see you again!” he exclaims.

You wave in return and take his hand, following his lead as he guides you to the entrance of Mikey’s home. Sanzu trails behind the two of you, accompanied by another man who has the same tattoo as Ran.

“You know, I would’ve never expected the boss to be interested in cooking! Mikey is a disaster in the kitchen – actually, he’s horrible at housework in general. All of us executives have to clean up after him,” Ran says.

Again, you assumed Mikey’s home would be rich with glamor and sparkle. But the interior is quite minimalist, or rather, it’s empty. You try your best to listen to Ran, but your eyes wander around. From the entrance, aside from a leather couch and a glass dining table, there are no other decorations or items with sentimental value in sight.

Approaching the living room, you are faced with four more men. They offer stiff nods before glancing over at the hunched figure sitting in front of the kitchen island.

“Boss,” Sanzu calls.

No response.

Still nothing.

Not a word or move.

You suck in a breath. You speak in as steady of a voice as you can. “Thank you –”

You feel the second-in-command glare holes into you as he threatens, “Stop –”

“Let her finish.”

You glance at the figure. “Thank you for having me.” A few moments of silence pass, and you ask, “What kind of bread would you like to eat?”

“Mikey wants to bake,” Sanzu grits out through clenched teeth.

“I know.” You turn around and give him a stern glare before looking back at the boss. “But it’s important to make something you want to eat. Isn’t that the point?”

Mikey slides out of his chair. With bated breath, you watch as he meanders towards you, head bowed and hands tucked into his pant pockets.

“Cream puffs.” Mikey’s voice is quiet and low. Smooth but gravelly and rough whenever he finishes a sentence.

Cream puffs aren’t a type of bread, you think. But of course, you’d never say that out loud.

“Cream puffs sound wonderful.” You smile, even though you know Mikey can’t see you. “We should get started then.”

“Well,” Ran interrupts, “we don’t have any ingredients.”

You spin around. “We don’t have anything?”

Ran shakes his head.

“Sanzu.” You turn toward the pink-haired executive. “Do you think food appears out of thin air?”

“Huh? Of course not – What the actual –”

“I’ll text you a list of things we need. Go to the grocery store. Now.”

Sanzu spews confused curses and retorts at you as Ran laughs and drags him out of the apartment. The other executives trail behind, sharing an unspoken understanding that nothing will be accomplished unless they go, too.

Only you and Mikey remain. The latter stands in front of you as you text Sanzu ingredients. You even momentarily forget about the boss as you mutter under your breath and cross-check your list with other recipes.

Mikey watches. But Mikey has never been one to beat around the bush.

He says your name after you send the text.

“Yes?”

“You can be with Sanzu, as long as he prioritizes his work.”

Though you are confused, you opt to nod.

“Be prepared to lose him.”

Mikey pulls out his phone from another pocket and dials a number. “I’m going to sleep. Take her home.”

Throughout the rest of the evening, you repeat Mikey’s words over and over again in your head, flipping them inside out, bending them backward and forward. Mikey’s words are like a shiny coin. You examine the contents of its surface and circumference, searching for a deeper meaning - was there a secret message? a signal or nuance? - if it even existed.

I can’t lose him if I never had him, you think. It’s been a few months since that evening in the icy warehouse, and you’re acutely aware that Sanzu has eased his way into your life. You make his morning coffee (with no sugar and soy milk) along with yours, and during the times when he checks in on you at night, he stays in the car as you pick up your daughter. As a result, even Chizu has taken an extreme curiosity toward the man, and Sanzu has to stay over until the little girl falls asleep. Most of the time, Sanzu half-heartedly listens to Chizu’s chattering, but if he’s feeling generous (which you can tell when he lets your daughter cling onto him), he also reads her a bedtime story or two.

You realize: Losing Sanzu wouldn’t just hurt you – it would also damage Chizu, and she was already being bullied for having a single mother.

Recently, thinking about Chizu has left you feeling a little restless. Don’t get it twisted – you’re damn proud of yourself. You have a comfortable, plush home, enough nutritious food for three meals every day, and Chizu’s going to attend a well-established elementary school next year. You’ve done well, and you know some things are out of your control, but your accomplishments can’t always shield you from negativity and doubt. Sometimes, you think, it’d be nice if you had someone to lean on.

–

“What’s going on?” You notice that Sanzu’s fingers are tapping erratically on the steering wheel. He’s also glaring at the red light. “Well? Out with it,” he sneers.

“Chizu’s getting bullied.”

A vein appears on Sanzu’s temple, and you’re not sure if you should be more intrigued or scared by his reaction.

He curses and says, “Let me guess. The kids find it weird she doesn’t have a dad?” Your silence is all the affirmation he needs as the light turns green, and he makes the left turn to Chizu’s daycare.

When you buckle Chizu into her booster seat, Sanzu turns around.

“Kid.”

Chizu stops her chattering. “My name’s Chizu.”

“Squirt, if the other kids pick on you for only having a mom, tell them that you’re goddamn proud that she’s your mom, alright?” Chizu nods enthusiastically and pecks your cheek. “Also,” Sanzu continues, “just say that I’m your dad. That’ll shut ‘em up.”

“OK!”

You panic. You hurry back to your seat, and as Chizu babbles about her day, you look at Sanzu with concerned eyes. He gives you one unbothered side glance, and his eyes are trained back on the road.

The two of you don’t talk until a little past one in the morning. You finished up some last-minute tasks, and Chizu is in deep sleep. To avoid waking her up, though, you usher Sanzu into your bedroom, only leaving the door open by a crack just in case.

“Why did you tell Chizu you’re her dad?”

“To get the other brats to zip it.”

“Do you know what it means to be a dad?”

Sanzu thinks for a moment. “No, but at least I know what a dad shouldn’t be.”

You touch a hand to his cheek. “I see. You don’t have to explain if you…”

Sanzu’s lost in thought, deciding whether or not to tell you.

The man sighs. “I had a younger sister. Her name was Senju, and she was just as annoying and clingy as Chizu. We were raised by our older brother – you saw him at Mikey’s place, the man with the large facial scar. I hate to admit it, but when Senju was around, it felt like we were a family.

“Looking back, I think the reason why Senju was so needy was because our parents were never around. I don’t give a shit about trauma or whatever, but it makes sense. She just wanted someone to care for her. We didn’t get bullied for it, though, because our older brother would throw cigarette butts at whoever tried to, and besides, our neighborhood was full of broken families and kids. Chizu’s just a fucking loud twat, so she needs someone to defend her.

“I’m not saying you’re a shitty mom, but you’re busy. You can’t defend your kid if you’re nose-deep in work 24/7.”

“Sure,” you say. You choose your next words carefully. “But… how is a Bonten executive like you any different?”

“I’ll just be a big, scary dog. I’m not actually going to be Chizu’s dad.”

“That’s not what you told her, though.”

“Huh?”

“You told Chizu that you’ll be her dad. She’s going to think you’re going to stay around and act like the father figure she never had.” You reach out and pinch Sanzu’s arm. “Don’t go back on your word.”

Sanzu swats away your hand and, with a clenched jaw, acquiesces. “Fine.”

–

You’ve never been good with confrontation. Confrontation made you lose your ex-boyfriend and all the support from your family, and you were never really good at it anyway. If anything, you prefer time to wash all the tension away and resolve things. But the present issue is entirely new to you, and your impulse is split between wanting to scream your emotions at a plaster wall or burying them so deep that even you would eventually forget they existed.

It’s been two weeks since Sanzu declared himself as Chizu’s father. Since then, both of you have decided on rules and boundaries and resumed your daily routines. The only difference is that Sanzu spends all of his free time with you and your daughter, meaning he’s over more often. As a result, you’ve only become more and more aware of the Bonten executive, and you fear that you’re overexerting your heart.

There’s no way you could tell Sanzu what you’re experiencing. You’re worlds apart, you remind yourself. Despite your gentle chiding, the side of you that wants to confess and lay out everything to Sanzu only grows stronger with each passing day. So what do you do? How do you manage all the butterflies, goosebumps, and icy hot chills that appear at the mere thought of Sanzu?

You throw yourself into work.

It’s fall in Japan, which means job-hunting season. After very little consideration and hesitation, you go job-searching. Spending hours researching, revising your resume, and developing your portfolio were practical and easy ways to divert your attention, and after two months of cold-emailing and passing interviews, you land a stellar job as a marketing manager for an expanding restaurant chain.

Not only did you get to work a job that combined two of your main passions, but the paychecks are also heftier. That night, to celebrate the wonderful news, you crack open a can of beer as Chizu sleeps. Just a small reward, you think smugly.

“You drink?”

You glance at the door where Sanzu is untying his loafers as you chug down your second glass. You hum a little, which echoes inside the cup.

“Let me have some.” Before you can contest, Sanzu swipes the beer can and swallows the remaining liquid before letting out a relieved sigh. He then stalks to your fridge, pulls out four more cans, and sets them down at the dining table.

Usually, you would’ve snarled at anyone who touched your drinks. You rarely drink, so your stash is always limited to your favorites. With a shrug, you let Sanzu off - only because you’re in a good mood.

As you refill your glass, you ask, “You’re back early. Is something wrong?”

“None of your business.”

You’ve come to realize that when Sanzu says that, he doesn’t mean it in a rude manner. Taking it literally, he’s right. None of the work he does is legal or ethical, and hearing about the number of people he killed today would ruin your mood immediately.

“Why are you drinking?” he grunts.

You smirk before replying, “I got a new job. It’s also close to Chizu’s daycare, so we don’t have to rush to pick her up. If you can’t drive us, we can always fetch a cab home.” Sanzu mumbles something, but it’s muffled as he downs another large gulp.

At this point, both of you are a little tipsy. You giggle at Sanzu’s slurred stories of his middle school days, and he listens to you as you share memories of when Chizu was a toddler.

“You know,” he says, “you’re so much more different from what I imagined.”

“How so?”

“When I first saw you, I thought you were just this little pretty thing. You were wearing this white dress or whatever, and you were just standing there under the sunlight.” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

You feel a little more sober. “Are you… disappointed now that you’ve gotten to know me better?”

Sanzu perks up at your question and shakes his head from side to side, over and over again. You throw your head back and laugh. He’s adorable when he’s inebriated.

“I like independent women,” Sanzu says.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that Sanzu isn’t looking you unabashedly in the eye like he normally does, but you slide to the edge of your seat and lean your head on his shoulder.

As expected, Sanzu tenses up and shoots you a hesitant glare. Somewhere in the back of your head, you know that you’re playing with fire, but you’ve given up on lying to yourself a long time ago. You like Sanzu, you want him, and all you need right now is closure.

Finally, you ask, “Do you like me?” You wait for Sanzu to shrug you off, to bark a clear rejection, and to leave your home. But a few moments pass, and the silence enables you to hear his shallow breaths. When he continues to remain still, you look up at him.

Instead of seeing a scowl, Sanzu’s face is flushed pink, and the tips of his ears are a cherry red.

“Sanzu?” you breathe.

Nothing.

“Don’t tell me that you’re so drunk that you have paralysis.”

You get out of your seat and head towards the bathroom to grab a warm towel. You pout as you wring the towel out. You were expecting a straightforward answer from Sanzu, but his lack of one is getting your hopes up.

When you return, Sanzu is slightly hunched over while he scrolls through his phone.

“Are you feeling better?” You approach the pink-haired man. He looks up, and you take this chance to hold his chin up with one hand and wipe his forehead with the other. Sanzu sits there, unmoving and basking in the warmth and gentleness of your hold.

Sanzu decides to act when you begin to retract your hands. He reaches for the wrist holding the wet towel and pulls you in until you’re standing between his legs.

“I do.” He speaks so calmly yet so confidently, and it takes you a few seconds to process.

A wave of relief, sadness, and adoration overwhelms you. You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the rough pads of his fingers wipe at the corner of your eyes. You blubber an apology or two, but you only begin to sob harder. Still vigilant of Chizu, though, you attempt to muffle yourself by placing the towel over your mouth.

Sanzu pulls you onto his lap and continues to brush away your tears. His expression hasn’t changed, but it’s the most serious he’s ever looked in front of you, and that’s all it takes for you to break down and hand him the broken pieces of your heart.

–

You wake up with a gasp. You sit up, accidentally throwing off the arm that’s wrapped around your shoulders, and gulp deep breaths.

Sanzu wakes up, too, and groans unhappily.

“What are you doing?” he croaks. “Go back to bed.”

“I would -” You cough a little and rub at your throat. “I would if someone wouldn’t hold onto me for dear life.” You continue to gulp deep breaths before you lie back down. This time, Sanzu’s arm slips down and wraps itself around your waist, dispelling your disgruntled expression. He mumbles something along the lines of “Better now?”, and you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck in return.

Sanzu yawns. “Is Chizu staying home today?”

“She has a sleepover tonight, so I’ll drop her off in the afternoon.” You’re falling back asleep so your voice trails off at the end of your sentence.

Sanzu is, too, but he manages to say, “I’m glad she’s having fun,” before he’s out like a light.

Because Chizu was out for the weekend, you spent your Saturday grocery shopping and deep cleaning the apartment. Sanzu was also busy with work, but he said he would be back at night.

Just the notion of the two of you being alone makes you nervous, and you slip a few times on the wet kitchen floor when you lose yourself in the thought. You’re excited and nervous, eager and yearning, but hesitant and self-conscious. A large part of Bonten’s operations occurred in underground nightclubs and bars, so Sanzu has seen his fair share of charming girls. You’ve never been insecure about your body, even after having Chizu, but the possibility that you can’t compete with Sanzu’s previous flings sends a nauseating ache to the pit of your stomach.

When Sanzu arrives just in time for dinner, the anxiety persists, but you’re grateful that he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, Sanzu acts normal. He complains about his colleagues and the inflation of gas prices; he cusses and mutters colorful insults at the coffee table when he stubs his toe; and most importantly, he only touches you when you initiate.

That’s something you never expected from him, truth be told. Sanzu, though caring in his ways, is brutish. Demanding. While you hoped he wouldn’t take you by force, he hasn’t asked you for any physical affection, and you like to take pride in the fact that he treats you with unspoken respect. Only when you reach your arm out onto the dinner table does he hold his hand out to intertwine your fingers together. When you’re watching some comedy show on the bed, he ruffles your hair when you poke his shoulder. Even after kissing him, he simply holds your hip before letting you go as you pull away.

“Did that feel alright?” you whisper.

Why do you feel so ashamed? You’ve kissed people before. You’ve been loved before. So why is it that you can’t bear to look at Sanzu?

Sanzu lets out a snort and proceeds to kiss you again.

“Did that feel alright?” he mocks, smirk and snark crystal clear in his voice. “Of fucking course it did.”

To others, his response could’ve been entirely inappropriate. To you, however, it was hilarious. You crack up, letting out staccato huffs of laughter, and you feel the corners of your eyes crinkle up.

“Now you know how ridiculous you sound,” he says. Sanzu chuckles under his breath before setting your laptop on the night table and moving you over so that he’s now hovering over your body.

He asks, “What else are you worried about?” He’s still smirking, confident in his ability to rid you of your worries, and your self-esteem begins to return as well.

“I was just overthinking,” you admit. You gesture a little bit, trying to find the right words to explain, but you end up smiling sheepishly at Sanzu.

Sighing, he shakes his head and pinches at your cheeks. “Don’t.”

You laugh again and encircle your arms around his neck, pecking him to express your gratitude. But this time, his hand sneaks up your back and holds you at the base of your head. Unable to move, your eyes widen in surprise, and you release a cry that gets swallowed by his lips and tongue. Sanzu continues to steal your breath and voice, and when he releases you minutes later, you’re stunned silent.

You feel light-headed, and the burning in your cheeks and inner thighs is growing hotter with every passing second. Sanzu observes your flushed face for a second before he grins, diamonds creasing into dimples.

“Look at you,” he mutters, “all riled up.” He searches for your eyes until you two are looking at each other. “Let me eat you up, angel.”

Your breathy plea is all he needs before he pulls you in for another heated kiss.

–

Sanzu is greeted with a shrill whistle.

“Someone’s glowing today.”

Sanzu side-eyes Ran but continues his brisk walk to the conference room.

“So when did the two of you get together?” Ran probes with one eyebrow quirked. “She’s a really sweet girl. I hope you’re taking care of her.”

Sanzu grunts and opens the door. Most of the Bonten executives were in their assigned seats around a round table, save for him and Ran.

“Let’s start,” Takeomi says as he taps the spine of a binder twice on the table. A map is already projected onto a whiteboard, and certain regions are circled in red. “There have been a few fights in Kabukicho these past two weeks, and some club owners want us to increase security. I’ll designate oversight of this area to Rindou and Kakucho.”

“Why the two of us?” Kakucho asks.

“I’ll get to that in a second. First, look here.” Takeomi points at another red circle located near the Yokohama port. “Someone has been stealing our firearms before they get exported. There have already been two reports on separate occasions.”

Koko speaks up. “Have we recovered any of the stolen goods?”

Takeomi shakes his head and replies, “There’s a high probability that the culprit is stealing from us so they can increase their sales. We did manage to find out that this person escaped via car both times, and the vehicles they used were originally from the Kabukicho area.”

Mochizuki scoffs. “We can’t even catch a person who runs away with a shitty car.”

“That’s why I’m putting two people on the case. Rindou will watch over Kabukicho, while Kakucho monitors the roads that go into the district.”

“There’s no guarantee that they’ll go back to Kabukicho, though,” Kakucho says.

“Rindou, your main job is to find the stolen firearms. Track down any of the buyers and see if they have any information on the culprit. If you find anything interesting, tell Kakucho immediately.”

“I don’t see why we should waste our time on this,” Mochizuki argues. “There’s plenty of folks who would throw themselves at this job to get promoted in Bonten.”

Ran interjects here. “If I remember correctly, Mochizuki, you and your men are in charge of Yokohama, right?” Sanzu rolls his eyes, already foretelling how the rest of the meeting will unfold. “If I’m right, then isn’t this mess a result of your men’s incompetence?”

Mochizuki growls. “My men are perfectly capable.”

“So does that mean you’re taking responsibility for this problem? Are you admitting that you and your men have been careless?”

Mochizuki knocks over his chair as he shoots up from his seat. He is only stopped by Mikey’s raised hand.

Mochizuki mutters, “I apologize, Mikey.”

Mikey utters a singular command. “We will follow through with Takeomi’s preliminary plan. If it turns out that the culprit is not in the red light district anymore, then Kakucho should expand his search to nearby neighborhoods.”

Everyone nods, and Takeomi adjourns the meeting.

They file out of the conference room, leaving only Sanzu and Kakucho who holds him back.

“Sanzu, I can look over her while I’m in the area.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s not a good use of your time to be driving around Tokyo. You need to stay in Shibuya.

“Your partner lives near Kabukicho, right? Tell her to stay safe.”

Sanzu’s anger bursts. He grabs Kakucho by the collar and snarls, “Don’t tell me what to do. Everything’s going great in Shibuya, and she’s safe with me.” Kakucho stares back, and Sanzu stalks out of the room.

Sanzu’s frustration is interrupted when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from you. It’s a picture of you and Chizu. You’re both sitting on top of a white canvas spread across your living room floor, and there’s clay splattered all over your clothes. Some of it has even gotten into your hair. A short moment later, you follow up with another photo of Chizu’s artwork and an attached message: “Art project failed successfully? Guess I’ll need to buy some more clothes, haha!”

Snorting under his breath, Sanzu replies: “Let’s go shopping next weekend.”

A few seconds later: “Sure! I want to check out that large department store close by.”

Sanzu smiles. “Sounds good. See you in a few, loser.” He pockets his phone before heading towards the garage.

–

When you mentioned “a large department store close by,” he didn’t think it would be one in Kabukicho. The smuggler still hasn’t been caught, and while Sanzu’s pretty sure no one would start a fight on Bonten territory out in broad daylight, he knows he has to be careful.

“Where’s the brat? Is she not coming with us?”

You roll your eyes at Sanzu before chirping happily, “Chizu’s having another sleepover! Same girl as last time. I think they’re becoming really good friends.”

The two of you continue to make small talk throughout the rest of the day. You meander around the mall, dropping into shops to replace the clothes you sacrificed for your daughter’s clay pot. Sanzu would follow you around but waits for you outside the stores instead. He isn’t interested in anything in the first place, but more importantly, it’s the only way he could keep watch. No one has updated him on the smuggler’s location either, so he’s erring on the side of caution.

“Sanzu, is something wrong?”

Your voice breaks his concentration. He was glowering at his phone, waiting for a text or a call or anything, and he didn't notice you come out.

“Just work. Do you have everything you need?” Sanzu says as he takes the shopping bag from your hands.

“I need to go to one more store, but that’ll be it.” Your boyfriend nods and gestures to you to lead the way.

You take an escalator up to the third floor. Sanzu looks around, observing the groups of people filtering in and out of shops, the music playing from speakers scattered across the hall, and signs that read “Exit closed” and “Caution.”

He glances back at you. You’ve entered a home furnishing store and are checking out kitchenware, arms folded and eyes squinted as you judge stainless steel. You find one that you seem to be considering, and he scoffs out a laugh when he sees you knocking the pan bottom and listening with your ear close to the handle. He feels a rush of adoration when he sees you find a set you’re satisfied with, and suddenly he wishes he had recorded the moment.

When you return, he brushes strands of hair away from your face before taking the new bag and adding it to the small collection strung on his arm. You furrow your brows, reaching out to grab the bag and maybe a few more back, but Sanzu promptly turns away and begins striding toward another store. You huff in protest, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gives away your gratitude.

“Is there any place you want to go to?” you ask.

He still hasn’t received any communication from Kakucho or Rindou, and he’s not sure if the lack thereof is a sign that the situation hasn’t escalated or that the two are so busy because the case is becoming more dire than they had expected. Regardless, Sanzu has learned to hone and trust in his instincts, and something in him is telling him that it’s time to leave. He cannot be out in the public eye for too long, anyway.

“No, I think it’s time we head back,” he replies. You hum in agreement, and the two of you walk towards the exit of the department, not without continuing to bicker over who should carry your shopping bags and discussing ideas for dinner.

When you enter the parking garage, though, it’s eerie. Too still for a department store that’s packed with people. Too quiet when the lot is parked to the brim. Only your talking about the bakery and how business is doing echoes throughout the garage, and Sanzu tries his best to find your car as soon as possible.

When he spots your compact, he tugs at your hand that he’s holding onto.

You pause from the abrupt gesture, but Sanzu looks back at you with urgency: Keep talking. You swallow with difficulty but resume. In fact, you don’t stop speaking until Sanzu starts backing out of the parking spot.

You look at the side view mirror to your right, and at first, you see nothing out of the ordinary. No men in suits or guns out in the open or anything. But then a flash of red catches your eye. You follow the beam until you reach a small red dot shining on the cover of your glovebox.

Your eyes widen, and you’re about to scream. Until Sanzu slides a hand over your leg and pinches.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Through gritted teeth, Sanzu eases the car free and makes his way to the exit. The red dot disappears, but you’re not sure if it’s really gone.

Only after you leave the lot does Sanzu speak up again. “You’re going to need a new car.”

–

You feel your knees buckle at the sight of your home. The journey back took hours, with having to take several detours in case you were being followed, finding a replacement car for you, and reporting to Kakucho and Rindou.

Sanzu’s hands grip your underarms, supporting your entire weight and carrying you into your apartment.

You mutter apologies under your breath, and he grunts and huffs in response. He doesn’t let go until he heaves you onto your bed, and even with the support of your mattress, you feel like you’re about to keel over.

What… happened today?

Was I about to die?

I was going to die.

Sanzu just kneels in front of you. In the corner of your eye, you see his hand reach out and twitch, but it falls to his side in reluctance.

This silence would have persisted had it not been for Sanzu’s phone and its loud rings. He tugs it out of his pocket – a glance at the screen, and you see that it’s a call from Kakucho. Quietly, your lover pads out of your bedroom and into the kitchen to take a call.

“What is it?” Sanzu’s voice is rough, even slightly strained. You hear scratches and buzzes of noise, unable to discern what Kakucho is saying.

“For fuck’s sake, I already said we’re fine.” Pause. “I didn’t need your help. Hell, I think you should be more worried about Rindou because he can’t seem to fucking do his job.” More murmurs from Kakucho. Suddenly, a bang. “I have it under fucking control!”

Your body reacts, and you run to your door to see what the commotion is. Sanzu’s back faces you, and one of your dining chairs is on the floor. He’s cursing Kakucho out for both his meddling and incompetence, tugging at his hair and itching at the diamond scars at the corners of his mouth.

As you watch, the scene begins to fade away, as if the noise is being drowned out by water and the fluorescent brightness of the kitchen lights saturates your vision. Ironically, your body feels light and floaty, and you’re viewing everything from an omniscient point of view.

You’ve felt danger before. When your parents kicked you out, leaving you to fend for yourself. When your ex raised his hand at you – sometimes you can still remember the sting on your cheek. When you gave birth to Chizu – the anesthesia kicked in too late, and you really felt like dying then.

But… this?

Whenever you close your eyes, the image of that red dot plagues you. Unblinking, harsh, bloody. You’ll never forget it for the rest of your life.

And it wasn’t even pointed at Sanzu. Not that you would want your lover to be in danger, but it’s clear that your safety is now compromised. And if you become a target, they – whoever “they” is – would discover Chizu.

Oh, God, please not Chizu –

“Sorry for knocking down your chair.”

Sanzu’s voice brings you back to the present. Soul returning to your body, you try to remember how to look at him. It takes a while, but when you do, you struggle to discern the emotions in his eyes. Or rather, the lack of any such emotions. His blue eyes are darkened with nothingness, void of any warmth or life or happiness.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” he says. His tone is that of a businessman discussing logistics and contracts, devoid of any sympathy or concern, but the two of you are in your little, messy kitchen next to a faded wooden kitchen table and an excuse of a living room that is packed with Chizu’s crayons and drawing pad and the walls of an apartment that have only heard your cries at 3 AM because you’ve worked so goddamn hard to be happy and –

“Please not right now.” The words come out wobbly and weak, and a spark finally returns to Sanzu’s eyes. You’ve tried hard to wear indifference at all times, so you can’t imagine the expression you must have on your face.

Next thing you know, he’s carrying you back to your bed, closing your door with a push of his foot, and gently laying you down.

He whispers, “I’ll do anything to make it up to you. But right now, please just let me have you.”

You beg, “I need you.”

Sanzu kisses away at the pathetically large globs of tears that roll down your heated cheeks. He peels off your clothes before throwing them down onto the floor. He lets his hands wander and grab and knead at your skin, leaving bruising marks of pink and purple. He fills you up, and the room reverberates with his pants and your desperate pleas for more. And even when you finish, he keeps going, as if his desire could never be satiated, and you see flashes of white and red and nothing.

–

Sanzu can’t tear his eyes off of your sleeping form. Usually, he’d admire the damage he’d done to you and your body, but the dried crust and permanent frown on your face extinguish his pride.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He has a decisive character, yet even his strongest trait is failing him in this crucial moment. He doesn’t know how to proceed. There would be no right time to talk to you. There would never be a right time to see you so shell-shocked and crestfallen. There would never be a reason for Sanzu to hurt you.

He doesn’t have it under fucking control.

He manages to roll over onto his other side and is faced with your LED clock, the numbers indicating that it’s still early in the morning.

Time solves all eventually, right? But what would the solution look like in this case?

His gut drops. There is no other way to keep you and Chizu completely safe.

And suddenly, he’s feeling too much.

He cries and cries and cries. He’s sobbing while biting down on his chapped lips, which causes you to stir in your sleep, but you don’t wake. He hates showing weakness in front of others, but he bargains with himself to allow just this one time and brings you into his embrace.

In reality, though, once isn’t enough – he will never have enough of you. He wants all of your evenings, sunrises, homemade sugary desserts, breathless kisses, and gentle smiles. He wants to be there to accompany you on every grocery run and shopping trip because he knows you’re used to doing everything by yourself. After all, you’re busy with your new job, and he can spare an extra hour or two to help out – that’s what partnerships are, a give and take, back and forth. Besides, he’s promised Chizu he’d be there for her, so even if you didn’t want him anymore, he can’t go back on his word, right?

He sighs.

Who the fuck is he kidding?

Your relationship has never been a partnership. He’s always taking from you.

At first, you seemed so… immovable. So put together, he didn’t think you wanted another person in your life. But then you two naturally gravitated toward one another, and Chizu, being the loud mouth that she is, also held his heart hostage. He became a part of this little family, and for the first time, he wanted to be a more responsible person because you gave him reason to.

But it’s too late to change the worst parts of himself. Intentionally or not, he’s never been one to keep promises.

“Trust me,” he whispers into your temple, “I’d stay if I could. I really would.”

Sanzu knows he’s cursed to live a rotten life in the shadows. It’s probably some sort of karmic debt he’s accumulated from all the shit he’s done in his past lives, so as much as he loves you, he’s helpless to his fate. He can’t walk away from the ball and chain that is his past, and he’s too entrenched and entangled in the life he’s living now.

There is no other way.

He knows.

So he clasps your hands tightly one last time, praying to the heavens above for your and Chizu’s happiness and safety, before he prepares to leave.

–

The next morning, you notice that where Sanzu once was, sits a box with a note folded on top of it.

You already know.

Though you can’t help but still reach for the box, desperate for any trace of your lover.

Inside sits a thin wedding ring. There is no matching band.

I’ll always be yours.

You slip it on your fourth finger and admire it under the faint sunlight that streams into your room.

Maybe if you didn’t care so much.

Maybe if the two of you had met at another time or another place.

Maybe if you two were different people.

Maybe in another life.

180 notes · View notes

softgreengrass · 8 months

Text

The Gold

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: angst, au where clint dies on vormir instead of natasha, set a few months after endgame, relationship troubles😬

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: survivor’s guilt, breakup

Author’s Note: based on “the gold” by manchester orchestra and phoebe bridgers

You wake to birds chirping. Natasha has opened the window. She’s nowhere to be seen, probably in the kitchen or out for a run. All at once, a crushing melancholy falls onto your chest, the one that’s been appearing with increasing frequency ever since she returned.

She hadn’t wanted to come back; anyone could see that. She wished she was dead instead of Clint, instead of Tony. And she meant it. She wanted to be dead.

Because of that, it had never felt like a victory to you. You knew the others agreed —Wanda, Peter, Bucky— but that didn’t make it much easier.

Even the things Thanos hadn’t taken, he had changed.

You get up slowly, all too aware of the lump in your throat and the fragility of your heart. If Natasha so much as looks at you wrong this morning, you’ll lose it. Again.

You know she’s tired of it, of your mood swings and sensitivity, but it all stems from her and she knows that too. Those first few weeks after her return had set a certain tone.

Natasha is standing at the kitchen counter, staring at the coffee pot. You know why instantly. You always do.

“I forgot how he used to drink straight from this,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

You’ve grown used to Natasha’s blank stare: it doesn’t twist your heart the way it used to. Some days you think she found your biggest store of sympathy and dried it all up. You shuffle past her, open the freezer, and pull out hash browns.

“I was going to visit Laura today,” she says numbly.

“You visited her yesterday, baby,” you say, glancing up at her as you dump the hash browns onto a pan. “I think she’s okay for today.”

Natasha swallows. You can see the pain in her eyes, the sinkhole of regret. “I don’t have any other plans.”

“You could stay home with me.”

Your tone is neutral, but you know she picks up on the hope in it. And you can feel the distance that grows between you the longer she takes to answer.

“Come on, Nat,” you smile, like your eyes aren’t already stinging with tears.

“I want to be useful,” she pleads. “I… you’re too good to me here. I can’t be useful.”

It takes you a second to process what on earth she could possibly mean. Natasha stands quietly.

In another life, you could’ve said the words on your tongue. Could’ve told her that you need her like water, that the most useful thing she could possibly do is just be with you. But you know you can survive without her. At this point she must know that too.

And yet, there’s something yearning in her eyes, like she has faith in you.

The hash browns crackle and give you an excuse to look at them instead of her.

Somewhere deep inside of you, you know Natasha has always been fine without you. She doesn’t love you in the way you love her, in the way that would summon sympathy and energy out of thin air. She used to, maybe. It’s all bitter on your tongue.

She clears her throat. “I got an email. Apparently they want to give us medals.“

“You brought back half the universe. The least you deserve is a medal.”

You know what she wants to say to that. The silence is frustrated and thick, the lump in your throat quickly returning. You hate that nothing is easy anymore.

“I’m going to Laura’s,” she says eventually.

You can’t find it in you to respond; you can barely make yourself nod. The oil on the pan bubbles and spatters violently, and you realize that’s how your blood feels, singing your arteries and your veins and your heart.

When the door closes behind her, you close your eyes.

Your dad’s face comes to mind. “Don’t open your eyes for a while,” he used to say, his voice gravelly but gentle. “Just breathe that moment down.”

It had helped, especially in your teenage years when you were quick to anger and quicker to hurt. Regret used to swallow you whole. You had told Natasha that once, years ago, when you visited his grave together for the first time. She had been polite.

You don’t want to resent her. God, how you don’t. But the past couple of months have worn you down to the bone, and it would be one thing if she was fighting too, but she gave up on that cliff. You don’t know how much longer you can do all the caring for.

And it’s not like your relationship was perfect before, either. You had met her at a high point. It had always been a steady decline.

A hard wave of guilt nearly knocks the breath out of you, and you have to grip the counter to keep your balance. You love her. You’ll fight for as long as you can.

You eat the burnt hash browns right out of the pan, even though you don’t feel hungry.

By ten, Natasha still hasn’t come home, and you’re back in bed, blinking back more tears, since that feels like all you do nowadays. Now accompanying the gloom and guilt in your ribcage is an unrelenting discomfort. It’s that same old helpless feeling, the one that knows things are going to change and there’s nothing you can do about it.

The vertigo of it all rocks you to sleep.

You make it another week before one of Natasha’s nightmares wakes you up and you’re so full of discontent you can’t breathe. Still, you swallow it down and find her hand in the dark.

“Nat, you’re right here,” you whisper.

A squeeze of her hand and she opens her eyes, frantically looking around.

“It was just a dream.”

Wild eyes find your own; a sheen of sweat coats her face. Her breath heaves. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words burn in your throat. How many times will you have to tell her that?

Her head falls back against the pillow with a sigh.

Your eyes ache for sleep, but then there it is again, that realization that soon you might never be in bed with her again. You’re not sure how to appreciate it fully.

“Are you hungry?” she asks coarsely, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not. “I could eat.”

She smears peanut butter onto toast into the kitchen, gives the first one to you. It must be the millionth time the two of you have been in the kitchen together, dark circles under your eyes and hair frizzy.

“You know I wish none of that ever happened,” Natasha says softly.

“Of course,” you furrow your brow. “I wish it didn’t either.”

“No, I mean,” she huffs. “I wish we didn’t change. I wish I didn’t change.”

It’s like something has pierced your heart. You can’t find anything to say to comfort her, because you wish that just as much as she does.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admits, her bottom lip quivering. “But I don’t want to hold you back just because I’m stuck.”

“Nat…”

She swallows thickly. “It’s your choice.”

You hate that you already know your answer, that you’ve known it for so long. You hate it.

Your arms wrap around her tightly as you take in her softness and her scent again. Her cheek is damp against your shoulder, your own eyes welling with relentless tears.

It feels like stiff fingers prodding at your throat and your chest: it makes you want to curl into a ball. You’re horrified at the idea of a life without her, especially one where you know she’s still walking around. But it’s either drown or freefall, and you need to give yourself a chance.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mutter into her neck.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m sorry too.”

She holds you as wave after wave of bittersweet relief and regret crash over you, and you fall asleep in each other’s arms once more. The next morning she helps you gather your things.

#natasha romanoff x reader #angst #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #mcu #marvel #scarlett johansson x reader

385 notes · View notes

yangbbokari · 6 months

Text

Long For You

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x gn!reader AU/Trope/Genre: Lovers to still lovers, Angst, fluff(?), hurt/comfort Warnings: regret, crying(?), lovesick, miscommunication, nothing really WC:1K Song rec: Long for you - Hyunjin A.N.:No bc after dropping that how’d he expect us to react(RAGHHHHHHHHHHH PLS IM SORRY ILL TREAT YOU BETTER)

~~~ You stare at the white tulip. A singular white tulip sent to you this morning from Hyunjin. Another apology letter to accompany it. Something about not being able to come home tonight even when he promised you he would.

That singular white tulip going to wilt and rot away like the rest. Forgotten just like his empty promises.

The feeling of your relationship slowly collapsing hurts your heart to the core. You wish it didn’t but there’s not much you can do. Everyone around you thinks you’re a match made in heaven. But it’s not the way you think this is.

You’re beginning to think that this love is all you and nothing left of him.

~~~ Hyunjin doesn’t return home until the end of the week. He notices your distance from him. He wants to take your hand in his and ask you what could possibly be wrong. But he refrains from it.

Maybe it was better for you to fall out of love with him.

As much as he loves you he knows what your parents think. “He’s no good for you y/n. It’ll only be so long before he leaves you for someone else. Take one look at him and you can tell that he’s a skank. Leave him. He’ll just break your heart.”

He can only think that your parents are right. Not the fact that he'd leave you for somebody else. But that he's no good for you and he'll never be.

It can only be so long before you get sick of his long schedule. No one wants to be stood up on every date and left to wait for the others arrival.

How many nights were you up waiting for him to come home? How many dinners were eaten with your only company being the silence that hung in the air? How many tears have you cried in his absence?

Those are the questions that float around his mind as he watches you peacefully sleep on your side of the bed. He can't help but reach his hand out to caress your face. A soft smile slowly trickled to his lips as he does.

These are the kind of moments he can only have as you sleep. But when you grab his arm he thinks he's almost been caught until you nuzzle your face into his arm. His heart warms at the sight but he knows he can't let his hopes get too high.

He notices the tears stains that line along your face. He doesn't fail to notice that his heart breaks instead.

"Don't go..." He can faintly hear you say. Oh how he wishes that he could stay with you until the next morning but work calls. What can he do. ~~~ When you awaken Hyunjin's side of the bed was empty. You could've sworn he came home last night and that you held on to him. Maybe it was all a dream again. Just as it always had been.

You want to cry but there are no tears left. Your mouth feels dry and your head hurts from the breakdown you had last night. Back before Hyunjin became famous he'd hold you in his arms and automatically made it better. But there were no one left to wrap you in their embrace.

Forcing yourself out of bed you make yourself a quick breakfast. But it only includes a peeled orange and a cup of tea. The same oranges you used to peel for Hyunjin because it was an act of love you wanted to show him. But who were you supposed to do it for now?

You quickly shake those thoughts from your mind. Opting to turn on the tv instead to hopefully drown out the voices in your head. But to no avail. You can barely make out the words the characters are saying as the voices come rushing back in.

He’s tired of you.

He doesn’t love you.

You’re pathetic.

Nothing but a toy.

Too naive for your own good.

He’ll never need you.

Just a nuisance in his life.

Suddenly everything becomes so loud. The voices coming from all over. The buzz of the refrigerator. The dripping of the water from the kitchen faucet. The sound of the vents blowing air. The lights become too bright and your eyes burn. It’s all too much.

You rush around the house. Shutting off the tv. Unplugging the fridge. Turning the faucet all the way down so no more water would drip. Disabling the air ventilation from continuously flowing. Drawing the curtains and switching off all the lights until you finally felt at peace.

After finishing you sat down in the middle of the floor. Knees pulled up to your chest and arms wrapped around them. You dropped your head down and you felt your tears run. It never got this bad. Hyunjin would be able to calm you down in these circumstances. But where was he now. The questions swirled around and made your mind dizzy.

Your sobbing hadn’t ceased until you fell asleep. There on the floor. The cold tiles being your only comfort in the silenced room. ~~~ Being faced with the darkness and silence when returning home wasn’t anything new to Hyunjin. Except that it was the evening on Friday only about 5 p.m.

The curtains were never drawn this early. When the two of you first moved in you made a rule to always open up the curtains to let the sunlight stream in and put the day to a joyful start.

He also noticed how cold it was. He was sure the heater was on to at least 64. Why was it nearly freezing? Winters in Korea are no joke.

Hyunjin stumbled around until he found the light switch and he turned the heat back up. That was when he finally saw you lying on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

“Y/n!!” He nearly screamed.

You instantly jolted from your slumber trying to force your eyes open but the lights were too bright.

“T-turn off the lights. Please.” Your voice felt hoarse. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and your lungs were rejecting the oxygen.

Hyunjin was quick to do what you requested before stumbling his way back to you. “Are you okay baby? What happened?”

“Water.” You said dryly.

“What was that baby?”

“I need water.”

“O-okay baby. Wait just a minute.” He fumbled around trying to grab a glass and fill it up with water.

You grew worried. His movements were too faint. You bagel to panic. “Hyunnie..?”

“I’m here baby. Right here.” He found his way back to you and knelt down by your side. He reached for your hand and gently wrapped it around the cup. It was cold to the touch contrasting the warmth radiating off of Hyunjin.

After you drank the entire cup, he took it from you and placed it in the sink. He carefully placed his hands on either sides of your body and slowly lifted you up. And you let him.

He carried you all the way to the bedroom and settled you into the sheets. He knew how you got so he went to fix everything else. But before he could leave you grabbed his hand.

“Please stay. Don’t go.” How could he reject that? He slipped under the covers right with you and took you into his arms.

Oh how you missed this feeling. You couldn’t help but cry. Clenching onto his shirt you let your tears flow freely.

“Baby what’s wrong?” He asked the question but he knew the answer. You were in pain because of him. He couldn’t believe he let it get to this point where you had to break down in his hold.

You pulled him in tighter and buried your face into the crook of his neck. “It’s nothing. I just.. I just miss you so much. I missed this so much. I missed us so much.” Everything felt so much better now that he was with you. But you still doubted whether he love you.

“Tell me, Hwang Hyunjin. Do you still love me?” His heart broke. He didn’t believe there would ever be a day you would doubt his love for you. “What? Why would you ever think that? I love you y/nnie. With everything in me. All I’ve ever done is all for you. All I’ve ever accomplished was because of you.”

He pulled you away from your hiding place and cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t ever think for even a second that I don’t love you. You’re my everything. I couldn’t live without you. You mean absolutely the most to me. There’s not a moment that I don’t think of you. Long for you. I know how much you have to wait for me. But I promise it’s all the same for me. I love you so much.”

His forehead was pressed against yours as he leaned in for a kiss. When you didn’t reject it he finally pressed his lips against yours. Finally being able to take in the moment and relish in each other’s company. ~~~ Both of you ended up falling asleep and not wanting to awaken until the sun rose and peeked through the curtains. You woke up first and slowly but surely opened your eyes. You heard Hyunjin’s soft breaths coming from beside you.

A soft smile came to your lips naturally. It’d been forever since you got to wake up with him. You took your pointer finger and softly traced his facial features. It wasn’t until you got to his lips that you realized he was awake when he opened it to bite your finger.

“Ah—”

“What are you doing, hmm?” He nuzzled his nose into your neck causing you to giggle. “You just looked so peaceful and so handsome I couldn’t resist.”

You could feel him smiling against your skin. His cheeks warming at your comment. “Mmm.” He sighed relieved that you were finally okay again.

“I think I should go and plug in the refrigerator before the milk spoils.” Your boyfriend looks up at you with confusion is his eyes. “I unplugged it last night.” You said with a guilty chuckle. ~~~ The two of you spent the rest of the day doing activities you used to do with each other. As you were messing on the bookshelf a photo album dropped from the top shelf. On the front was written, “My love<3”

You chuckled at the sight of your foolish high school writing and called Hyunjin from the kitchen.

“Look what I found. It’s our photos from high school.” Hyunjin groaned at the sight. “Don’t remind me how horrible I looked then.” When he saw you frown he mentally face-palmed himself.

“What do you mean Hwang Hyunjin. You were my little cutie.” You pouted and jutted your bottom lip out. “Never mind. I’ll just put this back.”

“Wait baby. Let’s look at it. It’s been a minute since we’ve looked through them anyway.”

Hyunjin settled on the couch and pulled you into his lap, eliciting a squeal from you. “I’ll just look over your shoulder.” He said after you expressed your concern of him not being able to see it.

Hours passed as you flipped through the pages and remembered the stories behind each one. That was until you got to the one with you standing in the snow and reading a book. You looked at him surprised.

“When did you take this picture?”

“I took it during senior year and you were so worried about your studies and nearly walked out to the road. I took it because you looked so pretty with the snow falling around you and your furrowed brows, so concentrated on the book. You were so beautiful. It was before we began dating and that was the time I longed for your attention the most.”

“Am I not beautiful now?” You asked with a frown.

”You’re the most beautiful no matter what.” He reassured you.

“Do you not long for me anymore? Or is that just for your first love?”

He rested his head on your shoulder, inhaling your scent. White tulip. Your favorite flowers. Then he spoke.

“I’ll always long for you.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thanks for reading!! I think this will be one of my last fics before I go. Hope you enjoyed it!!

Taglist: @jinnie-ret @kailee08

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months

Text

the soaring arrow

fused with the foe, chapter two

a/n: we getting somewhere in this one... progress... and by progress, i of course mean that we are one chapter closer to when they finally get to be happy and in love.

summary: “…do you still wanna learn?”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, violence, gore, injury, weapons, big scary dire bear, a bit of a cliffhanger of an ending to this chapter (the drama is here, it has arrived, in the majestic for of [spoiler])

word count: 4706

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Rising yet again from the plush stool, your feet carried you the short distance back around to the opposing seat. Your elbow came to rest against the edge of the small games table as you glanced down at the chequered board and your chin swiftly found your propped-up palm as a bored breath seeped from your lungs.

As you moved one of the ivory pieces, the thoughts you’d been trying to keep at bay for weeks slipped through ever so slightly. The king hadn’t talked to you since the wedding, in fact, whenever you’d been in the same room with each other, his gaze never found you.

You might as well have been invisible.

The arm beneath your face slowly melted down till it layed flat against the table and you let your head follow along. Slumped over, your cheek pressed against your forearm.

Raising your gaze from your up-close perspective of the chess pieces, it fell upon the man leaning

against the wall by the exit. Dark locks only half tied up, a crossbow was strapped to his broad back as his stormy gaze stayed low and locked on the small dagger he absentmindedly twirled and flipped in his fingers.

Letting out another sigh, you didn’t bother straightening out before you asked, “so, is this just how it’s gonna be?”

Halting his fiddling, Barnes’ eyes met yours, “pardon me, your majesty?”

“You just lurking wherever I am, is that how it’s gonna be for the rest of my life?” you lifted yourself only slightly so that both of your palms pressed into your soft cheeks to prop it up.

“No, I’m just here till you get settled, then I’ll go back to my usual business,” the advisor stated.

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know, your majesty,” he sheathed the short blade at his side, “why? If it’s because you don’t care for my presence then please just say so, I won’t be offended if you’d rather have a different warden looking out for you.”

“No,” you sat up properly, “it’s not that, not at all, I just–… could I maybe go for a walk?” the question hesitantly left your lips.

“Sure, you can,” he nodded slightly, “where do you wanna go? I could show you the Valarian Ward in town, there are lots of museums there you might like–”

“No,” you cut his offer off, “I meant if I could go for a walk on my own.”

“Oh… well, I’m not entirely sure that’s the best idea…” he uttered carefully.

“I am your queen, aren’t I? So, can’t I just command you to let me go by myself?” you tried, blinking up at him like a little puppy, “please, Barnes.”

A low sigh then flowed from his lips as his stare raked across the floor. A moment passed before he opened his mouth again, slowly saying as his gaze stayed averted, “your majesty, I am gonna leave for a moment, I suddenly remembered that I forgot something in my chambers this morning. Please excuse me as I momentarily won’t be here watch where you go,” his eyes flicked up to meet yours, “you got that?”

“Yes,” a bright smile stretched across your features, “I understand what you’re saying,” as you instantly shot up to your feet, “thank you, Barnes.”

Though half regretting his choice already, he still offered you a half-hearted smile, “you’re welcome, your majesty.”

Bending down, you plucked a long-stemmed daisy and added it to the bouquet of wildflowers your left fist was tightly enclosed around. As you lifted yourself back up, your vision washed over the blossoming meadow you stood on, located on the hill directly north of the castle. From here only parts of the seaside community were perceivable, as from this angle the mountainous fortress blocked off the vast majority of Borün city, only the edges closest to the main road, like the city stables and the water mill, caught your gaze. But the farmlands that curved over the rolling hills west of the town had no obstructions in their path. The vision of golden fields as well as wide pens that housed both fuzzy brown cows and round little sheep, that blissfully soaked in the mild afternoon sun, couldn’t help but bring a smile to your lips.

Peeking over your shoulder, the warnings of the king’s right-hand man faintly echoed in your mind as you glanced at the thick forest. Temptation had swayed your feet to carry you dangerously close to the edge. The Noll woods didn’t seem that dangerous from this angle, perhaps it was safe enough on the perimeter and it was just the dangers deep within it that they were so terrified of. So, the next thing you knew, your leisurely stride had crossed the meadow and the dark wilderness had swallowed you whole.

Extending an arm as your feet slowly walked over the crunchy leaves and the pillowy moss clusters, you felt the cool leaves brush against your open palm, almost as if you were greeting each and every one of them as you passed. The chirping birds high up in the dense treetops sang a pleasant melody that caused a bright smile to bloom on your lips.

You weren’t sure how long you ventured forth, deeper and deeper into the twisted forest, but eventually, a small and speckled bush caught your eye, ripe with the vibrant berries you recognised from the layered cake that you had been served for tea just a few days prior. The fabric of the long burgundy cloak you wore billowed behind you as you rushed to pluck the small fruits. A soft hum vibrated at your lips as you tasted their tart sweetness, popping them in your mouth one by one.

Though just as your head was up in the clouds, over the moon about this little slice of paradise you had discovered, a low growl emanated from the tall shrubs just behind the berry bush. Your fingers froze in an instant and the fruits in your berry-stained palm rolled to the ground. Slowly, you raised your gaze as a giant snout pushed through the dense plants and the creature’s rotten breath fanned across your cheeks, causing your stomach to churn.

Holding your breath, petrified with fear, you willed your feet to shuffle back at a terrifyingly slow pace. Your entire body trembled like a leaf on the wind as your eyes stayed glued on the dark animal slowly creeping into the clearing.

A bear, though at least three times the size of any normal one, came stomping into the light. Its footsteps were heavy enough to make the forest floor quake. Long and gnarly teeth curled up over its drooping lip as viscus slobber, and what looked like blood, dripped from its gums, staining the blades of grass below with every hefty step. Nowhere on its scarred skull were something that resembled eyes, so as it sniffed loudly, your hair nearly rustling in the gust, the blind monster detected precisely where you stood.

A snarl rumbled out from its toothy maw as it clawed closer to you like a predator playing with its food just before it pounced. Eclipsing the dabbled sunlight that streamed in through the tree canopy, the massive creature blocked off any chance you had of escape. The petrifying roar it then let out caused your hands to instinctively shoot up in front of your face.

Falling back, you collided with the thick tree trunk right behind you. Adrenaline pumped so furiously throughout your body that the tree almost felt like a pillow, as your body was so filled with terror that it didn’t let you notice any of the pain.

Through your shielding fingers, you caught sight of a swift movement, though it wasn’t the ravaging bear before you. From out of nowhere a broad figure suddenly appeared, slipping in between you and the creature.

Your eyes widened as you saw the king hold a shield up high, groaning from the strain as he blocked the monster’s mighty attack. Drawing a stout axe at his belt, he sliced it low, catching one of the bear’s legs and causing it to reel back enough for him to bash the shield against its snout, sending it back a few paces. The arching blows he then landed on the gnawing beast were a brutal blur to your eyes as he didn’t yield till the monster was slain and its blood stained the mossy forest floor.

Slowly turning to face you, crimson dabbled his features and tainted his beard as he stared you down and roared, “what the hell were you thinking?” his broad chest still heaved from the battle as he took a step closer to you, “you’re not in Obelón anymore, you can’t just wander off!”

“I–… I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your eyes felt heavy as you stumbled to distance yourself from the tree trunk, “I didn’t–”

“You didn’t what?” inching closer, he sheathed his weapons, “think you’d bump into a dire bear? What if it had been something worse, huh? What then? Do you have any idea of what kind of dangers lurk in these shadows?”

Black spots dappled your vision as you just managed a faintly utter, “I’m s-sorr–,” before you collapsed.

As the king caught you in his arms, your cloak unfurled to reveal the silks of your gown ripped and peeking out from the shreds was a grave wound on your waist.

When you finally woke up, you weren’t in the forest any longer, but warm under the covers in your own bed.

You weren’t sure what you noticed first, the familiar surroundings or the sharp sting that throbbed at your side. Wincing silently, you pulled down the blankets and saw the clean cloths that bandaged the injury. As you carefully ran a fingertip over the dressing, a figure at the foot of the bed caught your hazy gaze.

Slumped over on a small stool with his head resting against his folded-up arms, there sat the king, completely out cold.

A clay pitcher of water stood on the adjacent bedside table beside a few empty cups that had a deep green tint to the glass. Carefully, as to not rouse the slumbering monarch, you reached for the jug in order to quench the thirst that scratched at your throat. As your fingertips brushed against the handle and moved it just a tad, an aching wave suddenly washed over you as the attempt stretched and disturbed your injured waist enough for you to recoil back, accidentally tugging at the decanter in the process and retroactively knocking over one of the nearby glasses.

As soon as it smashed to the stone floor, the king bolted up like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you rushed as you clutched your throbbing side and leaned back against the pillows, “I just wanted something to drink.”

Still groggy, he sucked in a breath as he squinted over at you in the bed, “don’t move,” his voice was deep from sleep, “I’ll get it,” and he reached over to fill up the glass that didn’t fall to its doom, “here,” handing it to you, his eyes stayed on you as you took a sip, “how are you feeling?”

Lowing the drink to your lap, you watched the water ripple gently in the glass as you uttered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking I’d run into any monsters, I just wanted to see the forest. I’ve never been in a real forest before, so I just–… I’m sorry…”

A low sigh flowed from the king’s lips before he asked, “how are you feeling, dove? Does it hurt badly? Because I can fetch you some herbs if it does.”

“It’s not pleasant, but I’ll manage,” as you always did. Your pain tolerance was through the roof when it had to be, “I’m sorry.”

“Would you please stop apologising?” your tense gaze finally flickered up to meet his, “I understand you wandering out on your own, I even understand you wanting to explore the forest, but what I don’t understand is why you didn’t bring a weapon with you. I know you don’t know too much about this kingdom, but you must have a basic understanding of just how dangerous it is, especially The Noll Woods. So why didn’t you bring anything to protect yourself with?”

“What?” you blinked, “I don’t own a weapon.”

Eyes widening, his brows shot up, “you don’t?”

“No…” you shifted lightly under his gaze, “why are you looking at me like that?”

Leaning forward slightly, he asked, “dove, do you not know how to fight?”

“Why would I know how to fight?”

“Why would you–…” he echoed faintly before lowing his gaze to the blankets spread out on the canopy bed, “gods, I knew that Obelón’s high walls helped protect its people from many creatures, but I know even that doesn’t stop the citizens from knowing the basics at least. Why didn’t you ever?” he found your eyes once more, “you’re of royal birth. Why haven’t you been in lessons since you were a child?”

Shifting your grasp around the glass, you uttered, “…my father wouldn’t let me…” your brows were still deeply knitted as you said, “I thought it was improper for fine ladies to have such skills.”

“It’s not,” he shook his head, “trust me. Some of the best fighters I’ve ever known were fine ladies such as yourself.”

“Really?” you couldn’t help but inch forward a bit.

“Yeah, my mom for one taught me a lot of what I know, as well as–…” an unreadable expression briefly washed over his features as his sentence suddenly crumbled, “well, others…”

“I always wanted to learn,” you thought back, “used to spy on my brothers when they were training, even tried to convince Callum to teach me in secret, but none of it ever worked out… my dad always found out and then he’d–…” your gaze stayed locked on the outline of your legs beneath the covers as you felt a shiver run down your spine, “I, uhm… I learned to stop doing that. Going against his rules.”

After he helped you place the glass back beside the pitcher, the king’s deep timbre filled the chamber once more, “…do you still wanna learn?”

The gentle wind kissed your cheeks as you squinted your eyes at the circular target close to the ivy-covered outer wall of the front courtyard. Though the training area stood nestled between the warden’s barracks and the royal stables, the king’s right-hand man had ensured that there wouldn’t be as many people crowding the common area as there usually were, a gesture you’d become thankful for as the act of learning an entirely new skill was intimidating enough without having the added commotion of experts in the field directly next to you, granting you the perspective of just how green you were.

Over countless days, bedridden in your chambers, the wound to your side had scabbed over and healed nearly completely. Though the wait was significant, it hadn’t felt that dreary, since at the first dawn you woke, the king’s presence had been exchanged for a tall stack of meticulously selected books. The majority of them were factual records about Eflorr, the land, the history, everything that had been out of your fingertips in the library of your birthplace. But occasionally in between the tomes of the kingdom were books of completely different genres. There was a wide and worn book of fables that had whimsical illustrations on each page, a pocket-sized novel counting the mystery of a fictional rogue, as well as a collection of flowery poems.

Letting the nocked arrow fly, it didn’t pierce itself into the bullseye your eyes were boring a hole into, but instead joined the cluster lodged in the ground.

“I am never gonna get this,” you muttered, nearly tossing the training bow from you.

“Oh, don’t lose hope yet, your majesty,” you twisted your neck to see Barnes standing by the small, open-style stables adjacent to where you stood, petting the cheek of the black horse that stuck its head over the fence, “you’ve only been going for a few days.”

Drawing another arrow from the quiver not yet strapped to your back, but simply resting on the small stool scooted close, you attempted once more, and though it didn’t hit the target, the arrowhead did wedge itself in between two of the stones on the wall behind it.

“Not bad,” your body jumped at the unexpected voice, “you’re getting closer.”

Spinning around, you saw the king, arms crossed and leaning against the building directly behind you, “your majesty!” your eyes grew to the size of saucers, “h-hello.”

“You need to relax your bow arm more,” he pushed himself off of the wall and walked up to you.

“What?” you blinked, still slightly stunned and scrambling to catch up to the fact that he was even there.

“Here,” he stepped up behind you and a sharp breath of air filled your lungs as his touch found the limb clutching the bow, “you need to relax this arm,” his presence ghosted against your spine as his touch adjusted your appendage to the proper angle, “and lower it just a bit,” plucking up an arrow, he too nocked it for you and let his fingers linger over yours as you drew the string back tight, “use the corner of your lips as an anchor,” as the feathery fletching tickled your cheek, you could have sworn that you felt his curled knuckle shyly brush against your features as well, “and since you’re not very brawny, try and keep a bit of tension right here, it’ll help,” his hand slid down to your waist, the other palm briefly joining on the other side before he let go of you. You could feel the gentle gust of his breath on the shell of your ear as his low voice instructed you, “give it a try.”

The arrow then soared through the air and lodged itself into the outermost ring of the target, “oh my gods,” you squealed, your body victoriously wiggling at the sight, “I did it!”

“Atta girl,” he smiled at the result, and you turned your head to gaze back at him, the fact that he hadn’t shifted back yet caused a shiver to crawl up your spine, “see? I knew you could do it,” his eyes finally flickered down to yours, though when the close proximity dawned on him, only a second passed before his feet began to move, “anyways,” clearing his throat, his vision now seemed to wander over anything but you, “uhm… good job,” he offered your upper arm a small pat, “keep it up,” then turned to the high warden still off to the side, “Buck, I need you to take a look at something for me, up in the war room.”

Giving the horse one last scratch, Barnes answered his friend, “sure thing.”

“You know the king well, correct?” you asked the soldier as he walked with you down to breakfast. At this point, you’d gotten fairly used to Barnes acting as your shadow.

“You could say that,” the corners of his lips curled up in a soft smile, “my mom was a servant here at the castle, so I essentially grew up alongside him. Then as soon as I was old enough, I joined the wardens, partly just to stay at his side. So yes, I do know him well,” he nodded slowly, “I know him very well.”

Rounding the corner, you walked down a long hallway with windows facing out toward the sea all along the right wall. Motes of dust hung suspended in the morning sunbeams that spilt into the hall, perfectly still, like flakes of gold leaf trapped in resin.

Glancing over at him once more as you stepped through one of the golden rays, you slowly opened your mouth once more, “can I ask something?”

“You can ask me anything you’d like,” he met your eye.

“Does–…” you hesitated a moment before averting your gaze to gather up the courage to utter, “does the king have someone else?”

Gently cocking his head, Barnes echoed, “someone else?”

“Does he have someone else?” you repeated, sensing heat creep up in your cheeks.

“Oh, uh,” he breathed as you reached the end of the hallway and he stretched out his arm to push open the door you’d arrived at, “no, not that I know of.”

As he opened the door to the smaller of the dining rooms for you to enter, you noticed that you’d been unconsciously gnawing at the inner part of your bottom lip till it nearly bled and you forced yourself to stop, “alright…”

When you crossed over the threshold, Barnes stayed put on the other side, though offered you a small nod before the heavy doors fell shut behind you.

Turning to face the long table centred in the chamber, your eyes suddenly grew wide as an unexpected figure sat on the far end.

“Good morning,” the king glanced up at you as he popped the piece of strawberry lodged on the tip of his fork into his mouth.

“Your majesty! I–, I–…” you blinked a second, finding it impossible to get your feet to move the last few paces over to your set place, “I thought you took your breakfast up in your personal chambers.”

“Felt like a change in scenery today,” he plucked up a porcelain cup filled with steaming tea and brought it to his lips, though paused before taking a sip, “is that alright?”

“Of course, it is,” a shudder ran through you as you shook yourself out of your stupor and sat down at the table.

A generous spread of options layed arced around your empty plate. From seasonal fruits, cut up and arranged on an oblong platter, to hearty bread, sliced and toasted, propped up for it to stay crisp, the selection never ceased to make your belly rumble in want.

When your plate was filled up and you slowly began to pick away at it, the king’s voice suddenly echoed from the other end of the table.

“Are you busy this afternoon?”

“Busy?” you lifted your gaze and sent it down past the short floral centrepiece to look at him, “no, your majesty, not in particular. Why do you ask?”

His elbow was propped against the edge of the table and his hand gently rested against his beard as he continued to stare at you, “I was wondering if you’d care to promenade with me.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much from this angle,” the king pointed to the dark cave entrance on the cliff that the castle stood upon, “but that emergency exit has saved countless monarchs.”

“So, the tunnel leads up to the basement?” you glanced down to the part of the coastline still a ways further down the pebbly beach.

“Yep, opens up into the wine cellar, it’s actually one of the racks that’s concealed as the door down.”

Glancing up at him as you slowly walked beside one another, an amused smile curled up on your lip, “clever.”

“Yeah, my mom thought so, she was the one who implemented it.”

The corners of your lips then dropped back down, and you waited a second before asking softly, “when did she pass?”

“A while ago now…” his vision briefly flickered down to look at the waves foam at the shore, “anyways, I’d recommend taking a guide with you if you’re gonna go exploring in the cave because it can be easy to get lost if you didn’t grow up with it as your playground.”

“I’ll remember that,” a faint chuckle bubbled out of you.

The pebbles crunched beneath your slow stride as you made your way down the beach, closer and closer to where the fort loomed and the docks beyond flourished into the bustling city.

After he’d bent down to pick up a smooth, dark rock, the royal then spoke in a slightly apprehensive tone, “hey, I actually wanted to talk to you about something…”

Noticing that his stride had halted, you stopped as well, “yes, your majesty?”

His gaze stayed on the small rock in his palm as he turned it a few times, “I know I haven’t exactly been the warmest towards you, I haven’t given you any solid reason to trust or even like me,” his ocean eyes then lifted to meet yours, “but we are supposed to rule together, be a team. So, I propose that we call a truce. Let’s start over and try and be friends,” his broad hand then extended.

Clasping your fingers around his palm, you shook on it, “truce,” and a small smile bloomed as you then returned to your walk.

Your eyes didn’t stray long from him, staring at him inquisitively till he, on a glance, noticed.

“What?”

“It’s just,” you squinted over at the man walking beside you, the water gentle and calm behind him, “I don’t even really know you…”

“Well,” he breathed, as if that setback was easy enough to remedy, “what would you like to know?”

“I don’t know…” as you continued to stare at him, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the opalescent stone attached to the chain hanging from your neck, “tell me everything.”

“Everything?” his eyebrows raised a second before he exhaled lowly, “alright… uhm,” he then lowered his gaze as he scrambled his brain, “my favourite colour is blue. I can’t stand pears,” he began to list off, “I know I don’t look it now, but I was a very scrawny kid, sick all the time. I’m excellent at skipping rocks, actually learned how to just down there from an old family friend. What else… uh, I don’t have a lot of free time, but the little I do, I tend to either read, history in particular, as well as draw or paint, whenever I have the chance.”

“Paint?” you chuckled as that was one of the last things you thought he’d say.

“Yes,” he nodded, “not many, but a few of my pieces are strung up around the castle.”

“I will have to keep my eye out for those, your majesty,” you smiled.

“Oh, and please, no more of that,” he pleaded, “you shouldn’t call me your majesty any longer, we’re friends now,” he momentarily turned to toss the rock into the rippling sea, and a small ring bloomed on the surface as it delved in, “you are my wife,” the corners of his lips tugged upwards as he faced you once more, “you should call me by my name.”

“Alright, Steve,” the name felt oddly intimate on your tongue, “I’ll try my best to do better.”

As he smiled down at you, a shadow suddenly soared across the sky above both of your heads. Lifting your eyes to the clouds above, they swiftly went wide in fear as you saw the creature that flew straight towards the village.

“Oh gods, is that a–”

“Dragon,” Steve uttered before you could.

The winged behemoth of a beast had scales like the darkest tree bark, but in the sunlight it soared through, they shined regally like an oil spill.

Grabbing you by the hand as warning bells rang out over the seaside community, Steve dragged you with him and he addressed the two wardens that had lingered a few paces back while you both were out, “take her inside, through the cave, stay low, away from any windows.”

“Yes, my liege,” they swiftly replied and moved to defend you, but as the king’s grasp left yours, you reached out to halt him.

“Wait!” your fingers rushed to snag your lucky charm off, “here,” and you layed the fine necklace into his open palm before finding his eyes one last time and uttering, “please don’t die.”

Closing his fist around the jewel, he offered you a grave nod before the wardens led you into the cave and the king rushed down the banks and up the algae-slick steps that led up to the harbour.

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padfootagain · 5 months

Text

Only An Almost (VII)

Chapter 7: Tender Bitterness

Hello!! Here is another chapter! So much angst in this fic, I’m sorry (no, I’m not).

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 1759

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Stop cheating!”

“I’m not cheating!”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You can’t use the same word twice.”

“Since when?”

“Since it’s in the rules.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“I’m not, you’re simply cheating!”

You gave him a toothy grin, the kind that made you absolutely adorable, that melted Andrew’s heart…

“It counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

You pouted, gave him your most adorable gaze…

God, you were so fucking annoying…

Andrew heaved a frustrated sigh, hiding his smile and reddening cheeks by grabbing the pen and paper set next to your game of scrabble and your cups of tea.

He counted in silence the points that belonged to you and wrote them down. When Andrew looked up again, you were grinning, clearly proud of yourself. You were so fucking annoying…

… he wanted to kiss that smirk off your face.

It was raining, you were both too lazy to go outside. You had eaten lunch with some friends, including Sam and Daphne who were being unbearably cute together, although the stress of the wedding was growing week after week. You were the one to offer Andrew to drop by to play some boardgame or just watch TV, or whatever. ‘Hang out’, that’s how you called it. You wanted to spend time with him. And Andrew hesitated at first, he thought you meant that you wanted to have sex. And it sounded crazy, knowing how he felt for you and how lovely you looked today and how he wanted to touch you right now… it sounded crazy to think that he didn’t want to have sex with you. And actually, he did want you. If you offered now, he would definitely say yes. But this conversation of yours during your hike was keeping him up at night. He didn’t know what to make of it.

You would never give him a proper chance, he knew that now. The only choice that remained was to enjoy having you by his side for as long as he could, or stop seeing you altogether. He wouldn’t be able to be your friend now. Not after losing all hope, not after learning what it felt like to be yours and for you to be almost his… he couldn’t do it.

So he tried to put more distance between the two of you this past week. It didn’t really work, for the friends part of your relationship. But the ‘benefits’ were down to zero. Andrew wasn’t sure whether he felt good or bad about it.

“Thanks, Andy!”

He mumbled some incoherent answer, playing off annoyance, when the words had simply remained stuck in his throat as you beamed up at him.

Yeah, he wasn’t doing too well…

You both grew quiet as Andrew was thinking, staring at the letters displayed before him. He was losing, by a lot, but then again, his head was everywhere but on the game at hand. It was fun though, you were fun.

He laughed at another stupid joke you said, and forgot the word he had thought of to play. You were laughing as well, and he bathed in the warmth of your smile, in your witty remarks, in how much fun he was having. For a moment, the weight of your relationship was lifted from his heart and shoulders. After all, you could have shared such a moment being friends, or even in a relationship. You could have laughed with him like this too, if you loved him…

“And that is how I will die of boredom… you’re no craic!” you complained, pouting dramatically to make him laugh.

And you easily succeeded, he giggled and it made him blush, the way his heart skipped a beat at how adorable you looked.

“If you stopped talking, maybe I’d be faster.”

“Are you blaming me for your lack of vocabulary?”

“Sorry, who writes lyrics here?”

“Sorry, Mr. Poet. I know your art demands patience and devotion.”

“Exactly, so please, be quiet from now on. I must summon the Muses.”

“If I shove the letters into your mouth, will that help, Virgil?”

“So violent…”

He was struggling not to laugh too loudly all the same.

“Feed the board. It demands your offering.”

“You’re fucking mad.”

“Says you!”

“Says me… here you go.”

He placed a word on the board, nothing too fancy, nothing that would allow him to win. You glanced over at the letters he had left and frowned.

“You could win more points if you moved your word and used the plural.”

“Really? I didn’t see it. Too late now.”

But you picked up the letter, moved his word around.

“Isn’t that cheating?” he chuckled.

“I’m just helping. You’re not focused today.”

Your voice was infinitely gentle as you spoke, there was worry tainting your tone. Andrew looked up at you with a questioning frown.

“I just… you look… you seem a little off these days, Andy,” you went on, clearly cautious in the words you chose. “Is everything okay?”

He struggled to swallow.

“’Course. I’m fine.”

“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong, right?”

But Andrew shook his head, offering you a reassuring smile.

“I’m perfectly fine. There is no need for you to worry.”

The look you gave him pierced his heart. You looked at him like you… like you were hurting with him. How ironic, considering that you were the reason his body and soul were aching now…

“I’m worried about you. I hate seeing you sad.”

He let out a bitter scoff, he couldn’t help it.

“Like you care,” he spat with more venom in his tone than he meant to let out.

You looked at him with wide eyes, blinking in surprise.

“Of course, I care… why would you say that?”

“You…”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Never mind,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What’s wrong with you? We’ve been friends for years, you’re… you’re one of the most important people in my life… how could you say that? God, we… we’ve slept together. And you think I don’t care?”

His jaw clenched, he struggled to blink tears away. He took in a deep breath.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m a little lost. In my life, I mean. In… in everything… I don’t know what to do.”

You silently invited him to keep going. The rain was louder outside, the sky so dark you could have turned on the lights.

“I… I don’t know… I have a decision to take, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t want to tell me the specifics?”

“No… honestly, no, I don’t want to.”

“Okay. Well… what would make you happier? I reckon that’s all you need to ask yourself.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m gonna be on the losing side no matter what.”

Slowly, you nodded, but your frown was enough to tell him that you had no clue what he was talking about. You pondered his words for a moment.

“Y/N… I don’t think you can help anyway. I just have to figure this out on my own. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m fine. I’m simply worried about something, that’s all.”

Slowly, you nodded, although you seemed unconvinced.

“Can I do something to make you feel better?”

You opened your arms for him.

“A hug?”

He chuckled fondly at you. Even if he tried to be mad at you, he simply couldn’t. You were too sweet for that…

“Sure, come here.”

You yielded easily, standing up to hug him. Sitting in his chair you were a little taller than him, for once. He breathed deeply your scent as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He felt his bones melting under your touch as you stroked his hair, a palm splayed reassuringly across his spine, as if to support his frame. You kissed his forehead, and he almost cried with the tenderness of your gesture.

He held you tightly, more so than he should have, but you didn’t seem to mind, accepting the way he clung unto you.

“What if I ordered some pizza and we watched some disgustingly sweet movie together tonight?”

He hummed in approval.

“Sounds nice,” he answered in a sigh.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you have some of my favourite whiskey.”

“When am I ever not nice to you?”

“When you try to prevent me from cheating at scrabble?”

“It’s called being a law-abiding citizen. You should try sometimes.”

“Huh, huh…. No thanks. I’d rather remain a rascal.”

He chuckled into your neck, sending vibrations through your skin, and he noticed the way it made you shiver.

God, if you held him like that, if you reacted this way to him… it ought to mean something… despite his job and the odds, perhaps one day you would…

He looked up at you when you gently pulled on his hair to guide him away from your neck. He thought you wanted to break free from the hug, and he almost protested, but then both of your hands were gently cradling his face, your thumbs brushing his bearded cheeks. Before he could realize what you were doing, you were pressing your lips to his, in the gentlest, most tender kiss he had ever been given. It was loving. He was shocked by the intimacy of it, how much care and love you were putting into the gesture. Andrew couldn’t remember ever being kissed so lovingly…

When you pulled away, he had to blink a few times to force his brain back into action.

And you looked down at him with so much fondness in your smile, as if you felt the same adoration that coursed through every fibre of his being every time he looked at you, every time he as much as thought of you.

And what if he could change your mind?

None of you said anything. Andrew buried his face into your neck again, held you tight, and you welcomed him in your embrace with a pressing of your lips to his hairline. Not a kiss, just a resting of your lips onto his skin. You inhaled deeply enough for him to hear it, to think that perhaps you were committing his scent to memory too, the same he did with yours. And all the while, there was nothing sexual in your gestures. Only comfort and kindness and maybe even love, Andrew was foolish enough to think of the word.

There was no way you could have held him like this, and not feel a thing… right?

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier x fem!reader #hozier series #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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luvrodite · 1 year

Text

BLOOD IN YOUR MOUTH JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ the first time jason kisses you he's bloody and bruised, and you can't find him more attractive for it

cw: injury, blood, mentioned harassment (not of the reader)

blank blogs DNI you will be blocked

The first time Jason kisses you, he’s bloody and standing underneath a streetlight outside the bar he’s just been kicked out of. You’re utterly enamoured.

It is a Saturday afternoon, and you’ve just submitted your last midterm when the text comes through. The outline of his name on your phone sends a thrill down your spine, and you can’t help the curl of excitement.

J-A-S-O-N.

You trace your eyes over the letters, the blank contact photo doing little to curb the butterflies. They’re no less stronger than when he’d asked you for your number, a warm afternoon after class when the both of you had found your way to the your usual table in the library. You recall the reason he’d used, recall the slant of his mouth as he’d talked, the clutch of his bag in his fingers, the way the light had bent through the window and caught the dust floating above the table. You recall suddenly warm palms, fingertips hot to the touch as you saved his number when the first message had come through.

>> come out tonight?

You frown.

While it’s true that since the beginning of the semester you’ve gotten to know Jason better and as a not entirely unpleasant consequence, been better about hiding away, you’re still tired from the back to back assignments you’ve had to turn in. You’d much rather turn in for the weekend.

And yet, when it comes to the handsome boy you’d met in your literature class last semester, you find it hard to say no. You want to hang out with him so badly sometimes it feels embarrassing. You wonder if it’s obvious how you both soak up his attention and shy away from it. Even months later, you find yourself bashful around him.

As if sensing your hesitation, another two messages come through almost immediately, in rapid succession.

>> it’ll be fun

>> dinner’s on me btw

You chew your lip, staring down at the message.

<< i'm kind of tired idk

<< where do you wanna go

The text bubble appears as you begin to pack your things, sweeping papers off your desk and into a neat pile, collecting cluttered pens and highlighters. The last week has turned your bedroom into something akin to a disaster site, clothes strewn everywhere and sheets rumpled. You bite back a groan at the thought of the cleaning you’ll have to do.

>> i know a place like ten minutes away from campus

>> drinks after?

<< presumptuous

<< i haven't even agreed

>> ok so agree !

>> it’ll be a good time

You huff out a laugh at his tone, typing out a response.

<< who else is going?

>> just you and me kid

>> be excited

>> i’ll drop you home if you wanna leave after dinner

In the bathroom now, tidying the mess of skin and hair products, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You tilt your head, and your reflection does too, as if to say, well? Will you?

You text him your response.

<< ok when should i meet you?

<< send me the address

Jason is lingering outside the restaurant when you walk up, and you take a moment to admire him as you approach, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched, relaxed. His hair looks wet, and orange light washes over him where he stands beneath an awning, a sky of darkening blue behind him. As if sensing your approach, he turns his head from where he’s been looking at something across the street and his eyes light up in recognition. Your name tumbles from his lips and he takes a step forward as you cross the distance.

“Hey,” he greets you, smiling down at you. “You made it.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” you murmur. His lips stretch into a wider grin and you catch a glimpse of his canines, wolf sharp, a shiver curling down your spine at the sight.

“Guess you did. I’m glad. Come on,” he says, jerking his chin and reaching for the door, letting you enter first. “I think you’ll like this place.”

His shirt brushes against your back, and you swallowed by the sheer size of him, tall and broad shouldered, but it feels reassuring to have him there, especially as the hostess makes eye contact with you and he smoothly coordinates everything. His hand bumps against your elbow as she leads you both to a table and he murmurs out an apology at the same time you do, habitually, shooting you a funny look when he hears you, like he’s amused.

You’re seated across from him at a table so small his knees bump against yours beneath the table and he laughs a little when you say sorry once again. It isn’t the first time you’ve hung out with him, or the first time you’ve gotten food together–a semester has come and gone since your meeting him, and now the fall semester has started up again, but he has a way of short-circuiting your system, earnest and straightforward and far prettier than he has any right to be. You aren’t used to boys like him–though a voice in your head suggests that there isn’t anyone else like him.

You offer him a small smile when he laughs.

“Can’t believe they stuck us here,” he says to you, dropping his voice as a waiter passes your table. You look over to where a fair few tables far larger than yours remain unoccupied, and grimace in sympathy. “At least the food is good.”

You look up from the menu, sparing him a glance. He’s all rounded edges and sweeter looking in the soft light. You look back down.

“You’ve been here before?” you ask, feeling silly for the question but he nods.

“My brother took me, when I first moved out here,” he says, scratching idly at his cheek. Teal eyes skim the plastic menu. “We come here whenever he comes to visit.”

“Older brother?” you guess and he hums.

“Dick,” he says, and his eyes widen when you stare at him. “His name, I mean. That’s his name…Richard, but he goes by..yeah.”

“Oh,” you laugh, as your pulse flutters under your skin. “Bet he gets a lot of flack for that.”

“You have no idea,” he snorts, launching into a story that has you covering your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Somehow, dinner flies by faster than you think it would, a blur of stories from both your childhood and his. Jason asks questions and you don’t feel as though you’ve been put on the spot, pleasantly warm as you answer through your own laughter. The bubbles from your drink linger and pop on your tongue, and there’s a flush in your face that you blame wholly on him and his teal eyes, attentive and animated as he describes his family.

The both of you are pushing out of the door after an argument about splitting the bill (“I said I would pay, get lost!” and “I didn’t even agree to that!”) that had left you pouting and Jason smug. The rush of air that greets you is cool against your heated cheeks, and you smile to yourself as the both of you step out into the street.

“So?” Jason asks and you turn to him. “Was I right? It was good, huh?”

And he looks so pleased with himself that even if you hadn’t enjoyed a bit of it, you wouldn’t have it in you to tell him.

“It was,” you agree and his smile grows broader.

You lapse in conversation for a moment, and a breeze ruffles his hair on its way through the lit street. It’s grown fairly busier as night falls, crowds of people out to enjoy their weekend, and you step closer to Jason as a particularly large group passes you, falling into step by his side to avoid bumping into them.

“So..home?” he asks, tentative.

“I think so.” You chew the bottom of your lip. “I got up early to get in the finishing touches on my midterm.”

His eyes go soft, almost immeasurably fond, as he gazes down at you. “Of course you did. Alright, c’mon, then. Let’s get you home.”

He takes your hand gently, fingers circling your wrist loosely and guiding you down the busy street. You find yourself appreciative of this, even as the butterflies erupt anew in your stomach at the touch, his body carving a path in the flow of foot traffic that you can fall into easily without worry of getting lost.

The both of you walk in silence, the sounds of the city filling in the gaps around you. You admire the outline of Jason’s profile in front of you, light from the cars and storefronts washing over the both of you and throwing him into sharp technicolour focus in front of you. You feel a little dizzy at the sight of it, and looking down to where your hands join only worsens it, rendering you soft and pliant in his hold, tracing his footsteps with your own.

And then, all of a sudden, you’re coming to a halt in front of a parking lot next to a bar, nearly colliding with his back. You blink, equal parts sleepy and stunned, peering over his shoulder where he’s stiffened up.

“What?” you ask. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, and turns around to pass you a set of keys. You frown, confused, following his finger when he points to an old, red car just a few feet away.

“That’s my car, I’m just gonna go check on something over there,” he says, tipping his head back to gesture to the bar. “Can you get it started for me? I won’t be long.”

“Is everything okay?” you ask, and now you’re the one holding his wrist as he turns, taking a half step after him. He looks back at you, and his mouth relaxes, offering you a reassuring nod.

“‘S fine, sweetheart,” he assures, pushing you gently in the direction of his car. “Be back in a sec.”

But curiosity roots you to the pavement where you stand, and you watch as he walks to the entrance of the bar, where murky yellow light spills out onto the walkway. Several bench tables have been pushed together on the outer side of the path, smaller tables with high stool chairs pressed against the exterior wall of the establishment. It’s fairly empty outside, all the patrons seeking shelter from the chilly weather inside and you step a little closer to see when Jason, shoulders set like a man on a mission, crosses the threshold and disappears into the building.

You creep a little closer, keys clutched in your fingers, until you can get a look through the windows. They’re a little stained, but you find Jason eventually, crowding close to a pool table where a boy around your age is leaning down, cue stick pointed against green felt. His back is to the window, but you watch the guy pause and straighten up, annoyance clear on his face even as he tries to cover it up with a smile you don’t think you like too much, self-assured and a little mean. There isn’t any friendliness in it.

Outside, the wind begins to pick up and you’re wondering whether you should just return to the car–every bad thing in the movies happens because people can’t mind their own business–when suddenly, so fast you almost miss it, his fist flies out and knocks right into Jason. You jump in surprise, a hand flying to your mouth to muffle the startled yell that slips out.

But Jason is seemingly unphased, and you catch a glimpse of blood in his mouth as he– smiles. It’s nothing like the smiles you’ve ever seen, wild and a little feral as he lunges forward, knuckles slamming against the boy’s cheek and sending him sprawling across the tabletop. He just gets that hit in before he’s being restrained and hauled back to the door, shoved across the threshold with no regard for gentleness. He stumbles, and that grin is still curving his mouth up when he looks up, wolfish, savage, and–it stutters when he meets your eyes.

You stare back, wide eyed at the sight of him. His keys hang limply in your hand, forgotten in favour of their owner whose nose has begun to bleed down his chin, drippin onto the collar of his shirt and staining it crimson.

“I–thought I told you to wait in the car,” he says weakly, at last.

“What was that?” you ask, dazed, ignoring him. You look between him and the windows of the bar, where you can still see the other boy, holding a tea towel to his split cheek.

His lips part, and he looks away as if to search for an answer he does not have. Like a magnet, your gaze flicks down. You swallow at the smear of red that settles above his cupid’s bow, dark, almost black as the shadows on his face stretch.

“Jason.” You stress his name. He grimaces.

“I didnt-” he breaks off, letting out a loud sigh. “I knew him, okay? Didn’t do that for no reason.”

You wait, sensing the oncoming explanation. By his side, you spot the reddening skin of his knuckles, looking at home amongst the pale, faded scars.

“He’s a dick,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It seems almost shy, the way his fingers press against his lips as he tells you the truth. “He’s in one of my classes and he was giving one of the other guys a hard time ‘cause..”

His face hardens and you fear he’s about to go back into the bar. You hedge a step forward to clutch his sleeve. He shakes his head. You don’t let go. “Anyway, he had it coming. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else. He was bothering some girl in there too, when I saw him…piece of shit.”

Affection blooms between your ribs so suddenly it leaves you breathless, and you stare up at him, stunned.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he blows out a breath, watching you carefully.

“I thought you’d hit him harder,” you blurt out, and his eyes widen. He lets out a tired laugh, wincing in between snickers.

“Don’t think you’re s’posed to agree with me, baby,” he murmurs, drawing closer. You’ve probably stretched his sleeve out with your grip, but you make no move to let go. Baby. It fits in his mouth, belongs to him, even. He’s claimed it now.

“Right,” you breathe out, blinking up at his face. The air goes still, the undercurrents of adrenaline re-igniting with the trip of your voice over the five letter word. There is no admonishment in your tone, and teal eyes turn onyx in half a breath, lashes fluttering as he looks at you. “Violence…is bad..”

His eyes crease, amused, but he’s barely moving, and his voice comes out a little strangled. “Word of advice, don’t ever go into politics.”

“You don’t believe me?” you joke quietly and he huffs out a laugh. Once more, your gaze snags on the glimpse of his canines, peeking from below his lips, pointed and shiny.

You can smell the blood on him when he takes a step closer, the toes of his sneakers scuffing against yours. You look at him clearly, awash with the yellow light of the street, bloody and bruising. He’s lucky that he isn’t due back on campus for another two weeks, but you have a feeling it wouldn’t matter either way–he’s no less attractive to you. It should concern you that you find blood a good look on him, or that the savagery in his smile only made your heart beat a little faster, but you can only stare through half lidded eyes at him.

Somewhere down the road, the roar of an engine filters through the air, but you pay it little attention when he draws closer, closer, closer.

You aren’t sure who moves first, only that Jason kisses you for the first time underneath that streetlight, and the taste of copper in your mouth only presses you closer into him, clutching his sleeve and hoping it leaves as much of a mark that he’s left on you.

i hope this made u guys feel as insane reading it as it made me writing it (and trying to post it, but for a different reason). something about a man covered in his own blood...

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jersey boy au #jason todd college!au #jasonsmirrorball

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