#sigh. into the reaction images folder with you boy

[wilyserpentofeden]

And in that moment, Crowley was all of us

[joonclouds]

The Price Of A Wish | 5

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too,Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

- 

The teacup clinks shrilly against its saucer as it is set down on your desk with a trembling hand. You press a finger to your temple. It's throbbing slowly, and the throbbing will not go away.

“Jungkook. Please stop staring at our guest.”

The comment startles him and the second cup of coffee (that you most certainly had not asked for but he had taken upon himself to personally make and serve) makes the rest of it’s journey to the table with a loud clang. Your assistant clutches the the tray to his chest with a small gasp and folds into a little bow, embarrassed. Though, he still sneaks a glance sideways and turns pink while gasping noticeably when he makes brief eye contact with Hoseok.

“S- sorry, noona.”

“Jungkook." You say, without looking up from your notes.

Hoseok notes that you say this like you’ve said it a million times before.

Hoseok smiles, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Comeon, ____. Give the poor boy a break."

"It's unprofessional, Mr. Jung."

"Oh, so we're on a last name basis now?"

"Unprofessional. I run a business, not a daycare. It's Ms. ____ in the office."

“Sorry! Ms. _____.” The wide eyed boy worries his bottom lip between large front teeth.

It was going to be a long day. With a small sigh, you wave him away, turning back to the documents on your desk.

“Thank you for the coffee Jungkook. We’re good here, you can go now.”

When you don’t hear the door open and close, you look up again to find Hoseok smiling at Jungkook, who looks to be on the brink of a swoon that would put any victorian era lady to shame.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes! Yes!” He snaps out of it, nearly dropping the tray but now standing at attention. “What can I do!”

“We can get a picture together later.” Hoseok stage whispers to Jungkook, and it makes the younger boy’s eyes go even wider. He nods his head vigorously with a wide smile and a scrunched nose. Hoseok suddenly has an image of a little overly eager bunny in his head.

"Thank you, Jungkook." You repeat again, this time with emphasis.

Jungkook's smile fades in a moment of realisation and mouths a silent "ohhhhhh". He nods in determination and mutters something unintelligible under his breath as scuttles to the door. You note that his hair has now grown out to his jaw (when did that happen?), and it’s fluffy at the ends. From behind, he looks like a little bouncing triangle kimbap. It’s just a little bit endearing, you'll admit.

When the door shuts behind him, Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee. Silence sits heavily in the air. 

“You don’t use your last name in the company?”

“No, I don’t.” You don't look up from your papers.

“And you let him call you noona?"

A begrudging noise rumbles quietly in the back of your throat. “I’ve known him since he was in diapers.”

“Well, we’re feeling chatty today.” Hoseok mutters from behind his cup.

You ignore his comment, thumbing your way through a stack of manila folders on your desk and slide one across to Hoseok, who sets the cup down and opens it.

“A contract so early on?” He looks a little smug when he flips the folder open to the first page. It's such a good look on him. It's so annoying. You want to slap it right off his handsome face.  “Look who's eager."

You resist rolling your eyes because well, it was unprofessional and in this moment you wanted to be the poster girl for Professionally Detached and Unbothered.

Was it just you or had his ego inflated twice its size daily in the past ten years? You can tell he's trying to push your buttons to get a reaction out of you, and he knows exactly where to press. You were just beginning to face the truth that maybe your heart hadn't made all the same changes your appearance had gone through over the years, especially when it came to Hoseok. All it took was a smirk and a sentence to ruffle your feathers; so easily he rendered useless your emotional detachment and the protective walls you'd built around yourself. And in the end... well. You were just you.

"It's protocol for anyone we agree to headline our masterclass series. The contract protects us from any associated damages like unfavourable press, and your intellectual property. If I had this my way, Mr. Jung, you wouldn't be sitting there at all. You're only here because the board voted you in, not me." Technically, the last part wasn't all true because you could have said no if you had really wanted, but he didn't need to know that.

"Mr. Jung?" Hoseok repeats the cordial salutation, and it tastes bitter.

"Yes, that's you."

Hoseok purses his lips. "Feisty."

"No," you counter. Over the last few bits of conversation you realise you've been leaning forward, and you make a special effort to recline back into your chair. "Professional."

With a tiny huff, he opens the folder again, holding it up to his face so that you can only see the top of his head. You make no move to fill the lull in conversation as he gives the contents a cursory read over. At this point, the less you said, the better. After a minute, Hoseok glances at you over the top of the file.

He's met with a raised eyebrow.

“Is there a clause you have a problem with?”

“No.”

“Are the payment terms not favourable? That’s negotiable if you wish.“

“No.” He abruptly shuts the folder and puts it back on the desk pointedly.

"What's not to your liking then?"

Hoseok's lips sets in a line, like he's trying to figure out a difficult problem. You could always tell when he was struggling to figure things out - that little furrow in the middle of his eyebrows was such a tell, even when he tried to convince you otherwise. It was a tell then, and it's a tell now.

“Well. I’ll give you a few days to look it over then. You can have someone send me the amendments, but in the meantime - “ you give your watch a glance, and then look back at him “ - we can head over to the conservatory to view the practice rooms if you have time.”

He leans forward on your desk and laces his fingers together, eyes searching your face, looking for even a hit of emotion but your brows are relaxed, mouth straight, and eyes flat and still and dark as a lake on a windless night. There is nothing there and he hates it. Hates it even more when he realises he cannot read you anymore. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. It gets an itch under his skin, like a pebble in his shoe, rubs him the wrong way -

“We’re really not going to talk about it, huh.” He settles on that, finally. Beating around the bush was pointless right now.

“Talk about what?”

“You. Me. Whatever is going on here?” He gestures between the two of you.

“The signing of the contract?”

“No.”

“Then I have really no idea what you’re referring to, Hoseok -“

“_____. Stop it.”

You set the papers you were holding and stare him down just as strongly so as not to belie the way the tone he's taken with your name still makes you freeze. If the way he’s eyeing you testily is anything to go by, he’s not going to let this go so easily. Hoseok could be the most stubborn, obstinate piece of shit if he put his mind to it.

After a few tense moments, you decide to give in. "Is this about the other night at the opening gala?"

"Glad you're finally ready to stop dancing around this elephant." Hoseok snorts and throws a hand in the air.

“You said your apology, I heard it. We've been through this already, I don't know what more you want." You reply levelly.

“Come on, _____. That wasn’t even close to a conversation.”

“Conversation, implying two willing participants.”

Hoseok gestures at himself. “Willing.”

“Participants.” You correct him, stressing the plural. “In case I didn’t make myself clear, this is me being very unwilling.”

“______, If you’d just let me - ”

Something rises from deep in your belly and presses against your chest- a ball of indignance, anger, resentment, general feelings, because how dare he -

“Has it ever occurred to you that I really don’t want or care to hear whatever you have to say to me?” Your outburst is sharp and so unexpected it makes Hoseok flinch.

"I'll only say this once. Who is this apology really for? Me? Or is it for you? Because somehow, after leaving me in radio silence for ten years, let alone what you did, my working theory is that you suddenly need something from me, so you're trying to get back in my good books. Or even worse, for some godforsaken reason, you grow a tiny shred of conscience so you stomp back into my life and demand that I hear your apologies and explanations. You come in here, upend my life so you can go on with a clear conscience? You don’t get that right. Just because the world hangs off your every word, Jung Hoseok, doesn’t mean that I have to.”

Your voice shakes a little on that last sentence, but that is all you allow him.

For the first time in a long time, Hoseok’s lost for words. There's a slight ringing in his ears. In his eagerness to patch things up, make amends, apologise, what have you, he realises with a sharp and sudden clarity that you were right. He’d not spared a thought if you had actually wanted to hear it or not. That whatever he was doing might be painful for you. That he might have been selfish. He thinks he understands that a little now, as he lowers his eyes to your hands, fingers laced, mirroring his own. You’re only half a desk away, but to him, it feels further than you ever have been in the past ten years.

“Look, Hoseok,” you begin again, using his first name, voice softer now, but back to the level tone you'd opened with before. Leaning back in your chair, you press a hand to your forehead briefly as you tighten the reins on your senses and responsibilities.

“We were... who we were ten years ago. We aren't those people anymore. Now, either way, we’re still going to have to work together, and I really do want the best for this program. I’m sure you do too. It’s going to be good for both of us. Let’s both just… drop this, okay? So we can do this amicably, professionally. Believe it or not, I don’t want to fight with you. I want us to get along well. Let us leave things as they were.”

There’s a sort of quietness in his eyes when he next looks at you, but it’s so fleeting you think you’ve imagined it.

“Okay. I don’t want us to fight either. I won’t talk about it anymore.”

He unclasps his hands and reaches across to extend one to you.

“We can be colleagues, then? Friends?”

You consider it, and him for a moment, and against your better judgement, you slide your hand into his.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Friends.”

He squeezes your smaller hand in his for a short moment before releasing it. It feels warm, reassuring, constant. There’s a short but much more comfortable silence as the two of you figure out how to re-orient yourselves to navigate this new dynamic.

“So you said something about viewing practice rooms in the conservatory?” Hoseok starts, and you’re glad for something else to talk about. Work. Yes, you can talk about work.

“Yes, I thought I’d show you some of the rooms today so you can see which you’d prefer best for teaching.”

Hoseok looks at his watch and then back at you apologetically. “I can’t today, I’ve got to start hair and makeup for a shoot on the other side of the city in about forty minutes.”

“It’s okay. Hmm.” You chew on the back of your pen as you flip through your planner. “Next week? Say… Friday, around three?”

“Works for me. There’s a cafe nearby as well, we can get coffee after if you like.”

You tense up, and clearly, it shows, because Hoseok immediately backpedals and you feel a little guilty. The two of you had agreed to try to get along well, and this was him trying.

“I mean, we don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I was just thinking, and I’m sure you have better th-“

“No, let’s do it.” You offer a small smile and he relaxes. “It’d be good for us to get to know what our creative and working styles are."

“That.. that’s great. I’ll text you, what’s your number?”

“You can call my office.”

"You're not really expecting me to -"  Hoseok rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. “Give me your phone, ____.”

After a moment of you not responding, he raises his eyebrows and thrusts his hand out to you again, spreading it in a come on, give it motion. You pass your phone over, albeit hesitantly.

He taps away at the screen for a few seconds. His own phone buzzes in a missed call before he offers the phone back to you.

“Text me.”

You reach out to take it wordlessly, but at the last minute he draws his hand back and your fingers close around thin air.

“Text me.” He empasizes knowingly. You try not to feel like a child who’s just been warned not to misbehave.

“Fine.” You concede, grumbling. “Give it.”

He slides the phone into your hand for real this time and standing from the chair. You say your goodbyes, and when the door finally closes, you heave a sigh and clutch your pen just to have something to grip, because if that wasn’t the most emotionally taxing meeting you’ve had this week -

“______!” The sudden exclamation of your name and your office door opening abruptly shocks you to attention. Your drop your pen, eyes wide and back ramrod straight.

Hoseok has stuck his head back through the door, and there's a smile he's biting back, knowing that he’s startled you.

“Text me, okay?”

“Jesus, what the heck. Okay, okay, I’ll text you,” You grit out.

His grin shifts into a lopsided half smile, and it looks so much like what you'd have given up everything for ten years ago that your chest tightens, whether you like it or not. 

“Just reminding you.”

And with that he disappears back behind the door, letting it swing shut. You eye it tensely for a few moments. Just in case.

When you’re sure Hoseok isn’t going to come bursting back in, you slump back in your chair, one hand on your chest to calm yourself, heart still going a mile a minute. Unlocking your phone to text Taehyung, you nearly choke when you see Hoseok has saved his number with a little sun emoji at the end of his name. It’s cute and you want to fling yourself out of the window.

Dont you dare. You say to yourself. Don’t you fucking dare.

- 

So you most definitely hadn’t planned your week around having the second half of your Friday free so that you could go home, take a shower, reapply your makeup, and then head back to where you just came from. You’d just felt grotty from a long day, and it was just courtesy to be well groomed, right? Those two full outfits laid out on the chaise lounge in your wardrobe that you’re currently eyeing? If they’ve been picked out with slightly more care? You pride yourself on being always perfectly dressed and all this pomp and circumstance was most definitely not because you were meeting Jung Hoseok, stop it, shut up, leave you alone.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and your housekeeper Madam Han enters with tea and a small plate of cookies on a tray which she sets on the small coffee table.

“Thought you might need snacks for whatever life crisis you’re working through in here.”

You make a vague approving noise in the back of your throat, and when it becomes apparent you’re not listening, she comes up beside you to peek at what you’re staring at.

“Date outfit dilemma, Ms. ______ ?”

“Mmm.” You purse your lips. “Do you think the pinstripe - NO?”

Your voice shoots through two octaves, but Madam Han just tucks the empty tray under her arm with a knowing smile and chucks you under the chin softly. “Never could fool me, little sparrow.”

“Madam Han, stop it, it’s not a date.” You fold your arms huffily and drag out the syllables, but your cheeks color anyway. Your housekeeper had an uncanny way for making you feel like a five year old caught in a lie.

No, hold on, it’s not a lie. This most certainly wasn’t a date.

She appraises the two outfits for a moment. “I think the dark jeans with the pinstripe blazer. Professional, but casual. Men seem to love that dressed down look these days.” Madam Han smiles fondly at you.

“Yes, I thought the - no, this is not happening.” You take your darling housekeeper by the shoulders with as much love as possible and steer her to the door, grabbing the plate of cookies as a last resort and thrusting them back into her hands. “Here. Please take these back. I don’t want them so you should go put them back in the jar. Or eat them, take them to Jungkook, whatever.”

Before she can get another word out, you’re closing the door in her bewildered face and stomping back to the clothes. You let the decision stew for another minute before you grab the jeans and blazer off the chaise lounge, muttering quietly under your breath.

You’re a leg and a half into your jeans when your phone rings shrilly for the third time in a row. Hobbling over to the little island counter in the middle of the room, you answer it and wedge the phone between your shoulder and ear, shimmying the pants over your hips.

Taehyung’s voice floats through the receiver before you’ve even had the chance to ask who it is.

“I’ve called to offer my services in solving the outfit dilemma you’re currently eyeballs deep in.”

You grab the phone from your shoulder and scowl at it for a moment before putting it back to your ear.

“Why do people keep saying that? I’m not having an outfit dilemma.”

“Don’t scowl at me. You are.”

“Did you install cameras in my house?” You look around the room.

“It was a hunch but thank you for the confirmation. And you always do that ugly scrunchy face when you’re caught in the act anyway. It gives you premature wrinkles, you know.”

“Do not.” You huff, but you relax your face.

Taehyung’s laugh rings crackily through the phone. “So? Have you decided? Send me a photo.”

You grumble a bit, but you figure your fashion afficionado best friend should be at least useful in times like these. Times like these, meaning a very non-date meeting. You finish buttoning your jeans, pull on a white t-shirt, and slip your arms into the jacket. Moving to face the mirror, you snap a quick photo and send it to him.

There’s a short pause and a ping as your message goes through.

“Mmm.”

“What does that mean?” There’s a panicked edge to your voice.

“It’s a good date outfit.” A short pause. “The Dior bar jacket is a nice touch. Makes your waist look small. I’m sure Hoseok will want to put his hands all over it.”

“Taehyung! For the thousandth time, it’s not a date!”

“Don’t sound so scandalised, princess. Thank me for validating your choices later.”

You scowl at your phone and finger mash the end call button, shrugging yourself out of the jacket and chuck it back on the chair. Grabbing your work bag, you sweep the essentials on your dresser in it and head out. The jacket grabs your attention again as you’re about to leave - it looks a little forlorn, tossed aside. You consider it for a long moment before swiping it off the chaise lounge and stomping out of your room, muttering all the way to the car waiting out front.

“It’s not a date.”

PREV / NEXT

[sup-hoes-its-me]

I have a Shikamaru request! It’s a bit long winded so dust with me 😊. Shikamaru is assigned to protect reader who is the last of her clan that a lot is not known about. (So he also has the secret mission of finding our more about the clan and their abilities). They end up falling for each-other (of course). And after reader finds out she is pregnant she learns that Shikamaru was meant to learn about her. I’m seeing some angsty fluffy goodness! And hopefully a happy ending. 🥰

Healing You (Shikamaru x Reader)

A/N: Thank you for your request! These long detailed ones are perfect and give me just enough information to give you the perfect story. I skipped the pregnancy part because im not totally comfortable with that...hopefully you still enjoy.

word count: 5500

Shikamaru had been anticipating this mission for a while. The Hokage told him it was of utmost importance to be ready at any time for this clan princess to show up. He was expected to drop all other missions or plans to escort this woman, whoever she was across the country to her homeland deep within Frost country. He wasn’t expecting much, actually he was expecting probably the worst client ever.

For someone to request escort at the drop of a hat like that, someone with enough money to do so as well... Shikamaru could only assume they were an asshole of the highest caliber. Probably some old woman or a spoiled little child, someone he definitely would not get along with for a month long mission just the two of them. He could remember the urgency in Kakashi’s tone when he assigned the mission, the amount of trust behind his words.

Shikamaru walked into the office casually, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. Kakashi sat there alone at his desk, looking through paperwork and sifting through piles of white sheets, each with different names and faces. He must have thought long and hard about who he was to pick for this mission, the boy concluded.

This was going to be tiresome, he deduced quickly. Another tedious mission.

“Shikamaru, I have an important mission for you,” the man said clearly. “You can look through these files, if you want, but we don’t have any clear information on this one, I’m afraid.” He tossed over a folder full of records. Death receipts, birth certificates, first hand accounts of battles witnessed. He didn’t know what to make of what he was looking at other than a common last name running across the pages.

Hirawa.

“What is this about?” he questioned.

“In about a month's time, possibly longer, possibly shorter, I don’t have an exact date, you will escort Princess Y/N Hirawa, of the hidden Hirawa clan to the Land of Frost.”

“Who’s on my team?”

He shook his head at that question. “No one. This is a solo mission, and I’m entrusting you alone with this. It’s important you keep your mouth shut about all of this until we know it’s safe, for you and the princess.” Safe? Just what kind of mission was this anyway? Obviously it had something to do with this clan, not that he’d ever heard of them. “She has a bounty on her head, quite large at that. But we believe she can become the key to mastering some ninjutsu, particularly medical jutsu.”

“Well, what’s her clan’s kekkei genkai?”

“That’s what we don’t know, and for you to find out. All we know is that there's some dangerous people out there who want this power, and we need to protect her at all costs, you understand,” he stressed, and Shikamaru nodded. This wasn’t that big of a deal, he guessed. Protecting one girl from some rookie bounty hunters, not to mention he was being sent out alone. This was going to be a walk in the park.

The worst part of it all would be putting up with some troublesome girl for an entire month. Making conversation and having to pretend she wasn’t getting on his last nerve. That would tire him the most.

“Rumor has it, she was never able to awaken her ability, so I’m hoping you can help coax it out of her and see what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. I’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. You should take the files to look over in your free time, you’ll have lots of it before this mission. I have copies here for myself,” he motioned to another folder on her desk filled to the brim with papers just like the one he was holding. It was strange to have so much information at their fingertips, but not enough to put a description to their kekkei genkai. They must be secretive, similar to how the Uchiha hides their secrets on the stone tablet, or something.

He left the Sixth Hokage’s office and walked away to his home, where he could more closely go over the information in this folder, try to deduce something from all this random information. He would get to the bottom of this, he was a genius after all. Whether he had the help of this woman or not, he would figure it out for the Hokage.

And so, here he stood outside of Kakashi’s office with all his supplies packed in his bag, dressed for a long mission away from home. The princess had arrived. He was to meet her and then immediately they were supposed to leave off to her homeland.

The Anbu officer to his left opened the door, and motioned for him to walk in. So uptight for just a little meeting, was all this security really necessary, he wondered to himself. As he looked into the room, he spotted Kakashi standing along the window behind his desk with a smaller woman at his side, wrapped up in thick robes made of wool, embroidered with thick silver and white yarn.

Admittedly, her clothes looked incredibly expensive. He questioned how she wasn’t sweating bullets with the typical warm weather outside here in Konoha. He was expecting her to turn around, to be this hideous creature.

“Ah, Y/N, it seems your escort has arrived,” Kakashi hummed, placing a soft hand on the woman’s back as she turned around. When he finally got a good look at her face, he was taken aback, nearly enough to throw him off balance. She was decidedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Wrapped up in those blankets was a young woman, who couldn't be much older than he was, with piercing eyes that immediately cut through his.

Her hair fell just perfectly around her face to frame her features, the soft color suiting her eyes and skin perfectly. Her eyelashes flickered over her eyes a few times as she gazed over at him, and he felt swoon. She had the softest skin he’d ever seen combined with those mesmerizing eyes and the shape of her face which looked like it belonged cradled in his hands.

He felt this inert urge to run in the opposite direction from her, out the room and down the hall, back to home where he could catch his breath. He already knew his cheeks were turning bright red under her stare, and he could tell Kakashi was judging him with those dark eyes of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shikamaru Nara,” she hummed, and he felt faint. Even her voice was precious, almost like she was singing. He choked down his breaths, trying to keep his cool the best he could. It was uncharacteristic of him to act this way with a client. He was just her escort, not some pervert. They were going to live together for basically a month, he needed to get a grip on his emotions. “Your Hokage was telling me great things about you.”

“Oh, uh,” he paused, frozen without words to leave his lips, just an empty mind full of her image. He shook his head a bit, eyes now glaring down at the floorboards beneath him. “You too, Princess.”

“Please, just call me Y/N. Princess is just too formal for me,” she told him, waving off the title almost as quickly as it left his mouth. “Kakashi, it was nice getting to know you this morning, I hope to see you and your wonderful village again soon.”

“You’re welcome back whenever you like.”

She rounded the table and approached Shikamaru carefully, eyeing him down as she did so. She took in his appearance and his stance, the emotions she could see radiating off his person from his body language. From the looks of it, he simply appeared flustered and confused. Not exactly the most ideal for the situation at hand, but they would manage. Men usually had a similar reaction when they saw her for the first time, either they were in awe or they were trying to kidnap her.

He nodded in her direction and then to the Hokage before turning around and starting out the door, the girl following closely behind him. He could hear the swishing of her thick robes around her ankles, just barely skimming the floor. He still didn’t know her personality at all, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her once in a while on this trip.

“So, why are you heading to the Land of Frost?” he asked, and she sighed.

“One of the village elders is dying. They believe my kekkei genkai is the only way to reverse the incoming death, and its consequence on my people,” she explained.

“Why doesn’t another one of your clan members do it? Surely the rest of your family lives-”

“There is no one else. I am the last living Hirawa,” she told him simply, and he could sense a bit of ice dripping off her tongue at those words. How could she not be upset recalling the annihilation of her entire clan. “The problem is that I haven’t been able to awaken my kekkei genkai. I’m not sure what they want with a useless Hirawa like me.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about your clan, but calling yourself useless really isn’t-”

“How would you feel, Shikamaru, if you were the only person in the world with the ability to save a human being from their certain death and you couldn’t even activate that gift? You have to understand how that feels for me,” she told him solemnly, her head hung low as she walked toward the gates of the village right beside the boy. People looked at her as she moved through the village, they stared in awe at her clothes and her face and the unique glimmer in her eyes. And she cowered inward, tucking herself into her robes and the fur of her hood even further, away from the prying eyes of this village.

He stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to what she’d said to him. The sadness and the anger in her tone, deep within her words, was immeasurable. She was in pain, a conflict with herself. He wasn’t going to get into that just yet. They’d only met a few minutes ago.

They left the village together and started on their journey. It was going to be a long month, that’s for sure.

________

It had been a week of walking through the forest already, days of sleeping on the ground beneath the stars, eating rations out of his bag over the fireplace. Originally, he thought this mission would be easy, that she seemed like a normal-ish girl who wouldn’t give him any trouble, but he was wrong.

She was too quiet. It was strange, walking with someone for hours without a single word shared between them. He tried to start up a conversation, and she would reply with one word answers, sometimes if he was lucky, two or three words. She rarely looked at him, choosing to either stare at the ground where she took each step, or up at the stars and the vastness of it all. She was lost in her own mind.

Every night, as they were falling asleep, he could hear her looking over at him, scanning his form for a sign that he was still awake. He would remain still, facing the opposite way on his side, head propped up on his bag. Then, when she thought she was safe, he would hear the sobs run through her weak form. She would shake and quiver, curling in on herself and crying out into the forest for only Shikamaru and the moon to hear.

He felt terrible for her, needless to say. The guilt he felt just from hearing her cries, and knowing her internal struggle was enough to make this trip difficult. His heart hurt for her, as strange as that was to say. Normally, it was easy to remain objective, but with Y/N, it was different. He felt attached. He felt like her problems were also his. It was maddening.

She laid on the ground beside him, the majority of her soup still in her bowl and her water bottle resting at her side. She stared up into the clouds, occasionally, her eyes would slide over to see what he was up to and then she would look back at the sky. “You need to eat. We have a lot of walking until we reach the next town, probably a week’s worth. I can’t carry you if you get too tired,” he told her, pushing her bowl closer to her side.

“You know, Shikamaru, sometimes I wonder why people like you Leaf nin even protect someone like me. What’s the point? I’m useless to you and the enemy,” she muttered hopelessly. He still pushed the soup closer until she sat up and took the bowl into her hands, taking a small sip from the spoon. “I just don’t get it. How can you call me princess when I’m just as normal as the next woman on the street?”

“Listen, I don’t know what anyone else has told you, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just because you can’t access your abilities right now doesn’t make you useless. You’re still a person just like everyone else,” he explained, stabbing his spoon into his soup as he found himself getting a little worked up. He couldn’t stand this self-pitying bullshit from her. Yeah, she was sad and all, but she didn’t have to rub it into the wound like this.

She looked surprised at his words.

What did she expect him to say? That she was right and then just abandon her out in the woods? He was beginning to think this girl was just plain stupid.

“It’s just been impossible since the incident to think of anything else. I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she sighed, taking another sip of her now cold soup.

He questioned carefully. “What incident?” He was on a mission after all. To discover her clan secrets and bring them back to the village to study. Even if she was being emotional, he could still gather some intel.

She bit her lip, and looked up to the sky again, blinking back tears from gathering in the corners of her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before explaining herself. “The day my clan was massacred. The day that those people slaughtered my sensei in front of the entire village and then killed my parents.”

He paused, lifting his eyes to look at her. She was crying, as he expected, silent tears dripping from her eyes into her lap. But she was holding strong otherwise, not a falter in her voice or a catch in her breath. She wasn’t even shaking. She was really serious about keeping these emotions private, in the middle of the night where he couldn’t hear or see.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assured, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine. I should talk about it anyway. I haven’t had a person to talk to in years, you know.” Sitting on her face was the saddest of all smiles, a weak attempt at remaining strong. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist and continued. “I’m not even sure why they wanted us all dead, but it had something to do with the war and my clan’s actions. They were barbaric. They slit the throat of my sensei in town square and we watched her blood drip across town while they carried her head.”

“Oh, damn.”

“I know,” she agreed, “As sick as it is to say, I’m glad they only stabbed my parents with a sword. We used to be royalty, it took them killing an entire army of soldiers to get to the throne room to kill them. I was only a child hiding in the curtains, I had to watch without making a sound. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t even breathe, or they would have killed me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s horrific.”

“When they left, it was only me. I had to walk my way to one of the outer villages for help. I was a mess, covered in my parents blood. They’d stolen everything. All the secrets of the clan. I never got the chance to read the sacred texts. I only know from my Sensei the very basics of what we can do.”

He absorbed what she had said, taking in each word. Admittedly, she lived a terrible, horrible life, one to rival Sasuke at that. He asked, “You haven’t been able to retrieve any of the texts, have you?”

“No, unfortunately. That’s why it’s taken me this long to figure out how to unlock my ability. I literally do not know how,” she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “It feels strange, knowing I have this ultimate healing ability and I can’t even use it to save anyone.”

“Ultimate healing ability?”

“Well, yeah. That’s our kekkei genkai. We can heal basically anything besides death. Blindness, deafness, rotting limbs, in some cases, paralysis. I’m not sure how it works, but that’s what it does. That’s why they want me to come home so desperately. I’m the only one left who can heal her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he stated bluntly, and she tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“What?”

He reiterated, “You’ll figure out how to use your kekkei genkai. I believe in you. You’re beautiful, smart, and modest, not a fool.”

She found her cheeks begin to heat up at his words, and she leaned back, her eyes catching onto his. “Thank you, Shikamaru. It’s not everyday I get earnest compliments like that.” It was true. Normally, she did get compliments, but not the nice kind. She would often get harrassed on the street by men without brains, or recieve backhanded comments from people of her own village who hated her for what she could not be.

He shook his head, “Well, you should. You’re a strong woman, you just need more faith in yourself. You have almost no self-confidence whatsoever.” He was right about that too. Sad, wasn’t it? “You’re obviously a good person, so be proud of yourself. Not a lot of people could have gone through what you did and still be on the good side to this day.”

“I-” Y/N froze, her eyes growing wide. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her eyes flickering from Shikamaru into the woods. There were voices, soft and quiet voices, but they were still there, hush in the background. He stood up on his feet, and motioned for her to stay down close to the ground.

“Come out, whoever you are.”

And, indeed, a group of men emerged from the forest, at least ten of them. They sauntered up to the pair and the leader smirked. “We’re not here to hurt you, Leaf shinobi. Just hand over the princess and no harm will come to you,” he said, his voice musty and disgusting, like he’d been smoking cigarettes everyday for the past ten years. They knew, clearly, that a leaf shinobi wasn’t just about to abandon their charge and go running for the hills. His request was a joke.

Y/N wasn’t a fighter. She couldn’t help even if she wanted to. She was solely a healer, and even then, her skills were shaky at best. She could only do the most menial and mediocre of work on her patients. Shikamaru was against these men completely alone.

She felt fear creeping up her spine and sending shivers through her body. She barely knew the boy, had only known him for a week or so, but damn, did she like him. He was kind to her, one of the kindest people she’d met in a long time. She wanted him to be safe, to save her and come out on top like the shinobi of the Leaf are supposed to.

He turned around and waved for her to run. “Princess, Imma need you to run. I’ll come find you when it’s safe. Just go.”

She was hesitant to take off, but one stern look from him shot down any thought of staying. The woman gathered up her robes and ran in the opposite direction of the crew and her protector. Immediately after she left, she heard screaming from behind, the shouts of men in pain and men filled with anger. So much yelling. She held her breath, and kept running, running until she could only hear the faint yells of the men. She couldn’t hear Shikamaru. He was far too quiet to have those loud theatrics on the battlefield.

Y/N took cover in the roots of a tree, and just listened, felt what was going on around her. She studied the chakra signatures floating through the air, counting how many men still lived and how many were alive and well. Likewise, she kept close track of Shikamaru’s energy, making sure he was still going.

If he died, she didn’t know what would come of her. Would she be sold off? Murdered? She knew of the unspoken bounty on her head amongst the criminals, and that struck fear in her heart. All she could do was pray for Shikamaru’s survival.

After what seemed like hours but in reality only about 10 minutes, the screams and shouts finally came to a halt. The chakra signatures of most of the men were completely gone, meaning they had died sometime during the battle. Only some remained, and they were weakened severely, probably passed out or bleeding out.

Shikamaru’s alarmed her. It was weak, almost as weak as the rest. She crawled out from under the tree and started back in the direction of the campsite, keeping her head low nearly in a crouch to stay unseen. There was no telling what was happening over there or who was still out here.

When she got to the campsite though, her eyes widened and she nearly screamed. While the rest of the men collapsed on the ground in bloody heaps, Shikamaru lay in the middle of them, bleeding out from a ginormous wound protruding from his side. She fell onto her knees beside his barely breathing form and held her hands over the wound, trying her best to run her chakra through her, but she was weak. Only a faint light emanating from her hands, not enough to come close to saving him.

“Shikamaru? Shikamaru, can you hear me? Please, try to stay awake, okay?” the girl pleaded, resting one of her soft hands on his cheek. He sighed into her touch. It was just as he imagined. Warm and gentle, like the caress of a feather. At least, if he were to die, it would be in the arms of an angel, he decided.

“You need to head back to the Leaf. Tell Kakashi what happened,” he sputtered out, blood leaving his lips and dripping down the sides of his face. “I lived a good life.”

“No, no, no. You are not dying on me. Not happening,” she whispered. She continued to pour her chakra into his wound, not that it was doing anything serious. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to keep them from falling, but she couldn’t help it. All these tears plagued her life. Memories that made her cry. All the pressure. All the death. Poor Shikamaru lying here dying after saving her life. “I’m going to save you,” she muttered firmly.

Pressure built up in her chest and she pushed further and further, digging deeper into her chakra reserve. It actually hurt the amount of effort she was putting in. It was exhausting, and after about a minute, she was gasping for breath. “Stop. It’s okay, princess.”

“Dammit, Shikamaru, I told you not to call me princess, “ Y/N shouted, and in that moment, she felt something shift inside her. A well of energy she never knew she had opened up and she felt it being filled not by her own chakra but by the men around her. Her body absorbed every last bit of chakra in their bodies, filling hers completely. When Shikamaru looked up at her, he noticed a slight glow coming from her skin that wasn’t there before.

It seemed she awoke her kekkei genkai.

With all the newfound energy she had, she channelled it into saving Shikamaru. Right in front of her eyes, his wound began to close and blood sunk back into his body. He groaned at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. Finally, she had done something great.

And as she watched the last bit of his wound shut and the blood to seep back into his body, she found herself grow lightheaded.

As she was passing out, she heard him calling her name, and the only thing she could do was smile. She did it. She saved him. Her vision went black and sleep overtook her swiftly.

________

After Y/N saved Shikamaru and awoke her kekkei genkai, the boy gathered up both of their belongings, hoisted them over his shoulder, and then carried her in his arms to the next village. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon, he found that was probably a bad side effect of using the ability. It completely drained her. He just knew he had to move before any of those guys woke back up. He was not ready to fight again.

He enjoyed feeling her in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest with her head lolling side to side. Y/N was sweet and cute, with her little, “don’t call me princess” proclamation before saving him. It seemed she was just as much a princess as everyone thought she was, and a powerful one at that. She basically brought him back from the dead, and he would be grateful for his entire life for what she’d done for him.

The two of them rested for the night in a village inn just a couple miles away before waking up the next morning and setting off with a new bounce in her step toward your homeland where she was sure she could save the village elder now. He watched as the girl walked eagerly in front of him, swinging her robes by her sides and letting her hair loose instead of a tight braid.

This side of her, it was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Maybe, he found himself harboring just a tiny crush on the girl who saved his life, the girl who took his breath away when they first met. Maybe he liked her a lot. It was pointless to have such feelings for a girl he would probably never meet again after dropping her off in her homeland.

But he could enjoy his time now, with the girl of his dreams at his side.

He found himself wanting more time with her. Much more time. He knew they only had about a week before they arrived in the Land of Frost, and it was depressing him. He wanted her to come back to the village with him and live there, just so he could see her face everyday and hear that sing-song voice run off her tongue.

Was that so much to ask for? Well, yes, but he still wanted it…

They found themselves stopped for the night or two in a village on the coast. She was tired from all the walking and sleeping in the grass. She was willing to spend a few dollars to have a nice bed to sleep in for the night. She booked a room at one of the inns in town and collapsed into the mattress in the room, throwing her robes to the side and cuddling into the comforter. It had been so long since she was living in such comfortable conditions.

He took a seat beside her and pulled out a book, flipping to the most recent page and diving in. He was more than happy to finally rest. He was lazier than she was, after all. They had been walking for almost a month now, he was tired of it. The only thing that kept him going was seeing her smile every now and then, especially the ones directed at him, or in response to something he said.

Something about those smiles just made him feel good inside. It was sickening. These mushy, gushy feelings he was having. He was beginning to think he might be falling for the girl, like, falling in love. He was disturbed. Was he really that weak to a pretty face, soft hands, and a warm heart?

“Shikamaru?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be home in a week, and you’ll have to go back to the Leaf Village,” she said. He nodded. At that point, they would go their separate ways and it would all be over, this friendship they had. He’d never felt so torn about a mission until now.

He replied casually, “Yeah. Time flies, huh?”

She held her breath for a moment, thinking over her next words very carefully. She’d actually been pondering when she was gonna tell him over the last few days, thinking over every way the scenario could play out. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to leave you, Shikamaru,” she confessed, finally letting go of the breath she was holding.

He raised a brow, setting down his book and turning to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Well...it’s just that your Hokage seems to really like me, and I don’t really have a home anymore with my clan gone,” she mumbled, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “I was thinking maybe after I heal the elders and the village that I could go home with you instead. Live in the leaf village.”

He just looked at her. Had all his longing been for nothing? Could she really mean it? Coming home with him? Could his future really involve seeing her every day, introducing her to his best friends, and healing his people when they were injured?

“I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, though, I totally get it-”

“No! I-I love that idea, actually.”

“Really?”

“Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

He watched as her lips curled into a bright smile and she clasped her hands together. “Shikamaru, I’m so happy. You and the other Leaf nin are the only people to show me any kindness in a long time. I get to go home to people that will care about me.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that back in the Leaf. Caring, that is.”

She fell back against the bed and sighed, curling up in the sheets once again. He watched as she smiled into the covers and closed her eyes, relishing in this feeling of newfound freedom and happiness, of the hope she found in him and the village. Despite finding women troublesome most of the time, he was willing to go through trouble for her. He felt like he’d do just about anything for this girl.

So unlike him. Tch. Get a grip, Shika.

Her next words had him melting like putty in her hands though. He just couldn’t help it.

"I'm glad you were assigned this mission with me. You helped me awaken my abilities, and I think it was fate that brought us together for that to happen," she sighed. "This meeting, you and I, it was always meant to be. I'm sure of it now."

"Maybe you're right. I wouldn't know," he replied.

It was quiet for a while, just her lost in her own dreams, her own thoughts. Her eyes trailed over to him, and she just knew she was swoon. With his lazy grin and his thoughtful gaze. It was so obvious to her now.

She confessed, “I think I like you. As more than just a friend, Shikamaru. I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this considering I still need you to escort me to the village and all, and you might not want me to go back to the Leaf with you now, but I just-”

He couldn’t wait anymore. He was going crazy. Finally, he kissed her.

She felt his hands resting on either side of her head and his lips pressed carefully to hers, testing the waters. She brought her own hands up to cup his own, bringing him closer and deeper into the kiss. She smiled and sighed, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss. It had been so long since she felt something so good. Something so sweet.

“You like me too?”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

And he kissed her again. And again. And maybe a couple more times after that.

[kyuublu]

Let it happen

Kuroo Tetsuro x reader

song rec: Belly (The Grass Stains) - Rex Orange County

We were just kids when we met. Tetsu sparked my interest as soon as he entered the room, more precisely Kenmas room. The boy stood in the doorway with a volleyball in one of his hands, a little shaky as he nervously asked if we wanted to play with him.

I never really understood the passion the captain had behind the sport. Sure it looked fun at times, but I wondered why he sacrificed so much time for it outside of practice, to even go as far as inspiring other people to go for it too.

Once after a game I even admitted to Kenma that I admired him for that exact reason. He made people feel like they had a purpose.

„But god don’t tell him I said that.“

Kenma had laughed at me but also agreed since we both didn’t want to push this guys ego even more.

For awhile the thought of loving something as much as he did, stayed in the back of my mind, only fleetingly resurfacing when I thought about my future plans. But now we were third years, applying for colleges and speculating where we’d be in ten years. Am I going to have a good job? Will I be married to someone I actually adore? Will I be happy? And the most important one that I kept going back to, thanks to the raven haired boy I called my bestfriend: Will I ever find my true passion?

„Hey, you spacing out on me again?“

„Huh?“ Catching a glimpse at Tetsuro‘s face, it became clear to me that I had yet again stopped listening to his rambling.

„Come on! I’m here spilling my heart out to you and you’re staring at the clouds with your mouth open.“ I frowned at his exaggerated comment, only to sigh at the realisation of my behaviour.

„Sorry, I was just thinking...“ I mumbled as I kicked at some pebbles on the ground. Tetsu glanced over my face, then my hands that were fidgeting with the straps of my backpack.

Suddenly his long arms landed on my shoulder, roughly pulling me into his side as he grinned. „Look if you gotta crush on me, you better say it know 'cause I’ll be leaving for college soon, sooo..”

„Oh my god, you-" I groaned in disbelief as I jabbed my elbow into his side.

„Alright, alright- geez!“

The poor guy rubbed at his rib, holding his other hand out in defense. I strudded further, not acknowledging his looming presence behind me. We stayed like that for a bit, me walking infront and him trudging behind me with a pout.

„You know I was just kidding, right?“

Kuroo was never good at keeping quiet, whereas our other friend Kenma had always been somebody you could have a comfortable silence with. „I know, dude. I’m not mad at you.“

The boys pace quickened until he was back at my side again, tilting his head at me.

„Wanna hang out at your place?“ I quirked a brow at his suggestion, a soft smile forming on my lips.

„At my place? Aren’t you supposed to invite people over to your own house?“

„Come on, you know how my parents get.“ His eyes travelled back to the road ahead of us. The tone of the captains voice hadn’t shifted, but I could read his face pretty well by now.

„They still fighting?“

„Most of the time.“ He snorted, casually placing his hands back into his pockets. „Thank god, I don’t have to hear that for another year.“

My eyes flickered down to the ground again. Oh yeah, he was leaving for college. He was moving on, just like everybody else was.

„Yeah, let’s just go to my place.“

____

„You seriously still got these?“

I stifled a laugh as my best friend waved an old folder filled with pokemon cards infront of my face. I turned in my chair and looked at the boy that was now sitting down on my bed.

„Kenma told me to keep those! He said I could sell them for good money in like 20 years, but I think he’s just waiting for a moment where he can sneak that special Mewtwo card away from me.“

Kuroo chuckled as he went through the folder. „You really can’t trust that kid.“ He shook his head, landing at the last page.

„I’m gonna miss those cards.“ His voice had become more quiet now as looked over the last page a bit longer.

„Wow, really? That’s the last thing I thought you were going to miss.“

Tetsus eyes had stayed on the page until he mumbled out the first thing he had in mind.

„What did you think I’d miss the most?“

My eyes widened as I stared at him in a bit of shook. Usually I put aside his flirty nature, but at times I couldn’t help but think that what he said felt genuine.

„The volleyball team?“

He looked up at me for a second, searching for something in my eyes, until he broke out in laughter.

There goes him being actually ‚genuine‘, I guess.

„What? You love your team!“ I reasoned, visibly confused and semi annoyed at his sudden outburst.

„Yeah, of course I love them but those idiots aren’t like my number one of all things.“ He tried to keep in his chuckles and finally closed the pokemon folder. I quickly stood up to break the weird tension he had built yet again, to gather some of the extra blankets I had stuffed in a box under my bed.

He watched me approach him and grinned as I pulled out the box. Tetsu was used to this routine; he always stayed longer than he promised to and then slept over at my place. Even my parents didn’t mind anymore, since they saw him as a good kid from the neighborhood they knew all their lifes.

„I think I’ll miss you the most.“

My head turned to his figure looming over me on the bed. I chuckled until I saw the boy staring at me with a feeling I couldn’t describe. „And Kenma, of course..“

He casually leaned back on one of his hands, rubbing his neck awkwardly with the other. I could only desribe the image in front of me as, flustered.

My eyes flickered back to the box infront of me as I pulled out the usual blanket I always gave him. „I mean, it’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again. I’m still figuring stuff out but the train tickets aren’t that expensive since your university ain’t that far.”

“What do you mean you’re still figuring stuff out? I thought you had something planned already?”

I sighed thinking about the topic I had dreaded for all this time. My body slowly moved back up from the ground and onto the space next to him on the bed.

“I don’t know if I’m really gonna go through with it. Like what if I won’t even like what I’m studying and I’ll be wasting my time for something I wasn’t even 100% sure of in the first place.”

“So what? You think anyone got it figured out right now?”

I scrunched up the blanket in my hands as I thought his question over. “No, but most people seem really good at hiding the fact that they don’t.”

The fluffy material in my hands was now thrown at the boys face, making him dramatically fall back into my pillows.

“That might be true.”

“Are you one of those people?” I asked with genuine curiosity laced in my voice, fixated on my friends reaction. He let out a huff as he sat back up again.

“Sometimes I think I’m not, but I doubt my decisions at times. I think everyone does, it’s normal.”

Suddenly a wave of emotions went through me, filling me with some sort of heaviness. My throat tightened as I was hit with the reality of my childhood friend leaving me and everything behind soon.

“Do you think it’s normal to be this scared of the future?”

I gulped, trying as hard as I could to stop myself from grtting emotional. He quirked a brow as he dipped his head lower to meet my eye.

“Y/N, I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

Nodding my head slowly, I really began to take in his expression and the worried look he had on his face.

“But I’m thankful to have friends like you by my side that are going through it just like me, it’s comforting in a way.”

Tetsu gave me a small smile as he shifted to the left side of the bed and layed down flat. After staring mindlessly at my wall, the raven ahired boy padded the place next to him.

“Oi, stop being all sappy. It’s really having an effect on me and I’m not sure if I like it.”

A breathe escaped my lips, or more of a sad attempt at a chuckle, as I followed his movements to lay down next to him.

“The girls are gonna love it, trust me.”

Suddenly the cocky guy became silent again.

“Who cares...” He mumbled out as a faint blush crept onto his face.

“Excuse me? Who’s the one that said he’s gonna be a player in college?”

I giggled at his flustered form until the softness of one of my pillow hit my head. Letting out another fit of giggles, I took away the pillow and stuck it under my stomach as I leaned on it, and watched the boy closer.

“Tetsuro.”

“Mh?”

“I’m gonna miss you the most too.”

His eyes flickered back to me and stayed for a bit longer.

“...And Kenma!” I added with a teasing grin and rolled onto my back.

“Oh shut up.” My friend groaned as he placed a hand over his face to hide his own grin.

I wanted this moment to last just a bit longer...

____

Another short comfort fic cause I’ve been feeling pretty down recently but i hope ya like it anyways ^^

[enigma-im]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

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

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

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

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

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

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

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

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

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

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

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

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

----------------------- 

I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[planetjisungie]

shower- p.js

characters; idol! jisung x reader ft. dreamies

summary; crack, fluff kind of, the older dreamies being pervs and jisung making sure they know that 😌

an; okay just read the whole thing because taken out of context this looks so bad but this was inspired by an instagram post that im sure youve all seen

the boys were all sat on the sofa in the dorm, watching the movie so in depth that they were on the edge of their seats. apart from one of them. jisungs phone screen was glowing bright white, a smile constantly kept up as he texted his girlfriend— you.

"aye, park jisung watch the damn movie." chenle slapped jisung’s knee from his left, the taller overdramatising it by rolling onto his side and into jaemin. at this point, jisung had been on his phone the whole time and the boys were slightly irked. this was supposed to be their group bonding time, chenle had to go home himself in a couple of hours and haechan stayed at the 127 dorm so this time was rather hard to get.

jaemin didnt oppose to this, wrapping his arms and legs around the now struggling teenager who was trying to get out of the tight lock his groupmate was holding him in. "jisungie~" jaemins sweet tone made him scrunch his nose, turning to clawing his way out of the embrace. "hey let me gooooo!" jisung continued struggling, the other boys ignoring him as they kept their eyes trained on the movie playing on their TV. eventually he made his way out, phone now discarded on the seat of the sofa with his elbows on his knees as he caught his breath.

"im going to the toilet." jisung grumbled, standing up and leaving the room. once he was gone, all the boys scrambled over to the sofa that jaemin, chenle and the boy in question were sat on, jeno snatching his phone. "you guys should respect his privacy." renjun tutted, shaking his head before making his way over slowly. "don’t tell me you’re not interested in finding out who he was texting, did you see his smile?!" chenle reasoned out, entering the password that he knew off by heart into his bestfriends phone.

"just saying, if he finds out you snooped through his stuff, i had no part in it." renjun rolled his eyes but looked at the screen in interest nonetheless. of course they were all curious; recently jisung hadnt been paying as much attention to them and had seemed to have matured more.

it was the little things, such as washing up without complaints, doing the laundry, tidying his room more often, showering more often and he was even getting jaemin to teach him how to cook. it was suspicious to say the least, and the boys were going to find out what had caused such a change in the youngest member.

chenle double clicked the home button to open up the most recently used applications, pressing on the first and most recent one. the familiar snapchat app greeted their nosey eyes, the camera first showing their faces before chenle winced and swiped right. "snapchat? i didn’t even know he used it." jeno curiously peered down closer, pushing his glasses up his nose with his finger. haechan squinted before taking the phone out of chenles hands, eyes blown open as he pointed to the pinned conversation at the top of the screen. jisung only had about 5 chats open anyway from family members and they were all printed with ‘53w’ meaning he hadnt spoken to them in over a year.

however, the pinned conversation had the blue arrow, meaning jisung had recently sent a message "7 minutes ago? to... sweetpea with a bunch of hearts?" jaemin now grabbed the phone, pressing the pinned chat to open up the saved messages. "idiots, who even saves messages on snapchat these days." chenle retorted, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair. the room was practically silent except from the quiet noise of the TV, everyone now focused on the rectangular object in jaemin’s hands.

me: love this movie is so boring but i want to spend time with the others :((((

sweetpea💓🥺💓❤️: lolllll, just tell them its boring and ask to change it. this is quality time, enjoy it whilst you can

me: but im scared they’ll be upset, theyve wanted to watch this movie for so long now

me: why dont you come round to meet them today?

sweetpea💓🥺💓❤️: ahhh, now im scared 🥺 im in the shower anyway so maybe another time hehe

me: in the shower ;)

sweetpea💓🥺💓❤️: yes,, that is what i said bubs

me: send pics?

sweetpea💓🥺💓❤️: you mean the usual right?

me: yes pls ;)

"wait what??" jaemin screeched, rubbing his eyes before rereading. "i know he did not just ask for nudes." renjun was baffled, not really knowing what else to say. this was like their child, they had watched him grow up and to them, he was still like a baby.

just as the boys were all frozen in shock, the phone dinged with a message from you and the hair on the back of their necks stood up. "do we open it?" chenle tentatively pointed at the red squared next to your bitmoji. "no! that definitely is their privacy and we are not doing that." renjun with some common sense was strongly against opening the snap, shaking his head rapidly.

"open what and invade whos privacy?" jisungs voice surprised all the boys, jaemin jumping out of his seat and sending jisungs phone flying into the air. unfortunately, he accidentally pressed the chat, opening the snap. all 5 boys shrieked, pressing their hands to their eyes in addition to screwing them shut tightly so they didn’t see anything they shouldn’t be seeing. "is that my phone?" jisung walked closer to the sofa, slightly annoyed that they were going through his stuff but also confused at their reaction.

"park jisung i think we need to have a talk about women." jeno’s voice was shaky yet strong, gulping audibly as he pressed his hands to his eyes harder. jisung raised his brows as he walked round to the sofa, smiling uncontrollably when he saw the picture on his phone screen. "aww shes so cute!" he gushed, picking it up before sending weird looks to the boys. "why are you covering your eyes...you can look."

jaemin was the first one to open his eyes slowly, he was hesitant but he just had to trust jisung knew what he was doing. and boy did he feel like a fool when he opened them fully, sighing in relief and leaning back onto the sofa with relaxed shoulders. "guys false alarm." one by one they all opened their eyes, some holding in laughs from the situation and some wanting to praise the lord because jisung was still somewhat sweet and not a teenage douchebag.

that being due to the fact that the image on his screen was your face, your hair slicked up with soap into one vertical spike, a cute pout on your face. usually whenever you told jisung you were going in the shower he would ask for pictures of your hair in a spike which he would save into a whole folder of your cute spikey hair pics. ever since he saw that one post on instagram and begged you to try it, he had amassed a whopping 37 of these pictures which he would flick through if he was ever down or missing you. it was adorable really.

"what did you guys think it was?" jisung screenshotted the picture with a wide smile, secretly hoping that the big secret of his girlfriend would he forgotten. he wasn’t embarrassed of you or anything, he loved you with his whole existence but he knew you were a little shy to meet the other 5/6 dream members and the relentless teasing would further fuel your shyness. jeno looked around at all the awkward boys before realising no one was going to say anything if he didnt.

after seeing their reluctant expressions, jisung made a face of disgust and grimaced at the boys. "you’re all gross, not everyone is constantly horny you perverts." jisung shuddered, pressing his phone to his chest as he judged his older members who were stammering to explain themselves.

[danseurehonte]

“Remember My Name” Mafia Series

Prologue.

Summary: Yixing made the mistake of trusting his team too well, one job that he suspected went well did not and it’s costing him everything five years later.

This is imperative to the main story and cannot be skipped.

Mentions of: Murder, Gore, Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Wedding Massacre.

Words: 1087

His eyes were locked on the screen, the numbers steadily climbing before all the power in the building went off, “Why aren’t the generators cutting on?” He questioned, standing from the office chair as the emergency alarm sounded forcing him back down into his seat to attempt himself to figure out what was going on before his personal phone ringing started ringing. “You have ten minutes to tell me why my system that you built quote on quote oh so tightly is able to be attacked?” He was seething, there was no way someone was able to crack into the system, he trusted his team, he truly did or did he? Was this an inside job? The only people that know this system are those under him, the arms team, the security team, drugs everyone knew the system; they had to know it to pass through certain doors and gates in the hideout but no one knew codes and access other than the security team.

“Sir, I’m working my hardest to get the syst-,” the call was cut abruptly, he didn’t even need to look at his phone to know what happened before he launched it across the room. “Hi Yixing,” the feminine voice spoke absolutely too cheery for his liking. “Look at me,” she spat causing Yixing’s eyes to glare at the computer screen. “You’ll answer every question I ask or I’ll ruin you to the core.” He could hear her typing, the soft clicking of the keys irritating him as all he wanted to know was who she was. “You don’t remember me at all?” She asked tilting her head, green eyes piercing through the screen, “If I did don’t you think I’d have men deployed to your location?” Quietly sighing she was back to typing before his screen was split and those same numbers Yixing was looking at were displayed, “Every time I hear what I don’t want to hear I’ll make you suffer.” That caused Yixing to straighten up, how did she even have access to this information, when did she get it, the only person with the pass-code was him.

“Let me jog your memory wouldn’t want Mr. Pretty boy thinking so hard.” Pictures were uploaded to his screen, the images of what seemed to be a happy family but Yixing eyes zoned in on the man in the background, “Kim Hanjoon.” Her smile spread from ear to ear as he recognized the man, “head of the dragons.” He muttered before realizing that he was looking at a wedding photo> His memory slowly started to jog he’d ordered his men to interrupt the wedding and kill the bride and groom and anyone else they felt like.

“You took everything from me.” She yelled as Yixing’s eyes widened realizing Hanjoon’s widow was the person he was speaking to. “So tell me, why didn’t you check? Why didn’t you show any remorse when the news broke? Why didn’t you check the list of victims? Do you show no remorse for your actions Zhang?” They left a vital survivor, the wife, she survived and is most likely the new head of the dragons but there was no trace of them anywhere, the whole reason he ordered for them both to be killed was that a wife always took her husband place as the head when he died or went to prison.

“Speak!” She exclaimed but all Yixing could think of was there being a vital survivor and how she stayed so quiet for so long. “Fine then.” She disconnected their source of contact and Yixing sat in silence for a mere ten minutes before his office door opened and there she stood, blood covering her white shirt as she stared at him. She’d been in the building the entire time, he knew he recognized the background, she was in the security room, the call cut earlier because she killed her way in. With the new-found knowledge Yixing’s hand slowly reached under the desk, “I wouldn’t do that if I did this whole building blows.” She cooed pulling open her shirt to showcase the machine wrapping around her chest, “Is this a suicide mission?” He asked slowly moving his hands away from under his desk where his emergency weapon was placed. “Excuse me?” She questioned pointing the gun at Yixing, “You took everything away from me, everything and you dare ask me if this is a suicide mission.” Her eyes were filled with tears and the only thing Yixing could do to survive was played with her already sensitive emotions.

“Listen- I don’t need to fucking listen to you Zhang, you took my love from me so I’ll take everything from you and if you dare even THINK to retaliate I will take you myself and I’ll make you lick the ground I walk on, every single step behind me. Do you understand?” She spat cocking the gun back, stepping closer to him as she awaited an answer but before his lips could form one a gunshot sounded through the room, he couldn’t even react to the initial shot as he watches in horror as the blood poured from his side, “If you live to see me, you better start answering me faster.” She chuckled walking towards him, pushing the chair with a now blood-soaked Yixing aside, “What’s the password to the vault?” She asked looking at him before pointing the gun once again, “you already know it, why ask?” He gasped for air after each word, leaning his head back as consciousness was simply a game for him at this point, either he would win or he would lose.

She chuckled, nails clicking against the keys before deleting the secondary folder titled ‘The Dragons’, “You know nothing of my family and if I dare see you near my house I will make you my personal lap dog.” Her eyes screamed revenge as she looked at Yixing bleed out she spoke, “Marie Kim, remember my name.” She didn’t even bother to stay to see his reaction, she was out the door and within five minutes the power in the building was restored and doors were unlocked, people rushed into Yixing within an instant. “Sir, Sir, stay with me.” All his mind could focus on was how she entered unnoticed and how she left unnoticed, how did she get in and how did she leave so quickly the gates would have alerted him and the doors would have too.

“He’s falling forward, alert the medic now.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || Dysfunctional Family || Maknae line

WARNING: Some things may be triggering to you and if they are I advise you do not read this reaction. WARNINGS INCLUDE: Mention of abandonment, drug use, alcoholism, physical and verbal abuse, death of a family member

Jimin:

“Jimin I can’t come tonight, I want to but I can’t.” You said down the phone as you packed up an overnight bag, you were throwing in a bunch of your mum’s clothes, trying to find a book for her to read and then some bathroom supplies.

“What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me all week.” You stopped in your tracks and looked at the phone, his voice wasn’t coming from the other end anymore he was standing in the bedroom door watching your every move.

“Jimin…I said don’t come round here.” You whispered looking at the state of the house, it was a mess, ever since your mum got admitted into hospital you’d been all over the place trying to keep your sibling going to school and work, as well as cooking, cleaning and trying to get back and forth to the hospital all the time for the check-ups.

“What’s going on? Why are you packing?” You knew you couldn’t avoid the subject anymore so you decided to tell him, you continued packing though, you didn’t have time to sit around.

“Mums been admitted, she’s sick, really sick. The girls are at dance school, the boys are in a football club and I have to get to the hospital in the next hour or I don’t see her.” You said throwing the bag over your back and looking out of the window, the bus you were aiming the catch left.

“Where’s your dad?” You wanted to break down and cry, you turned to look at Jimin and then at the empty drawers, he’d walked out on you as a child, wanting nothing to do with any of you or your siblings, he saw you and avoided you, you began to tear up at the thought of him. He’d seen you many times before but avoided you, you’d never told Jimin about your dad before, scared he would judge you for it.

“He left us when we were kids.” You managed to whisper out to him, feeling guilty that you hadn’t told him any of this before now.

“I’ll give you a ride come on.” He took your hand in his and walked with you out towards the car, you both stayed silent as you walked.

(X)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned once you were back home, the doctor mentioning that your mum was recovering fast and at a good rate, she should be out by the end of the week but to take it easy.

“I didn’t want you to see us falling apart.” You whispered, finally putting the final load of washing into the machine and going to start cooking, but Jimin stopped you.

“Look, I’ll cook tonight, you go and have a bath or a shower, then we’ll have dinner with your siblings and put them to bed.” You nodded and kissed him on the lips, wondering how you ended up with someone so perfect and kind.

(XXXX)

It had been a few months since the incident, your mum was back to her healthy self, she was working again, your siblings were in better moods because she was home and your relationship with Jimin was stronger than ever, you were all having a meal together at home when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it, it’s probably desert.” You said grabbing your purse from the counter and going over to the front door, you swung it open to reveal your dad standing there with a bag on his shoulder.

“Who is it?” You heard your mum yell, you turned your head to them.

“No one, stay here.” You pushed him down the steps, he stumbled but stayed upright, you shut the front door behind you and kept pushing him until he was out of the gates of your house.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned looking at him, he stared at you, you looked different to when he first left when he left you were a crying mess of a child but now you were a grown woman who could fend for herself.

“I heard your mum was sick.” You scoffed at him and saw his eyes were on your purse, you threw it behind you, it hit the door and it opened, Jimin was standing there.

“I don’t have any money,” You spat at him but his eyes were on Jimin, looking at him as if he was taking his place,

“Who the fuck is that?!” Your dad yelled trying to act like a protective father, you pushed him again and he was finally out of the garden altogether.

“My boyfriend, he’s like a father figure to your kids.” You stated, looking him up and down.

“I’m their father figure, I’m their dad!” You began to laugh a little at him and then looked him in the eye.

“Now you wanna play the father role? Do you want to be their dad now? What? Now all the hard work of raising them is complete? You abandoned us!” You yelled at him and it was his turn to laugh now, Jimin watched as you stood up for yourself.

“It made you stronger didn’t it?!” You wanted to smack him across the face, you wanted to drag him down to the floor and treat him like the good for nothing he was.

“It made me stronger?! I was a kid! I didn’t need to be stronger! I need support!” Your mother had come to the door by now and saw him standing there, bags in his hand.

“Y/N, get back inside, he’s just trying to get a reaction,” You turned your back on him and went back up to the porch, hugging Jimin as you headed inside the house and slammed the door on your father for good.

Taehyung:

Dating with a dysfunctional family wasn’t easy, you would frequently avoid going out on dates, or bringing dates home, you wouldn’t call them or facetime in front of your family just in case anything were to happen while you were on the phone, but you had been together with Taehyung for three years, you avoided taking him home to your parents because your house was a warzone, they were constantly fighting with one another, and you were constantly having to break them apart, you didn’t want to bring your sweet boyfriend into their world, so you didn’t. You kept them as far apart as you possibly could, that was until now,

You woke up at 3 am to your phone buzzing beside your head, you frowned checking the caller ID, it was blocked, you slid it open and pressed it against your ear.

“Hello?” You spoke groggily into the phone, there was a pause on the other end and you frowned.

“Hello, this is Detective Park down at the police department am I speaking to Miss Y/L/N?” You frowned, sitting up in the bed and humming into to phone, you moved away from Taehyung, you’d managed to convince your mum and dad that you were spending the night with a girl-friend from work, it didn’t take much convincing, they believed you were staying with one of the friends they’d met before.

“Yes, what’s this about?” You questioned getting out of the bed and going over to the balcony door, you slid outside and sat on the deck chair that was out there, you didn’t want to wake Tae up and hear this.

“Well we tried to come out and see you, I’m afraid I have some bad news and I’m going to need you to come down to the station,” You felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach,

“I’ll be right there.” He gave you the address and you went back into the bedroom where Tae was still sleeping, you took your jeans and pulled them on, leaving his oversized shirt on and going out of his door and heading down the stairs.

(X)

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N?” You nodded to the female officer and she led you through a series of hallways finally coming to a door, she opened it and inside was a large window, you could see your dad who was handcuffed to a table and covered in blood, the worst possible images coming to your head.

“Is that your father?” You nodded and she sighed looking down at the folder in her hand, you knew what was coming before she even said it.

“At 1:04 am police were called to the scene where they found him and your mother, he was searching around in what we think was your bedroom, screaming out your name and shouting threatening things, he was arrested and taken into custody, paramedics at the scene tried all they could with your mother but she unfortunately-” You drowned out the rest of the words, your eyes wandering over to your dad who was covered in your mothers blood.

“Is there anyone we can call?” You looked at her, tears rolling down your cheeks and you nodded following her out of the room again and towards another seating area, where she sat you down with some tissues.

“I’ll call your boyfriend, will he hear his phone?” You nodded, Tae had you as one of his favourites on his phone so no matter what it would ring instantly.

(X)

“Y/N?” Your thoughts were interrupted by Tae who was standing in a white shirt and PJ bottoms, he was staring at you when you both heard yelling, you stood up and clutched onto Tae as they brought your father out in handcuffs, still covered in blood, once he spotted you he began hurling insults but you buried your head into the crook of Tae’s neck and he wrapped his arms around you.

“You’re okay, I’m right here.” He whispered, handing you some water as you sat down together on the same sofa as before.

“You didn’t tell me he was that bad.” You frowned looking at Tae, you shook your head going to ask what he meant.

“I met your dad two years ago, I’d come by to pick you up for a date because I wanted it to be a surprise and he told me I wasn’t allowed to come near you…I ignored him obviously but…why did you tell me he was this bad?” You wanted to sob into his arms but you knew it wouldn’t solve anything.

“I didn’t think he would kill her Tae…they said he was trying to find me too…to kill me…what if I wasn’t at yours tonight? He would have-” He stopped you midsentence by pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t think about that right now.” He pleaded, to try to calm you down by singing softly into your ear,

“I’ll take you back to my apartment, we can make a plan from there.” You nodded in agreement and he helped you to your feet, taking you towards the exit of the station.

Jungkook:

When you turned up at your boyfriend of one year, Jungkook’s house with a black eye and busted lip at 2 am he was shocked, he took one look at you standing there and moved you inside shutting the door behind him, you’d come to the dorms at 2 am before, sometimes even later but never with a black eye or busted up lip, you moved further into the house and he went to look for a first aid kit, he was the only one of the boys awake because he’d been playing video games all night, you sat down on the sofa and he came over, cleaning up your lip first and handing you some painkillers for the eye, he didn’t want to pressure you into talking but he also wanted to know what happened and who he had to hurt back for hurting the one he loved,

“Stay here.” He whispered going off to his room to get you one of his hoodies and some pants you’d left before, you looked behind you as he walked away and then back at the wall in front of you, you knew you were going to have to explain it to him.

“Y/n?” You heard someone say from beside you, you turned to see Hoseok standing there with a glass of water in his hand looking at you, his eyes instantly going to the black eye and lip.

“Are you-” Jungkook came back into the room and was shaking his head at his Hyung, Hoseok left without another word and Jungkook came down next to you.

“Kookie…I-” You couldn’t finish the sentence, you’d been thinking of it for a long time now and it was the only way out of the place you called home.

“What is it baby?” You looked at him, your eyes welling up from the pain.

“I need to get out of there…Can I come and stay here, it’ll just be until I can find my own place. Kookie if I have to stay there one more night…I’m- I’m scared.” He frowned, you’d never complained about your life at home before so he didn’t think there was a problem.

“Who did this to you?” He questioned going to touch your eye but you flinched away, you’d done that before and it was all starting to make sense, whenever he would make a sudden movement you’d flinch or cover your face as if he was going to shit you.

“The eye was my brother…my lip my dad…dinner wasn’t ready for him when he got in so he -” You didn’t want to remember your dad throwing you against the floor and hitting your head on the oven door, you rubbed your face as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“You can stay here as long as you want, I love you and so do the boys, why didn’t you come to me sooner?” You were about to answer him when he shook his head.

“That’s a dumb question don’t answer that, we’ll go back around tomorrow and get all of your things.” He took hold of your hand and walked you towards his bedroom, where he left you to get changed into his clothes.

(X)

“Is she here?” You heard someone yell the next morning, you sat up in the bed with Jungkook and his bedroom door flew open, your dad was standing there with your brother, both of them red in the face with anger.

“Excuse me, we don’t know you,” Namjoon said coming into the room, you were shaking on the bed while Jungkook stood up, your father came closer and he swatted him away.

“You won’t lay a finger on her.” He ordered, by now the rest of the guys were standing outside the door watching as your brother and dad tried to get you to leave with them. None of them except Hoseok had seen your black eye yet.

“I suggest you leave before I call the police,” Namjoon said, taking charge of the situation, your dad laughed at him and looked at you.

“You told them we did this? What?! Is she sucking all of your dicks? Is my daughter just that good that you all get to dip in.” You gagged at the sound of the words coming from him and Namjoon had enough, he grabbed him by the shirt and Jin grabbed your brother walking them out of the dorms and into the streets,

“Don’t bother coming back home! All your shit is gone!” Your father yelled before the door was slammed in his face, you let out a sob as you fell into Jungkooks arms.

“We’re your family now Y/N, You don’t need them.” He whispered while the other boys all agreed with him.

[blueluneacy]

Lessons in Law

Alright boys, it’s finally here. The first place raffle fic for @chaoticstupidsworld ! I had so much fun writing this, So I hope you all really enjoy it. This was definitely a fic made with a lot of love on my part, but I never would’ve done it without her amazing idea and the support of my friends. So thank you all for supporting me!

This is a Dio Brando/Reader, Modern Lawyer Au! It’s extremely nsfw.

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings are: cunniligus, fingering, degradation, slurs (sl/t), coming inside, employee boss relationships, power dynamic, slight dub con? I have no idea, but we’re putting that there too just in case.

You grumbled as you looked over the paperwork for the fourth time, trying to figure out what exactly you did wrong. Mr. Brando never told you what mistakes you made when you had made one, he expected you to figure it out for yourself, telling you it would be a learning experience. It took every fiber of your willpower to not yell back at your boss at his arrogance.

You had recently started working at the infamous Brando law firm, hoping to gain experience in your own legal studies. Your professor, though advising you that Dio Brando was known to be rather harsh, the internship would look incredible once you graduated from law school. So you toiled on, going through the paperwork, trying your best not to grumble. You should be grateful you were working for someone so prestigious. Yet all you could feel was your growing contempt for the man.

Dio in the courtroom was a wonder to behold, you knew that much. You sat in on one of his trials before taking on the internship, hoping to get more of a feel for the defense attorney. He took on most any case, so long as it paid enough, and was infamous for getting off people who probably were guilty on things like technicalities or simply his quick wit and talent for poking holes in the prosecutor’s case. Not to mention, you had quickly realized that Dio Brando was quite a beautiful man. While you knew that if you took the internship, you would need to be professional, it was hard not to see how attractive Dio was. Tall, broad shouldered, with that gorgeous blonde hair that he let grow perhaps a bit too long to be professional in a courtroom. He had these red eyes that pierced through anyone who he set eyes on, and a pretty face to match. He often accented his looks with makeup, which some interpreted as vanity, but at the time, you couldn’t help but be entranced.

If only you could see through that pretty face at the time. During your work, you quickly realized that Dio Brando was quite an arrogant, hard to please man. Ever the perfectionist, he was quick to get rid of anyone who displeased him. One of his clerks told you once that she was shocked that you even got the job, as apparently on the day of your interview, you had a tag sticking out from your top. That’s how particular Dio was about the image of his firm, and the people who worked for him.

And here you were, working to figure out your mistake, hoping that it was simply a minor error, and that you wouldn’t have to retype everything. You had taken keen to simply typing up your work, as Dio once made a comment that your handwriting was too dreadful for any sort of professional document. At the time, you were too terrified of him to even talk back. Over your job, you had quickly grown tired of Dio’s constant criticism of your work. You were supposed to be learning from him. Instead, he expected you to simply know what you did wrong and correct it, and it did nothing but piss you off. When you realized your mistake, you huffed. You know, if Dio told you what you had done wrong, it only would have taken ten minutes. Instead you had spent an hour looking over papers. Surely you’d get yelled at for taking too long once you turned in the papers. You grit your teeth as moved to your laptop, editing your document and printing it out. You sighed, checking it over one last time before slipping it into your folder, standing up and smoothing down your skirt. You were a bit sick of all this dressy clothing you had to wear for this internship, but Dio insisted on it. You supposed it was fine, after all, he wore a suit every day to the office as well. Even if the suits were a bit… eccentric at times. 

You clacked down the hall, wondering if there was ever going to be a day where you would get used to wearing high heels, and stopped at the end. Dio’s office was the last one at the end of the hall. How ominous. It felt just as foreboding at Dio meant it to be, you supposed. You took a deep breath, knocking on the door three times in rapid succession. It was a formal way of knocking, you had learned. You didn’t realize there were rules to knocking on a door.

“Enter.” The stern voice of your boss called out, and you took another deep breath before opening the door, holding the folder close to your chest.

“Mr. Brando. I’ve fixed my error in the report and brought it like you asked.” You tried your best to speak cooly, but you seemed to have trouble with actual volume when you did. It wasn’t your fault, you were trying to be respectful to a man that by all accounts was practically a monster. Sauve, sure, but it was all a facade. You had learned that all too well. Dio just looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“That was faster than expected.” He reached out to take the folder, which you quickly handed over. You wanted so badly to run off and leave, get to the next item on your list so you didn’t have to stand there while Dio looked over your paperwork, thumbing through with judgemental eyes. You watched him closely, hoping that maybe you could pinpoint what part of the document he was judging. No such luck. He carefully read through, before snapping the folder shut, dropping it on the table. 

“Do it again.” Dio told you, and you just gasped. This was hours of work at this point, and you were growing sick of this superior attitude Dio had. You just looked at him, shocked.

“W-What?! What’s wrong with it, what did I do?!” You asked, trying your best to hold back the rising anger in your stomach. Dio just put on a small smile, the tone in his voice reminding you of how one would chide a small child. 

“Now, (y/n), if I told you what you did wrong, then how would-” He began, but you had had enough. He always did that when you asked what you did wrong. He would reply “If I told you, then how would you learn?” It did nothing but piss you off, make you want to rip your hair out of your head.

“No! Just tell me, tell me what I did wrong! I’m sick of this, do you know how much time we’re wasting?! I could’ve gotten ten of these done if you just told me where I’m going wrong!” You yelled, not realizing how much you raised your voice until you finished speaking. You covered your mouth, shocked at your disrespect, but you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Dio looked at you with an intrigued expression at the fire in your voice, standing up and over towards you. You swallowed, stumbling back until you fell into one of the chairs on the other side of Dio’s desk. He leaned close, and you could smell the expensive cologne he was wearing. Dio dressed well, you could admit that much, and his clothing at this angle with you below him only extenuated his muscles. God, did he work out? This guy was massive.

“You know, I could fire you just for that. You’re nothing but a second rate student, but I decided to take you under my wing. It seems I’ve been too soft on you, you’re being nothing but ungrateful.” Dio’s voice was low, practically ringing in your ears as you gulped, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t just cower at this, could you? No, if you did, you’d spend the rest of this internship as Dio’s mouse, letting him toy with you and degrade your work until you finally broke. You swallowed, looking up at the man.

“I think you’re just a shit teacher.” You told him, looking right into Dio’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and god, he was far too close to you than what could be considered professional. He took your chin into his hand, humming slightly.

“Perhaps you’re right. I haven’t really been teaching you personally. I’ll have to amend that.” Wait, did Dio actually… Take your criticism seriously? You were shocked at first, but the smirk on Dio’s face seemed to tell a different story, something you couldn’t quite place. You gulped, trying to look away, but your head was kept in place, forced to look him in the eye. It was so much harder than before.

“W-What do you mean…?” You asked, unable to hide the shaking in your voice from your embarrassment. Dio leaned in, and god, you felt his breath on your ear. You felt a shudder go down your spine, and you prayed to god that Dio didn’t notice.

“What do you think it means, my dear?” He purred, and god, that British accent of his was so smooth, leaving you to gulp as his free hand toyed with the hem of your collar. You had a very good idea of what he meant, that’s for sure. You squirmed a bit, unsure of what to do. This was not in the legal manuals you read, definitely not.

“M.. Mr. Brando… This is highly inappropriate, I-” You were cut off by your own squeak and Dio’s hand travelled lower, over your chest. He chuckled a bit at your reaction, staring at you as if you were no more than a piece of meat, primed for Dio to devour. 

“Oh, no need to act so coy, my dear.” Dio chuckled, finding your embarrassment all the more amusing. He leaned in, breathing in deeply before speaking.

“I remember how your eyes practically undressed me while you were watching me in court. You were hoping something like this would happen, weren’t you?” Dio practically growled into your ear. You gasped, looking away. There’s no way he could’ve noticed, right? He was just messing with you, pretending he knew things that he didn’t in order to get a confession out of you. He knew how to form questions. It was just a shame that he was absolutely right, and your face was bright red. 

“I.. I d-don’t what you’re talking about-” You let out a soft moan as Dio leaned down to suck on your skin, leaving a mark.

“It’s not good to lie, dear (y/n). Such a slutty thing, lusting after your own boss. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Dio just grinned into your neck as a hand reached under your shirt, toying with you through your bra. You gulped, biting your lip to try and hold back your embarrassing sounds, pressing your thighs together as if it would stop how wet you were becoming due to his ministrations. 

“Mr. Brando… We, Someone could catch us, p-please…” You made a last ditch effort to save a shred of dignity, only for Dio to purr.

“This room is hard to listen in to, for privacy’s sake. So as long as you’re quiet, no one will know.” He told you as he lifted you up. You squeaked as he held up, pressing your back down onto his desk as he pulled the zipper on your skirt, smiling as he saw you had soaked through your underwear.

“My my… Someone’s excited, aren’t we?” He teased and he ran his hand along your thigh, using the other to toy with the hem of your underwear. You bit your lip a Dio began to slip them off, cooing at the sight of you. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’d rather savor the taste of this before we continue.” You looked at Dio to ask what he meant, before feeling exactly his intent as his tongue swiped over your slick folds. You moaned out, reaching to grab Dio’s hair. He chuckled a bit, giving a few kitten licks before truly pushing his tongue inside of you, taking in your moans as if they were the great symphony. He toyed with your insides a bit, thrusting his tongue in and out of you, before pulling out and reaching to give a harsh suck on your clit. You whined and bucked up into Dio’s mouth, only feeling that coil in your belly start to tighten as you chased pleasure. Dio just chuckled, moving to hold down your hips. 

“Look how needy you are for me… Delicious little thing, you’re just aching for me, aren’t you?” He teased, pushing a finger inside of you to help stretch you out as his tongue toyed with your clit. You moaned, nodding incessantly as Dio did as he pleased.

“God, pleeeeease! Please, I need it!” You whined out, trying to buck your hips as Dio added another finger, scissoring them to prepare you to take him. He just chuckled as you moaned, your pleading becoming more delirious as you begged for him to pound you into this desk. He pulled his fingers from you and you groaned, bucking up your hips in an attempt to reobtain the lost friction, only to find nothingness. Dio just chuckled, forcing his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck. If you do a good job, maybe I’ll be gracious enough to let you cum on my cock.” Dio practically growled. You felt a shiver go down your spine as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, doing your best to clean them off. You looked up at Dio, trying your best to look pleading. God, just a while ago you would’ve scoffed at the idea of ever being below the man like this. Sure, maybe the idea had popped in your head a few times during some late nights, but you always considered Dio too full of himself for such a thing to ever happen. Now look at you. Needy, begging, and ready to jump at any command. And the look in Dio’s eyes made it very clear that he relished in it.

When he finally pulled out his fingers, he smiled at the way you practically whimpered, biting your lip as you watched Dio pull away, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his trousers to reveal his hard cock. You stared in awe for a moment. It was big, maybe a little too big, but you couldn’t help but drool a little at the sight. Dio easily lined up, nudging against your entrance, leaving you to shudder with need.

“Beg. Beg for me to fuck you.” Dio commanded. You looked away, embarrassed. You swallowed before you started.

“P… Please, Dio. Please fuck me, I need it, need you so bad. You’re the only man who can fulfill me, please.” You begged. Dio just raised an eyebrow, pushing in slowly. You groaned, grabbing onto the edge of the desk. You gasped at the stretch, feeling Dio press up against your womb as he finally bottomed out. He was quieter than you had imagined, only letting out a small gasp as he pushed in. 

“That was good, but… You can do better. Come on, let me hear how much you need it. Or I won’t move.” Dio ordered, a cocky smirk on his face. You grumbled, almost shocked at how composed he could be while his dick was literally inside you. Still, you obliged. 

“P-Please, please fuck me, I need it! Need it, need you to fuck me and cum inside of me, need you to fill me up! God, need you to fuck me, Sir!” You hadn’t intended for that last word to slip out, and when you heard it come from your mouth, you looked up with wide eyes, as if you hoped Dio maybe wouldn’t have caught it. It was a foolish hope. Dio just broke out in a small laugh, pulling back slowly. You whined, expecting him to be pulling out, before he slammed back into you. You let out a broken moan, your eyes rolling back in your head as he hit your g-spot. 

“Hmm, that’s much better. It seems you’re finally starting to learn.” He growled, sounding a bit more animalistic than anything you had ever seen the normally composed lawyer speak out. He grabbed onto your hips bruisingly tight, beginning to fuck you hard and fast. Dio was insatiable, bending over you and gasping for breath as he listened to you moan and let out broken praises. He relished in the way you begged for him, the way your body clenched around him, trying to bring him deeper inside of you as you let out sounds for him.

“God, yes, please Dio, fuck me! Fuck me harder, please!” You moaned out, Dio practically snarling as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking and biting the skin in hopes of causing you bruises, marking you as his. 

“That’s Sir to you, slut. Be grateful that you even are getting this.” He gave a harsher bite as a warning, leaving you to moan and gasp in return.

“S-Sorry, Sir! Please, thank you! Thank you for fucking me, feels so goooood~!” You cried out, wrapping your arms around Dio and grabbing onto the back of his shirt. You were almost sure that you were loud enough for the whole office to hear you, but at this point, you didn’t care. You felt yourself getting closer, closer, and all you could think about was how good it would feel to cum all over Dio’s cock, to feel him fill you up. Dio could feel himself getting close too, groaning as he dug his nails into your hips.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He grunted out, trying his best to stave himself from holding your hips down and forcing his cum into the deepest parts of you.

“Inside me, Sir! Please, it’ll be okay! Just fill me up!” You begged, trying to pull Dio as close as you to you. Dio just growled, pounding into you as hard as you could and you wailed out, clenching down on Dio as if trying to milk him for all he’s worth. He pounded into you one, two, three more times, before he let out a groan of his own, pressing himself into you as deep as he could. You moaned at the warmth you felt inside of you, the two of you staying like that and panting for a bit. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Dio’s lips, slowly releasing your grip on Dio’s shirt, trying to crane your neck to inspect your wrinkles. Ever the dutiful employee.

Dio slowly pulled out, leaving you to whine. This was going to be a bitch to clean up. Dio just smiled, adjusting your shirt. 

“Looks like most people have already left for the day. However, you still have a report to redo. I expect you to finish it before you leave here.” Dio told you as he put himself away, already moving to get back to his own unfinished paperwork. You gasped, moving to stand up and face him, even though your legs were still like jelly.

“What?! Come on, that’s hours of work, just tell me what I did wrong.” You begged, but Dio just smiled as he turned back to you. He grabbed your chin, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip almost tenderly, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Now, my dear (y/n). If I were to tell you your mistake, how would you learn?” Dio chided as he always did, before letting you go, moving to sit back down at his desk.

“Now, go on, try again. If it’s good, perhaps I’ll… Reward you kindly.” He relished in the way your face burned as you heard him speak, eyes tearing over you as you started to redress with him still dripping out of you. Even after something like that, he was still an asshole. As you walked out of the office, you were grateful that the office was indeed almost empty, and the people still there didn’t comment on your crooked shirt or messy hair.

You really did hate working for Dio Brando. That much was obvious. He was arrogant, domineering, and felt like he was entitled to anything and everything. And yet, you continued to work for him, continued with this stupid paperwork. You couldn’t help it.

The mention of a reward was just too alluring to you.

[1ooo-w0rds]

A/N: My brain: relaxing Sunday morning. Let’s finish some angst. A part of my What If series, Reyna’s thoughts and reaction to Jason’s death. I had one more scene I wanted but I wanted to post something for my lovely readers. Sorry if this feels rushed! Enjoy!

Something was off about the day, an unrest presence in the back of Reyna’s mind before she went to bed. Her alarm didn’t go off as she gradually awake to Aurum and Argentum clawing at her door. She blinked away the sleepiness, staring at the red numbers of her digital clock.

8:39AM

“Fuck.” Reyna swore as she swept her legs off, scrambling to change in the dimly lit room. Her hand waved wildly as she shifted through the notes she needed for the early Senate meeting. Her elbow hit a photo frame sending it tumbling down, shattering the glass. She flinched at the sharp sound and frowned at the mess.

“Ouch.” Reyna glared at the fresh cut the glass left on her finger. Flipping the image over, the moment in time squeezed at Reyna’s heart. It was Jason and Reyna in their official Praetor outfit with olive laurels in their hair and pride in their young faces. Behind the serious image, tucked away, was a photo booth strip from their first day off, a date. Silly faces, warm tender looks, the cusp of something more.

Reyna pressed her lips together before turning away, grabbing her keys and sweeping her long hair out of her face. She had work to do.

~~~

“I can feel you staring, Zhang.” Reyna murmured as they walked through the halls of the Senate towards their office. Other New Rome officials passed by, nodding to the young leaders. Reyna could feel the weight of their stares, noticing how Reyna was without her signature braid, her clothes a little messier than usual. But Frank’s gaze was the heaviness. He will notice things.

“You’re off your game today.” Frank mentioned as he opened the door for her, such a casual effortless gesture. Reyna set her papers down and gave him her trademark wolf glare. Frank didn’t wilt underneath it unlike a few months ago. He crossed his arms and smiled kindly, patiently. She’s proud of the boy, glad for the obvious growth in her praetor partner. It’s hard to believe the boy was dumped three weeks ago. “What’s wrong, Reyna?”

“Jason sent a cryptic note a few days ago.” Reyna confessed, sinking into her seat. She pulled it out and handed it to the boy. It was a nondescript piece of lined notebook paper torn out of a spiral notebook. But Reyna recognized Jason’s messy handwriting from anywhere. Off being a hero. See you soon. Frank frowned at the words. “Thought he retired from being a hero.”

“That’s an option?” Frank joked as he looked over the paper. “Where can I sign up?” They shared a private smile, knowing their job was rarely done especially as Praetors. He sat at his desk, reaching down to pet Aurum. “I’m sure Jason is fine. He’s one of the Big Three kids.”

“They’re not invincible, Frank. Remember, we’re still half-mortal.” Reyna reminded, feeling that nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Frank opened his mouth to reply but a heavy knock cut through the room. The two traded curious glances. “Come in,” Reyna ordered, standing up. It creaked open revealing Hazel with a somber expression on her young face. “Hazel?”

Frank looked down, avoiding his ex-girlfriend’s form but Hazel didn’t spare him a glance, her amber eyes focused on Reyna. “There’s someone here to see you, both of you. He’s by the entrance with…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes fluttered closed. Hazel’s hands balled up like the thought physically hurt her somehow. Reyna stepped forward, placing her hands on Hazel’s shoulders and squeezed gently, pulling her back to now.

“Thank you Hazel.” Reyna whispered as Frank moved ahead with the dogs. Reyna took one step before Hazel wrapped her arms around her waist suddenly.

“I’m sorry,” her voice muffled as she pressed her face against Reyna’s side. “I’m so sorry.” Dread pooled in Reyna’s stomach as she gently peeled Hazel’s arms off. I’ve fought in wars. I’ve faced Titans. Reyna reminded herself as she walked through the open windy streets. The sun sat high, beating down hotly as they approached the boundaries. A small crowd gathered around a beat up black car with smoke floating from the engine.

Two ragged figures stood beside Lavinia Asimov with grim expressions on their weary faces. A young man with curly dark hair looked up, immediately locking eyes with Reyna. Her throat tightened as she noticed the deep blue of his eyes just like Jason’s. He stepped towards her with a bundle of papers. She knew that folder, seen it on her kitchen table for many nights when he needed to stay late.

“Those are Jason’s…” Reyna whispered, reaching out for the bundle but pulled back. She thought of Hazel’s whispered apology, of the bad feeling looming of her, of the broken picture frame in her room. “Who are you?” Words icy and cold.

“My mortal name is Lester but I prefer Apollo. I’m sorry, Praetor Reyna, Jason… Jason Grace died protecting us.”

###

Reyna didn’t cry at the funeral. She didn’t cry when they lit the pyre, one last send off for their golden son. Reyna isn’t sure how she felt as she sat in the dark Principia alone with her swirling thoughts and feelings. The city sat quiet, a suffocating silence as they mourned for one of their greatest heroes. Reyna closed her eyes, not even remembering her speech to the city, words so practiced for so many deaths. Apollo performed the last rites, she didn’t hear the words disappearing into the shadows. She could’ve stand there anymore being a public figure. She wanted to just be Reyna.

“Gods, you’re so stupid, Jason.” Reyna whispered, looking at the Principia. So many Praetors fluttered in and out of this room but the ones with Jason were the clearest despite being one for only a month.

Her hand brushed over the hard wood of the desk, the same desk they stood in front when accepting their first quests together, young naive and thirsty to prove themselves. She looked at the wall size map of New Rome, remembering looking up at it with Jason as they waited for Felix or Audrey. One day we’ll lead this place. Jason told her back then with his cheeky smile. Reyna shook her head. “There was no we, Jason. It’s just me.”

A light knock interrupted Reyna’s thoughts. The door creaked open as a sliver of light pierced the room. Apollo stood there awkwardly in his mortal form unlike his golden godly form. “There’s a quest.”

Reyna clenched her teeth, taking a step towards him. “Of course there’s a quest. There’s always a quest.” She sneered. Gods, Reyna wanted to hit something. She wanted to lash out, flipp the papers off her desk and say screw it, screw the gods and let them fix their own messes. “I’m…” Reyna noticed the chessboard in the corner, tucked away. Her anger softened as the truth she knew all her life resurfaced.

If not her, which poor demigod would the gods choose. Which fool would they use for their bidding? Which Jason would they pluck out of their normal life and thrust them into this horrible cycle. Reyna sighed. Not another one. No one else.

“You treat us like pieces on a board, moving us with your invisible hands.” Reyna whispered, needing someone to hear her words. She picked up the white knight, Jason’s piece. People always likened Jason to one, so brace, so strong, so ready to do what’s right. Off being a hero. Look at where that got you. “You gods are unfazed when we fall. No reaction when we don’t get up.” Reyna locked eyes with Apollo, needing him to hear her words, her meaning. “What an existence.”

“I…” Apollo tried.

“Don’t. I don’t need your apology. Gods will keep doing this. It’s a vicious cycle.” Reyna set the piece down and squared her shoulders, ready to take her place. “Tell me about the quest.”

[yuengi]

bad boys bring it to you

header credits go to valerie @taendrils !!

pairing: tattoo artist!yoongi /reader warnings: choking, praise kink, dirty talk genre: pwp, smut words: 7.1k

Friends are useless.

You finally learn the truth behind these words when Taehyung and Hoseok corner you after work an unsuspecting Tuesday afternoon, smiles much too wide to mean anything good.

“So,” Hoseok begins, inspecting his fingernails with a smirk, “Remember last Thursday when you said I’d be too much of a wimp to ever get a piercing?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him back a little bit with a shove. “That’s because you are a wim–”

“False!” Taehyung interrupts, eyes glinting. “He is no longer Hoseok, wimp extraordinaire–”

“I resent that!” Hoseok interrupts, voice indignant.

“–but rather, Jung Hoseok, hardcore, punk rocker with an ear piercing.”

You blink. “What.”

“Rocker, juvenile, delinquent, lives on the edge–” Hoseok shrugs. “Take your pick; they all describe me right now.”

And then he turns to the side, a little glint of metal shining and oh–

Jung Hoseok has an ear piercing.

This is bad news.

Very, very bad news.

“Guys,” you plead, voice nervous and desperate. “It’s awesome that Hoseok got the piercing and all, but–”

“No buts! You promised you’d get a piercing if I got one.”

You huff at that; only Hoseok would hold you to a promise you made when drunk.

Taehyung and Hoseok are positively unbearable separately but when they come together, they’re an unstoppable force. It’s how you end up walking to a tattoo parlor on the sketchy side of town, shivering in fear as Hoseok trots alongside, whistling cheerfully.

“No, nope I can’t do this,” you wail, stopping in your tracks when the shabby tattoo parlor comes into view. “I’m too scared, Hoseok. It can’t happen–I’m gonna die.”

Hoseok snorts, one hand latching onto your wrist to prevent you from turning around. “If I can get through this, you can, too, stupid.” And with that, he’s tugging you closer and closer to the establishment, cackling as you plead with him.

The bell rings over your head as you’re pushed in, the sharp smell of antiseptic filling your nose. The shop is completely empty, save for the tanned, black-haired man bent over the counter top, pen cap clenched between his teeth as he doodles onto a white paper. It’s fairly small, a little red counter over a glass case full of piercings and two stout wooden stools. Tattoo designs cover every inch of the wall and there’s a beaded curtain separating what you assume must be the back rooms, but your thoughts are interrupted by the man standing, lanky limbs and bored eyes.

“Sup,” He calls, spitting out the pen cap and straightening. “Here for a tattoo?”

“No,” Hoseok laughs, jerking his thumb in your direction, “but my friend here wants a piercing.”

The man surveys you, plush lips pursed and you stumble forwards, wiping your sweaty and on your skirt and mustering a stiff smile as you stick your hand out. “H–hi!”

He looks unimpressed, eyebrow arched and nose wrinkled, but just as you’re about to lower your hand, he raises his, grasping your hand in a firm handshake.

“Yoongi!” He calls over his shoulder. “We got a client for you!”

The lanky man turns back to look at you, eyes impassive. “Yoongi’s the piercer around here, so don’t get all jittery.”

“J–jittery?” You squeak, fingers shaking. “Who’s jittery?”

Hoseok stifles a laugh with the back of his hand, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry about my friend,” he offers with an apologetic smile. “She’s scared of everything.”

The man nods, head ducking behind the counter to rummage through the filing cabinets. “We get a lot of people around here who’re scared,” he drawls. “Yoongi’s good at what he does. I’ll just pull out the disclaimer forms for you and we can quickly wrap this up, alright?”

You nod as his head pops back up, a manila folder clenched between his fingers. “And you look plenty old enough, but I can I get your i.d? Just y’know laws and whatnot.”

You rummage through your purse, fingers brushing over lipstick tubes and hand sanitizer. Handing him the card, your eyes scan over the form. Everything looks standard, warnings of infections and standard procedure and liability.

You hear rustling behind the beaded curtain, sneaking a peek out of the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of a black tshirt and black ripped jeans.

It must be Yoongi, the enigma, the piercer, the man who holds the fate of your life in his hands.

Your mind procures images of a burly six foot tall man, bushy eyebrows and formidable tattoos, tired of whiners and criers. It does nothing to settle your nerves, thoughts of piercings all over his face and rough, angry words.

The man behind the counter leans forwards as you scrawl your name onto the dotted line, scanning the page and filing it away, handing you a copy.

“Hey, Namjoon,” calls a voice from the back room, “where are all the clamps.” It’s deep, rumbly, slightly warm, and you shiver despite yourself.

The man behind the counter, presumably Namjoon, huffs and rolls his eyes, spinning on his heel to shove through the curtain.

“So,” Hoseok begins, “on a scale of one to ten, how quickly are you going to cry?”

You frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the counter, back facing the curtain.

“I’m not a wimp like you, so not at all. Unlike you, Hoseok I’m tough.”

“Good to hear,” chuckles a low voice behind you. “Makes my job a hell of a lot easier.”

You spin on your heel, eyes landing on an amused face, curled lips, and messy brown hair. He’s short–shorter than you expected–with thin, spindly arms and sharp, piercing eyes. Tattoos cover every inch of his arms, swirls of color and ink and climbing up and disappearing into the sleeves of his black shirt, reappearing on his neck.

You’re an adult with a semblance of self-control but your can’t help it when the first thought that runs through your mind is ‘holy fuck, this is so worth the needle’.

“I hear you want to get pierced today?” He offers with a waggle of his eyebrows. “My name’s Yoongi and stabbing with pointy objects is my game.”

You choke, spluttering out wheezes as Namjoon thwacks Yoongi on the back of the head, rolling his eyes. “Stop telling that to customers, dumbass.”

Yoongi cackles, head tipped back in mirth, and you admire the black ink etched into the column of his neck, faintly making out letters and swirling vines.

He shoves Namjoon aside, whisking the paper off the counter. You admire the way his fingers look, crooked and long, thick and rough pads rubbing against the folder.

“Checked her age?” He mumbles out of the corner of his mouth to Namjoon.

“She’s old enough,” the lanky male responds, ren cap back between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the paper in front of him.

Your eyes rake over his form, appreciatively eyeing his thighs, tight underneath the black denim, scanning up to trace over the tendrils of ink–

“You’re being so obvious right now,” Hoseok whispers in your ear, and you can almost hear the fucking smirk in his words, whipping around to throw a sharp glare at him.

“So, what kind of piercing would you like today, m’lady?” Yoongi asks, rubbing his hands together and casting a teasing smile in your direction.

“Tr–tragus,” you respond, momentarily taken off guard by his smile, “but are you the piercer?”

Yoongi’s eyes shift a little bit, lips curling into a wider smile. “Why yes, I am.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Not a tattoo artist? But you don’t have any piercings?”

This time he looks even more amused and you catch the faintest smirk on Namjoon’s lips as well.

You can’t exactly breathe right now because Yoongi’s eyes are a little different and it’s making your breath catch a little bit. You’re not sure if the way he licks over his lips, tongue sticking out from between his teeth, is a habit or because of you. The way his eyes scan over you, dragging down your torso and flitting back up to stare into your eyes, leaving your fidgeting, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

He steps forward, too close, much too close and shoots you a smile before his mouth pops open. Your eyes catch the glint of a silver stud sitting innocently in the middle of his tongue and you faintly register Hoseok snickering but it’s all lost over the rush of blood in your ears.

“There’s my piercing,” Yoongi says, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets with a cocky grin.

“Oh.” The sound comes out as more of a croak. Excellent.

Namjoon seems to derive some sort of pleasure from your reaction, sniggering into his shirt sleeve.

“Alrighty then,” Hoseok chimes from behind you, “I’ve done my work, the rest of up to you. I have to meet up with Taehyung for dinner, so I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully with another hole on your body.” He winks at you as he backs out of the door and panic flood through you as you leap forwards, scrambling.

“No, Hoseok, no,” you whisper urgently, tugging on his sleeve. “Please just stay.”

“Can’t, darling,” he drawls, lips drawing up into a smirk, “but I think you’ll find someone else here to help you out.”

And with that he skips through the door, a light tinkle in the air echoing as the only recollection of your stupid friends.

“Alright,” Namjoon sighs from behind you, “I’m leaving, Yoongi! It’s closing time in about ten minutes so she’s the last client we’re taking for the day!”

Yoongi appears next to you, hand on the small of your back. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice low and gruff, “I’ll take good care of you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, one you’re sure Yoongi can feel.

“I’ll lock up, so remember to leave the keys!” Yoongi calls over his shoulder as Namjoon shrugs on a jacket, nodding and swiftly leaving.

There’s a sort of silence that rings when the both of you are alone, one that makes your fingers tingle and head rush with too many thoughts.

Yoongi interrupts your thoughts with a gentle push, his hand still firm on the small of your back. “After you, m’lady. Let’s pick an earring first and we’ll go through the whole thing nice and easy.” His voice is deep, soothing, but it drives a shudder through your body, one you try to shake off as you eye the arrangements of earrings in the glass case.

“Since it’s a tragus there aren’t really very many options, but I’d recommend that one,” he says, long finger pointing at a silver stud. “Won’t get easily infected and pretty standard maintenance.”

“I’ll go with that,” you decide quickly, not looking forward to inflicting more pain than necessary on yourself.

“Alright, then,” Yoongi straightens, moving to part the curtains, “follow me.”

You’re led through a short hallway into a back room. Yoongi tells you to wait on the long table, eerily reminiscent of a doctor’s office, with white walls and a long white curtain and white paper covering the examination table that crinkles when you sit on it and it’s too much, too much.

“Relax,” Yoongi hums, standing at the small counter in the room, digging through the drawers. “I promise the pain isn’t as bad as they tell you.” He snaps on a pair of latex gloves

“That doesn’t help very much,” you wheeze, wringing your hands. “This place reminds me of needles and i just–nope.”

He laughs a little, the sound so clear and rich it makes your heart skip several beats. “I understand. I’ll guide you through the whole thing, so don’t stress too much.”

You nod, resigned to inevitable pain when he steps forward, a few pieces of completely foreign equipment in his hands. The first thing he hold up, much to your relief, is not a needle.

“I’m just gonna mark the place I’m piercing, alright?”

He brings his face close to yours, slim flingers gently slipping under your jaw to turn your face to the side. You spread your legs a little to accommodate his frame, the position strangely intimate.

The soft tip of the marker presses against your ear and Yoongi pulls back, an encouraging smile on his face.

“Don’t worry. Half the struggle is already over.”

He rips open an alcohol towelette, fingers brushing stray strands away from your face and the smell of disinfectant rises and permeates your senses.

“I’m gonna clamp your ear now,” he mumbles comfortingly, a sudden pressure on your ear. It makes you gasp and he shakes his head, cooing softly, “shhh, no, it’s alright, we haven’t gotten to the needle just yet.”

His eyes are fixed on your ear and for a moment you panic, fingernails digging into the paper beneath you, a loud crinkling noise echoing in the room. He looks down for a split second, an understanding look on his face. “Hey, it’s alright. Tell you what, if you want, you can hold onto my shirt.”

“W–what?” You stutter, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

“Hold onto my shirt or my waist, whatever, just brace yourself.”

This can’t possibly be normal you wonder, your cheeks flushing as your fingers scramble up to tangle in the hem of his shirt. But it’s something you quite enjoy, relishing in the quick peek of tattooed abdomen that flashes before your eyes. His eyes seem to smoulder, dark and heavy as his his breath ghosts over your lips, face coming closer to yours.

“Can I move on now?” He whispers softly, gently.

You nod, not trusting your voice and clamping your jaw shut.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice dropping several octaves, and your body burns at the words, cheeks flushing and a red heat spreading over your form.

And it definitely isn’t the best time to get turned on, you think, eyes slipping shut. There’s no possible way that this is normal.

“Be still,” Yoongi orders, his breath fanning across your face.

You dig your tongue into your lower lips, biting down when you feel the tip of the needle press against your ear. There’s a pressure first and then a pain that floods your sense, first dull then sharp. It leaves you whimpering, knuckles white as they tangle further into the hem of his tshirt.

“It’s alright,” he coos, lips brushing over your cheek. “We’re almost done.”

Tears collect at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your ear burns, like all the blood is rushing to that one spot, head spinning, stomach twisting.

“And, we’re done,” Yoongi mumbles, moving the clamp away from your ear. “You did well.”

When your eyes open, a little teardrop runs down the side of your face, one that Yoongi gently brushes away with his fingertips.

You look up at him, pouting through the tears. “That was really painful.” The words come out breathless, almost in a gasp, too loud in the silence of the room.

Something flickers in his eyes, dark and smothering, but it quickly fades as he slips a hand underneath your jaw and tilts your head up, lips oh so close to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your lips. The tension is stifling, pressing down on your chest and swirling inside your stomach.

Your lips twitch.

He steps back, taking the warmth of his body heat with him, and you mourn the loss. Yoongi takes a few moments to gather the materials, snapping his gloves off and tossing them into the wastebin.

“Make sure you clean then every night and avoid sleeping on that side,” he informs you, pacing around the room to clean up.

Your fingers twiddle in your lap, itching to make a move, but not quite sure what exactly. Yoongi is more polite now; there’s still the warmth, but it’s coated by the cloak of professionalism and it makes you pout.

It makes you reconsider everything that just happened, a longing ache filling your chest and you just need to say something, something not stupid, something–

“So how far to your tattoos go?” You blurt out, shoulders hunching as your eyes flit to every corner of the room, not quite meeting his.

Smooth.

His eyes snap to yours and he turns around, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Like how many do I have?” He questions, smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Y–yeah,” you squeak intelligently.

Yoongi stalks forwards, strides long and purposeful, his eyes dark. He plants his hands on either side of your body on the examination table, wedging his form between your legs.

“Want me to show you?”

“Uhm, I mean if you want–”

You’re cut off by him stepping back, fingers gripping onto the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head and oh my–

Tattoos sprawl across his chest, wisps of ink trailing over his chest, little flowers and drawings that are so intricate you find yourself leaning forward, humming in appreciation when he steps forward again, back into your personal space.

Your hand lifts, almost unconsciously and your fingertips are halfway to his chest when you stop, blushing and looking at him with embarrassment.

“You can touch,” he supplies, eyebrow quirked in amusement.

A sort of happiness spreads through you at his words, fingers greedily moving to press against his cool skin, tracing the lines of ink up his chest, taking in the colorful swirls and carefully etched lines. Your eyes widen at the sight of two glinting silver metal pieces, pierced through his nipples.

A glance up at him with an arched brow only grants you a cocky grin from him.

You feel an involuntary shudder run down your spine at that, turning your attention back to his chest. Yoongi’s chest is really a work of art . . . covered with sprawling tattoos and splashes of colors, delicately balanced with the metal studs that wink at you from his nipples. His breath hitches a little when you drag your nail down the center of his chest, right between where the piercings lie, and you’re suddenly reminded of the compromising position the two of you are in, his half-naked body almost pressed up against yours, your legs dangling loosely around his waist.

It makes your fingers stutter, opting instead to follow one of the vines up his neck. Yoongi hums contentedly, tipping his head back as you follow the swirls, fingers pressing into his jaw and unconsciously dancing softly over his lips.

He brings his head back down, locking eyes with you, and this time his eyes are hungry, needier and it makes the ache between your legs intensify.

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You whisper, one hand coming back to play with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Only for cute little things like you,” he answers, lips quirking, his eyes locked on your mouth.

“Oh.”

You really do have the most insightful conclusions at the best of times.

He brings his face closer, mouth hovering over yours, but he doesn’t seal your lips, and you realize he’s waiting, making sure that you’re okay with this. The last piece of dignity inside of you, of not fucking random hot strangers you meet in tattoo parlors, dies right there and then.

You lurch forwards, teeth clacking a little painfully against his and he immediately melts into the kiss, hands moving to tug you closer by your waist. He doesn’t waste time, licking into your mouth and groaning, pressing and swirling the metal stud on his tongue in ways that have you keening, both hands coming up to tug at his hair.

Your fingers fumble with the button of his jeans, tugging and fretting to pull the fabric away from his body. His cock springs free when you do, hot and thick and heavy, the tip an angry red, and out of the corner of your eye, you see his fingers twitch, once, twice. It’s too much, too overpowering, and you slide off the exam table, dropping to your knees in front of him, eager and wanting and impatient.

A long, black tattoo swirls over his left thigh, peeking out of the fold of his jeans from where he has them folded just enough for his cock to hang out.  Your eyes momentarily flit over it, taking in the image of a wolf appreciatively, but your mind keeps moving, taking in too much sensory stimulus at once. His thighs are spread, inviting, and you’d really like to sit in his lap but you’re a little more than distracted by the dick in front of your face, because dammit Yoongi is hung.

“Can I–” you croak, voice dry and cracked, “can I please touch?”

Yoongi cracks a teasing smile behind gritted teeth. “You’ve been good today, so I don’t see why not.”

You ignore the fire that burns down your spine when he says the words, leaning forward to flick your tongue over the head of his cock. His eyes flash and he practically growls, hands clenching into tight fists by his sides.

Your eyes slide shut, bobbing your head twice as you push the head of his cock past your lips, slick noises echoing in the silent room, coupled with the heavy breaths that are pulled in sharply through your nose. The stretch is wide, the girth of his length stretching the seams of your mouth and a dull ache settles in your jaw, but it’s one you enjoy, relishing in the way Yoongi moans, thighs quivering.

One of your hands come up to stroke at the base of his length, fingers brushing over all that you can’t take fully into your mouth. You try to take in more, relaxing your throat muscles and guiding his cock slowly into your mouth, humming when you hear Yoongi groan.

The sound intensifies the ache growing between your legs and you moan around his cock, fingers moving to claw at his thighs, raking over rough denim. You let out the faintest of whimpers, desperate and whiny and it’s all it takes for the last of Yoongi’s self control to snap.

He snarls, fisting a hand into your hair and dragging you forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat and your eyes snap open. Your fingers scrabble against his thighs, eyes tearing up as he snaps his hips forward, fucking into your mouth with a long, drawn out groan.

Yoongi’s cock stretches your mouth painfully, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes and running down the side of your face. He tips his head back, groaning, the sound painfully arousing, and exposes the length of his neck.

You’ve lost all control of your senses, so you splutter, choking when he drives his hips deeper, trying to pull broken breaths in through your nose when it ends up nestled in dark pubic hair. You focus on relaxing your throat, fingernails clawing into his thighs as your eyes slide shut.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice gruff, and when you flit your eyes up to look at him, teary and shining, his own roll back into his head, hips stuttering, a deep moan spilling past his lips. “That’s it, baby, take it all the way.”

You admire the ink adorning his neck, drool beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth and your lungs beginning to scream. The hand tangled in your hair finally releases and you pull back, coughing and spluttering, trying to ease the sting in your throat.

“Never taken a cock this big, baby?” He asks, voice lilting at the end teasingly, and when you look up, he’s got that smirk back on his lips and he wastes no time in roughly cupping your jaw and pulling you up, backing your body up against the examination table.

“Do you think you can take it?” His voice is gravelly, raspy and it makes you buck up against his frame, desperately searching for some type of release. One of his hands fists into your hair, snapping your head back as he laves the flat of tongue against the column of your neck.

You can only moan in response, fingers coming up to claw at his shoulders.

Yoongi bites up your neck, sucking fresh bruises into the unmarred skin and biting your lips, licking into your mouth. The piercings on his chest brush against you, intense and sharp all at once, leaving you a mess. You whine pathetically, legs almost buckling as you try to reciprocate the actions desperately.

He grunts when your knees give way partially, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you flush against his body, his length slipping underneath your skirt and pressing against the insides of your thighs.

“God, I wanna fuck so bad,” he groans, forehead pressed against yours and the way your breaths are coming out in rapid puffs of air is probably not healthy, but you can’t help it. Yoongi dissolves everything else around you, burning the air into a mess of lust. Bursts of pleasure wrack your frame as Yoongi grinds against you, teeth gritted and you can only mewl in response, fingernails raking down his back.

“Pl–please,” you manage, voice cracking as he rubs a hand up your thigh, slipping underneath your skirt. It’s all the permission he needs before his hands latch onto your waist, hoisting your body up onto the table.

Yoongis hands grope at your thighs, his teeth digging into your lower lip, biting and nipping. Your body feels weak and you’re more than happy to let Yoongi lift your arms, pulling your shirt off, his fingers fiddling with the clasp of your bra.

His lips immediately wrap around a nipple, the metal stud sweeping over the bud and leaving you gasping, back arching. One of his hands comes up to toy with the other nipple, tugging at the one in his mouth gently with his teeth.

You keen, bucking up against him and he grins in response, lips curving against the side of your breast.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” he rasps, fingers slipping underneath your skirt to graze along the edge of your panties, “makes me wanna wreck you.”

His fingers slip past your panties, sliding up against your folds and your eyes roll back as his other hand untangles from your hair and glides down to press against your lower back, bringing you impossibly close. Your fingers claw at his shoulder blades, reveling in the way they shift, but then he pushes a finger into you and your eyes roll back, jaw slackening and a loud moan slips past your lips.

He bites down the length of your neck, laving his tongue over the surface and groaning as his fingers pump into you quickly, bringing you closer and closer to your climax.

“Y–Yoongi,” you mewl, fruitlessly trying to rock back down onto his fingers, “please.”

He practically snarls against your neck, mouth peppering kisses until he reaches your lips, tongue slipping into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, chest rumbling as he pulls away, a string of spit pulled between your lips, “say my name again.”

He curls his fingers, hitting every spot inside of you perfectly and you whine, rutting up against him.

“Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi,” you breathlessly moan, eyes screwed shut. “Yoongi, fuck, yes, Yoong–”

He cuts you off by sealing your lips together again, the hand on the small of your back moving to grope your thighs and spread them further apart, leaving you gasping and squirming underneath him. His tongue piercing rubs against the roof of your mouth, a high keen slipping past your lips at the feeling.

“Fuck, your piercing feels so fucking good,” you blubber, breath hitching and teeth digging into your lower lip.

He pulls his fingers out and you whine in protest, hands coming up to splay across his chest as your eyebrows furrow at the sudden loss.

“Wanna fuck you,” he rasps, voice low and grating, fingers slipping into the waistband of your skirt and pulling it down roughly with your panties. “Gonna fuck you so good.” His words come out in a jumbled slur, tongue heavy with lust.

Your clothes go flying over his shoulders, but you’re too far gone to even care about where they land, dragging your fingernails down the expanse of his chest, fingers hooking through his belt loops as you straighten your back and wrap your legs around him.

He kisses you, lips slick and rough, but surprisingly gentle, hands coming up to push your body down so you lay flat against the table.

“Fuck,” you whine, back arching needily against the table,

“Y’know,” he hums bending down and flattening his tongue along your folds, “my tongue feels good in a lot of places.” There’s a smug smirk across his lips when you wail, fingers threading through the strands of his hair, tugging him closer.

He moans against you, tongue flicking up across your clit and your eyes roll back at the feeling of the little metal ball rubbing against your clit. A chokes off scream bubbles past your lips, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and you lock your legs around his head, bucking up against him.

Yoongi’s hand presses down on your hip, a growl ripping from his throat as he swirls his tongue around the bundle of nerves, drawing a long moan from your lips. He trails his tongue down, thumb coming to rub at your clit, and pokes his tongue at your entrance, the metal stud pushing in briefly. Your legs shake, body writhing, and he pushes his tongue in, the metal ball pressing and dragging inside of you and all you can do is cry out, shaking underneath him.

His tongue fucks into you lazily, a stark contrast to the pace set by his thumb on your clit, and you moan mindlessly. The hand on your clit moves and now both of his hands are kneading into your thighs, blunt nails leaving thin red lines in their wake. His hands lift your thighs, pushing them flat against the table and you don’t think you’ve ever been this exposed but the dull ache in the muscle takes a back seat to the rush of pleasure coursing up your spine. Yoongi doesn’t waste time, fingers leaving blue-black bruises across the skin and tongue fucking into your so well, your toes curl and your legs shake.

“Yoongi,” you whine, voice needy and desperate, “I can’t–please.”

He pulls back with a grin, lips wet and glossy, standing to plant both hands by your head. “Want you to cum around my cock, baby,” he rasps, his cock rubbing against your thigh, the rough denim of his jeans scratching at your legs.

His hands trail down, latching onto your hips and you squeak as he manhandles you, flipping you over onto your front and bending you over. You can hear him behind you, moving around and rustling, and when you hear the telling rip of a condom wrapper, you arch your back a little bit, jutting your ass out. The crinkled paper on the examination table sticks to the sweat on your stomach, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when the fat head of Yoongi’s cock pushes into you, a hitched gasp spilling from your lips. He rocks in slowly, his length filling you up and pressing against your walls in all of the right ways, leaving you a writhing mess. You can only claw at the examination table, mewling at the feeling and arching your back to pull him in closer, but it proves futile when his hands come to grip your hips, holding you steady.

He bends over, hands coming to press down on top of yours, hot breaths puffing against your neck. Yoongi peppers little kisses there and the act feels strangely intimate, and your heart swells a little but you grit your teeth, forcing it away.

He raises from where he’s bent over you, hands firm on your hips as he rocks into you, painfully slow. It doesn’t take you long to adjust, trying to rock back against his hips, but Yoongi is careful, almost gentle,  fucking into you with shallow thrusts and it makes tears well up in his eyes. You don’t want him to gentle–you want him to fuck you so hard your legs shake and you can’t breathe and you’re screaming.

“Yoongi,” you moan, breathlessly, neck bent at an awkward angle as your eyes slide back to find his, and it’s so utterly filthy, the way he’s staring at you, jaw clenched in restraint, that it makes all the uncertainty inside of you melt away. “Fuck–fuck me, properly. Do it right.”

He snarls at your words and it seems like that’s all it takes for his self-control to snap because he’s pulling his hips back all the way, only the tip of his cock inside of you and then he’s snapping his hips forward so hard your hips slam into the examination table. Your eyes roll back and you’re sure there’ll be bruises all over your body when this is over, but everything fades expect for Yoongi and his dick and the way he feels inside of you.

“Baby,” he groans, voice raspy and gravelly, “you’re so good like this, you take me so well.” His hands come to pull yours behind your back, folding your forearms across the small of your back and holding then there with one hand.

Drool leaks out of the corner of your mouth as he slams back into you, thick and hot and pulsing inside of you. His hips are snapping into you so quickly the examination table is slamming into the wall, heavy pants and stuttered curses tellingly loud in the small room.

His free hand fists into your hair, snapping your head back and you wail, teeth clacking together from the sheer force of his thrusts.

“Gonna let me choke you today, baby?” He rasps, voice tight and strained.

You mouth opens in a moan, the idea so utterly arousing you can’t breathe, the world a spinning mess of colors. Your lips can only blubber back a mess of broken sounds and syllables, and Yoongi’s low rumble of “slow down, baby” doesn’t help.  

When you finally manage to regain some form of coherency, you garble, “Fuck, please, yes Yoongi, please choke me please please please.”

Yoongi calms you down with soft coos, releasing your arms and hair to instead trace circles into the small of your back with his thumbs and groans “yes, anything for you, baby”.

He pulls out of you, a low his slipping from his lips and fingers drawing away from you. Without the support of his hands holding your up, your knees buckles and you nearly fall to the ground, but just as quickly, his hands are back on you, lifting you to instead lay you flat on the examination table, fingers moving to wrap around your ankles and lift your legs until you’re nearly bent in half. The position is exposing, revealing and you feel a warm blush creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. Yoongi seems to take note of the blush because he rakes his eyes down the length of your body, a smirk spreading over his lips.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You keen at the praise, beck arching and fingernails clawing down his chest. He pushes back into you and your breath hitches when he bottoms out, his cock heavy and thick in all the right ways.

“Y,” you whine impatiently. “Fucking move already–”

He cuts you off by pulling his hips back and snapping back into you, his breath fanning over your lips and when his fingers curl around your neck, where chin meets throat, you can only bite back the moans that threaten to pour from your lips.

The effect is instantaneous: you clench around Yoongi, eyes rolling to the back of you head, mouth open in a silent gasp. You can feel your whole body starting to tingle, from head to toes, and you notices Yoongi has stopped moving, mesmerized by the bliss flitting across your face. The burn in your lungs intensifies and all you can focus on is how good Yoongi feels inside of you, the stretch and burn of every thrust heightened.

His fingers relax, just as black spots begin to dance on the edges of your vision and you cough the sting away, eyes watering.

“You alright, baby?” Yoongi asks, thrusts slowing as he pulls a few sweaty strands away from your face.

You whine at the loss and buck up against him needily. “Yes,” you slur, throat burning, “I’m fine, but please please do that again Yoongi please.”

Yoongi’s lip twitches at this and really, you beg for him so well, he’d be crazy to deny you. His face relaxes and he grins teasingly, hips snapping into you.

“Good girl.”

His fingers curl back around your throat and you bite your lip in anticipating as he tightens his hold, cutting off your airflow.

Your breath cuts off, and as your lungs start to burn, it’s like you can feel everything else more intensely. The rough denim of Yoongi’s jeans rubbing against your inner thighs and the press of Yoongi’s hand on your throat and the drops of sweat that bead up along his forehead, dripping down his temples. You look up at Yoongi and his face is flushed and his lips are parted and he’s staring at your neck with a fascination and desire that makes your eyes roll back and jaw slacken.

It’s too much, the pleasure and the fire burning underneath your skin and it has to peak somewhere.

Your nails rake down his chest, graze over his arms, trace over his shoulder, desperate to mark up every inch of skin as your end draws nearer.

You’re getting lightheaded, colorful spots dancing on the edges of your vision, and you wants to scream, tell Yoongi how good it feels, meet his thrusts, but you can’t.

You’re weak, the tips of your fingers tingling, and you can only lie there in completely surrender to Yoongi’s control, and just take it.

Just when you feel like the pleasure is unbearable, like you’re becoming delirious, Yoongi releases his hold and moves his hands to your thighs, spreading them further apart as his thrusts grow more erratic.

“Come on,” he groans, eyes clouded with lust, “cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

It’s what has your toes curling, eyes rolling back as a scream is ripped from your throat and you clench around him, impossibly tight. It only takes Yoongi one, two more thrusts before he’s spilling into the condom with a loud groan of your name.

Yoongi sinks forward, elbows catching himself on the examination table and hovers over you. His smile is softer this time, sweet and pretty and maybe it’s the post-orgasmic haze but there’s a sort of beauty that comes with Yoongi looking blissed out, hair mussed.

It has you craning your neck up to seal your lips in a lingering kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and the feeling of the metal stud rubbing against your tongue has you whining.

“That was nice,” he says when he pulls back, a thin string of saliva stretched between your lips. His lips are curved in a smile but it’s not mocking in any way. In fact, he seems genuine and it makes your heart flutter, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“Yeah, that made me way less scared” you whisper, smiling up at him and for a moment, he looks taken aback, but something flickers behind his eyes and he leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips before he pulls away and stands.

He turns away and rummages through one of the cabinets, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. “Pleased to be of service m’lady.”

You snort, one hand coming up to lay over your eyelids as you try to catch your breath, startling when you feel a cold swipe over your thigh. Your eyes find a sheepish Yoongi holding a pack of wet wipes and cleaning your legs of cum and sweat.

“Hold still.”

The cold wipe cleans over your thighs and gently moves over your folds, cleaning up the slick and he tosses it into the wastebin, rolling his condom off with a hiss and tying the end, throwing it out.

He helps you back into your clothes, mumbling soft apologies about the bruises and hickeys that litter your skin, but you wave them off, blushing a little because it’s not like you didn’t want them.

A few minutes later, you’re both standing in front of the counter back at the front of the shop and he’s leaning across the counter, a mischievous smile across his lips as you pout.

“I’m sore.” you pout, knees still weak.

Yoongi laughs, head tipping back, and you decide you like the sound, especially when it’s paired with his bright grin coming into view.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, a deep rumble in his chest, “but how about I make it up to you with dinner? Tomorrow night?”

Your words die in your throat and you stutter, because at this point you may as well have the DNA of a tomato what with how mow much Yoongi has made you blush in the past hour.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” He says, eyebrow raised and you nod quickly, fingers twiddling.

He looks a little unsure, lips thin and nose wrinkled so when he steps around the counter with long strides to open the door for you, you stumble after him and lift onto your tiptoes, fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt as you bring him in for a lasting kiss. It’s more tame than your other kisses, more sweet and soft and reminiscent of sunsets and daisies. The blood in your ears thrums and your eyelashes flutter open when you pull back, met with smirking Yoongi.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he hums, leaning back in to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you here tomorrow night, then? At seven?”

You bite back a smile and mumble back dreamily, “Yeah, sure, I’ll see you then.”

And when you waddle out of the shop, five kisses later, lips still tingling, you find that you can’t stop smiling as you wait for your bus back home because maybe you don’t mind Hoseok and Taehyung forcing you to get a piercing because of a bet you made when you were drunk.

Yoongi might be worth it.

a/n: helloe! this is ! my first fic!! i appreciate any and all feedback big thanks!

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hurts to be Human: Chapter Two

You guys are awesome. I love that you’re enjoying the story. :) Shoutout to @songforhema

Here’s: Prologue, Chapter One

Warnings: Fluff, bit of soft Bucky, lotta cussing, but that’s about it

Below: That, but with Miss H.D.

Also! Meet H.D.!

Chapter Two - Can We Pretend?

It had only taken an hour for Y/N to drop her bag off and in her room and get her cat set up. Immediately she made her way to the conference room, her mind not completely in the mood to catch up with the two men- not now at least. No, now was not the time for that or to focus on how much Bucky had changed. The only thought she allowed herself was that he looked good. Better than good actually. He looked fucking hot as hell. Why hadn’t he cut his hair sooner? He looked happy…maybe he’s seeing someone. They’re probably an Enhanced or something, someone he can connect with in a way I couldn’t understand. Or maybe it’s someone from Wakanda. He always loved it there. Knowing Sam, he’s probably tried setting Buck up on more than a few blind dates… Fuck me, I never should’ve stepped on the jet. No, better than that — I should’ve kicked Fury out of my apartment when I had the chance.

“Y/N?”

She looked up, Sharon pulling her out of her thoughts. “Sorry,” she murmured, taking the folder out of the agent’s hands. She dropped it on the table, flipping it open and scanning the pages. Clippings from newspapers and magazines were now littered in front of her as Sharon pulled up videos on the hologram in front of them, making her lean forward in interest. Moments where the boys were playing hero, following instructions, trying to live up to the standard people like Steve and Tony had set in stone. “Jesus,” she murmured, watching as the boys had destroyed a plant. She didn’t know what the mission was, but was sure Sam and Bucky wouldn’t have — Her thoughts were disrupted by the video’s creator appearing, bashing on the heroes. They went on to say that they had risked countless lives and forced workers to lose their jobs. There were heavy implications that they were arrogant, childish, and had no idea what they were doing.

And that was just one video.

“Fuck, Sharon, how did it get to this point?” She glimpsed at the images from the other videos, noticing that, though the stories weren’t the same, the reactions were similar to one another. Everyone was retaliating.

“Did you hear about London?”

Running a hand through her hair, Y/N knew only what Fury had told her. “This is because of that Quentin guy?”

“It’s a domino effect, Y/N. He was supposed to be a new Avenger, somebody to replace Stark.”

“Yeah, he took advantage of Pete’s naivety.”

Sharon sighed, knowing the woman sitting across from her was getting frustrated. Y/N was always one to defend the Avengers, but most protective of her boys. “The thing is, now people are concerned because Peter’s way too young. And then our government thinks we’re trying to replace Steve —“

“Which we aren’t.”

“—Exactly. We know that, but they’re in denial about it. You know how they can get…” The reminder of the Accords hung in the air, but neither of them wanted to remember the gruesome details that came from it. Now, with Thanos having appeared not long after, the Accords were child’s play. What made the memory sting after all this time was the falling out that had happened. If Thanos hadn’t come, the unanswered question was whether the Avengers ever would have come together again. “Then you have people like Wanda and Strange who are just intense and then…well, then there’s Bucky’s history.” She noticed how Y/N tensed, knowing Bucky was still going to be a sensitive subject.

“So the plan?” There was always a plan. Fury gave her the basic ideas, but she needed to know and understand what Sharon’s thoughts were and how she wanted to go about this. Fury might have left the two of them in charge of Sam’s and Bucky’s shenanigans, but in moments like this, Sharon was always the one in charge. Always.

“We need to keep Bucky and Sam on the down low while we make sure there isn’t a repeat of the Accords. The last thing we need is for them to try and step into a field they have no understanding of.” Looking at the videos, she added, “We also need to do damage control. Something that shows Bucky is a changed man. You’d be proud of him, Y/N. He’s come a long way. As for Sam — the government is mostly concerned about his role, but if we can get the people to approve of him, they can’t fight all of it.”

Y/N grimaced, rubbing her temples. Keep Bucky and Sam on the down low while also getting them in a controlled spotlight. She blatantly ignored Fury's constant (it seemed) updates about Bucky. Bucky and Sam. That was why she was here while Sharon handled the hell that was America’s government. Why did she get the feeling that the ‘maintaining the boys’ part of the job wouldn’t be as easy as it could be? “Do they know about any of this?” she asked, gesturing to the media.

“Bits and pieces. Sam likes teasing the trolls, but doesn’t get much farther than that. Bucky? Well, he’s an old man still struggling to fully grasp how far technology and the media has come.”

Hesitating, Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer as she asked, “Do either of them know about this scheme? About my part in it?”

“Not yet.”

“Sharon!”

“Well —“

“What, were you waiting for me to break the news to them?” She saw the hopeful glint in Sharon’s eyes and groaned. “I just got here, Sharon!”

“Exactly! I have to deal with them all the time! Do you know how many times I’ve had to confiscate Redwing from Sam? Or put the two of them in time out? Come on, Y/N, I need a break.”

Letting out a small huff, strands of her hair flew into the air for a brief moment before falling back to frame her face. “Fine.” She could handle two ridiculous, overgrown children. It was just Sam and Bucky, just two of her old friends. Sam and Bucky. That’s it. It’s just Sam and Bucky. Just her best friend and ex boyfriend.

Fuck, she shouldn’t have gotten on the jet.

Glancing at the papers, she knew in that moment she shouldn’t have even left work.

———

The living room was quiet that afternoon, something that had become more than normal since most of the Avengers decided they wanted to spend their free time pursuing “normal lives”. For Bucky, it was actually a relief. He had gotten better with people and talking, but that didn’t mean he still liked being the life of the party. That was the old Bucky, the guy from the forties that didn’t exist anymore. Pieces of him did, sure, but the rest of him? That was something else. For instance, something Sam had noticed about the man was that Bucky didn’t like sitting anywhere like a normal human being. If he was on a kitchen chair, he sat facing the back, straddling the seat. If he was in something fluffier and more comfortable? Trust Barnes to sit on the arm with his legs outstretched and resting on the other side, the actual seat left cold and forgotten. As for couches? He sprawled out, completely outstretched with one leg usually thrown over the back.

And that’s where he was in this moment.

He held his journal above him, scribbling away thoughts and notes he knew Doc would want to know about Y/N’s appearance. There would be questions regarding whether Bucky was processing it okay, if he was functioning with something so new and yet so personal. That being said, he hoped there would’t be questions about his emotions. He didn’t feel anything for Y/N anymore. That was a long time ago and, with the way things ended, he knew Y/N didn’t feel anything for him either. o

So why was he still thinking about that smile? Or the way her eyes seemed particularly endless when she held his gaze?

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand over his face before pinching the corners of his eyes. He had to stop overthinking this. Y/N was back for work. That’s why Fury was the one who brought her in. If she wanted to come back on her own, she would have. She was stubborn and a pain in the ass. There was no one that could talk her out of a bad idea, no matter how bad. Not even herself.

“Meow.”

Bucky jumped when he heard the small noise so painfully close to his face, the couch groaning underneath his weight. He dropped the journal and pen on his chest and opened his eyes, brow furrowing. Sitting on the arm of the couch, staring down at him, was Y/N’s cat. What did she say its name was? “Hello there,” he murmured, voice soft as the small feline blinked slowly, tilting its head.

He had never felt so judged in his life.

Reaching up with his flesh hand, he was careful to let the animal approach him first. The last thing he wanted was for it to decide he was an enemy and make use of those tiny talons. “Aw,” he said, his low voice seeming to calm the cat down. “You aren’t so bad, are you?” Bucky chuckled as the cat eyed his fingers warily before pressing its forehead against his knuckles. “God, I wish I remembered your name.”

The cat jumped, landing on his chest with an almost impossibly delicate pounce. He tried to stay still, laughing when the cat went out of its way to knock off his journal and pen before circling his chest in search of a particular spot. Finicky little thing she was, but she seemed to like how warm he was, purring in content when his laugh turned into a low rumble. His fingers continued to delicately stroke her fur as she started needing the small indent between his pecs. Once she decided it was just right, she curled up to face him, tail wrapping around her face. The black half of her fur was curled into his chest as he gently stroked her ear. Her purring was interrupted by a small meow of appreciation and it felt like his heart melted. The little thing was so tiny, so delicate, and yet didn’t shy away from him. Instead she claimed him as a spot to nap.

“Sorry about her.”

Bucky looked up, surprised when he saw Y/N standing in the doorway of the room. She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed as she stared at the feline. He shook his head and turned his gaze back to the pet, assuring Y/N, “It’s no big deal. She’s adorable.”

“She normally doesn’t warm up to people, but apparently super soldiers and agents are an exception to the rule.”

Bucky laughed, resting his head on the arm of the couch. “What’s her name?” His cheeks warmed and he knew he was blushing. “I didn’t mean to forget, I just —“

“No biggie,” she assured him, walking around the couch. “H.D. Short for Harvey Dent because of that two face thing she has going on.”

“It’s adorable.” Y/N smiled, sitting on the floor next to him.  Her shoulder brushed his metal arm and he was all too aware, noticing that she didn’t flinch.

She didn’t flinch. Y/N had been on the receiving end of multiple moments when Bucky’s nightmares had woken him up and turned him into the man HYDRA had molded. While it hadn’t been something that bothered her initially, insisting she was okay, it took them moving in together and things getting worse for her to start flinching if the arm seemed more a threat than an appendage.

Glancing at her, Bucky couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled in his chest. She had to be doing better if she didn’t mind his arm being so close to her. A part of him wondered what she had been up to. How had her life been different? Did she miss the Avengers? Or the pranks she used to play on Scott and Sam?

Did she miss him?

He looked back at H.D. Yeah, Doc might have reason to ask about old emotions. But until then, he would happily play with H.D. and enjoy Y/N’s presence. There was nothing wrong with that, right? “You met with Sharon earlier?”

“Yeah, she told me what her plan was and how I’m going to be helping.”

Bucky frowned. There was a plan? There was a mission that required bringing Y/N back? Why didn’t he or Sam know? “Well, what is it?”

She paused, the fingers that had joined Bucky’s in providing H.D. with endless affection seemed to twitch. Y/N wasn’t sure if this was the moment to tell him. Shouldn’t she wait until she could tell him and Sam at the same time? Wasn’t that the 'mature leader' thing to do? Jeez, I suck at this. Sharon really did leave her high and dry. “It can wait. I’d rather tell you and Sam at the same time if that’s okay.”

“Come on, you used to tell me all the shit before,” he joked, not looking at her. But his words meant more than skin deep little tease. It was something they had always done, sharing missions and information with each other even if it wasn’t their business to know. It was more often than not that they debriefed each other before anyone else learned anything in the team meetings. And usually those debriefings were Y/N keeping Bucky in the loop only because she didn’t want him worrying about her.

“Buck, don’t.” Her tone was a warning. He didn’t need to bring up their past. Not after all this time. But that was the thing! Seeing her like this, seeing her look so content? It didn’t seem like a long time. It felt like things had merely been on pause while they got their shit together.

Okay, never mind, Doc had plenty reason to ask about old emotions.

“Don’t what?” He feigned innocence, hoping he sounded more the part than he actually looked.

“Don’t bring up old memories.” She glanced at him, allowing herself a small smile. God, all Bucky wanted was to see her beaming again, looking happy and like nothing could hurt her. “I mean, come on, it was a long time ago. There’s no reason to bring up old bullshit when we’re different people now.” Even as she said it, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to fully believe the words coming out of her mouth. A part of her wanted to talk about old memories, the good and the bad. She wanted to ask how he was doing, if he was doing as good as she was, and what the hell made him cut his hair.

But it wasn’t her place. She had no ties to James Buchanan Barnes or any of his choices.

Bucky didn’t know what to think as he stared at H.D., a part of him wanting to pester Y/N about the questions running through his head and the other simply hurt that she was building this wall between them. Sure, they had a past and it didn’t end well. It sucked ass in all honesty, but four years is a lot of time. They could be friends, couldn’t they? At the very least?

“So what is this going to be?” he asked absentmindedly, not even registering that he’d been the one to ask.

“Coworkers?”

He snorted, looking at her. “That sounds extremely formal.”

Quickly, Y/N shifted her gaze back to the cat. Nope, she could not look at the abyss that was Bucky’s impossibly blue eyes. They broke through everything, tore down her progress and brought out a nasty side of her. At least, that was the case four years ago.

Could things between them really change?

“What would you suggest then?”

She wasn’t taking the conversation seriously from the sounds of it. Her tone made her seem disinterested and it cut Bucky down. God, had they really fallen so far from when they first met? When they’d “accidentally” bump into each other in the middle of the night to make coffee and watch Disney movies all while raiding Sam’s and Clint’s chocolate stash? Even being friends, going back to that, would be infinitely better than the idea of coworkers. They knew each other too well to take that many steps back. He’d never pressure her into a relationship, of course he wouldn’t, but at the very least…

Was it too much to ask for his friend back?

“Can try friends?”

His voice was soft, wary because he didn’t want to push her. Y/N allowed herself to smile at the idea of that. Friends was a possibility. Right? She sighed to herself, not entirely sure she could keep a platonic relationship with the man beside her. She knew what it was like to kiss him. She knew what his lips tasted like and had seen the shade of blue that burned with undeniable need and lust. She had felt what it was like to feel utterly whole by making love to him. Not only that, but Y/N knew what it was like for him to hold her into the wee hours of the morning. She knew what it was like to not simply fuck, but actually love, James Buchanan Barnes. She knew him. How could she be a friend, and a good one at that, when those details were no longer secrets or ideas she could leave to an overly active imagination?

“I guess,” she hesitated, her brow furrowing.

He noticed. “What is it, Y/N?” It had taken every muscle in his body to not follow the instinct of calling her ‘doll’, but he’d managed, wanting to keep her comfortable. Still, not using the nickname left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

“Can,” she took a slow breath. “Can we try something? To make being friends easier?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, not sure if he wanted to hear what her request was, but he knew that this was what was needed to bring Y/N back into his life. He wanted to get to know her again, get to meet this Y/N. He wanted to know her likes and dislikes, what all had changed, and if she was anything like the spunky woman he’d first come to fall for. However, learning all of that meant he had to follow her lead. “What’s that?”

“Can we pretend?” She hesitated. It sounded odd even on her own tongue, but she had to ask. “Can we pretend that our past doesn’t exist? Can we just start over?”

His stomach clenched, his chest rising in a slightly abrupt way that made H.D. wake from her slumber. Instinctively he reached out to pet the feline, regretting waking her. Clearing his throat, he asked, “That’s what you want?” To forget everything? He couldn’t bring himself to ask the full question, simply asking what he knew wouldn’t scare her off.

There was a pause. For a moment Bucky hoped that maybe she was backtracking, second guessing her idea and realizing they couldn’t wipe away all that history. Seriously, she couldn’t possibly think this was a good idea.

“Yes.”

Okay, maybe she could. That didn’t mean he had to agree with her. Even so, this was what she wanted. He had to respect that, whether he liked it or not. But damn, did he hate it. Nodding slowly, he looked at her and offered that famous Bucky grin that showed her everything was perfectly fine. He could work with that. Definitely.

Bucky could ignore the way her eyes sparkled or the way he heard her heartbeat quicken when he looked at her. He could ignore the way he could smell her hair from here and how, if he angled his head right, he could get a glimpse down her shirt. He could forget their rocky yet completely memorable history. This was supposed to be a fresh start. That posed smile turned into one a little more genuine as he thought about that. It was a complete fresh start.

Maybe that really could work.

“You got it. If that’s what you want, we can pretend.”

[deaky-disco-queen]

All You Have To Do Is Fall In Love - Joger Week Day 4

A/N: Prompt: Jewelry; This was so much fun to write, to be honest so enjoy!

Can also be read on AO3.

+++

Roger was a fashionable in a way John could never be. Even when there was no order in their closet, it was easy to know which clothes belonged to Roger and which belonged to John. He just wasn’t interested in fashion the same way his boyfriend was. 

It didn’t bother John that most of their closet belonged to Roger and it didn’t bother him that he had to clear out a space for a dresser so he could store his extensive jewelry collection. He wouldn’t have built him a vanity if it had been the case. It also didn’t bother him that Roger needed a couple of extra minutes to get ready sometimes or that John was the one who ended up doing most of their laundry  because Roger wasn’t to be trusted with a washing machine. 

What did bother him, though, was how picky Roger was. Not because he ends up complaining to John about how stupid some trends were and how ugly some stuff- especially rings, earrings and jackets- was for much longer than John thought somebody could talk about this topic but for the fact that John was panicking about buying an engagement ring. 

They had been together for a couple of years now and John really wanted to propose but he needed the perfect ring for it. 

He just couldn’t find it. 

John knew what kind of rings Roger liked- he listened when Roger went on about things even if John didn’t really understand it- he just couldn’t find the one that combined the parts into one ring. Especially not if John didn’t want to sell a kidney to be able to afford it. 

He went from jewelry store to jewelry store, grimacing at the prices and the reactions he imaged Roger having if he were to present him with those rings and he could feel his hopes sinking. 

For one moment, he kind of wished he was dating Brian instead. Freddie didn’t have this kind of problem when he bought a ring for him and John knew he would not have any issues finding one for Brian either. But when he thought about it for longer than a second, he scrunched up his face in disgust. Brian was his brother. And a prick. 

He had also not invited Freddie for a reason even though he knew he could find a ring for Roger in under an hour which he would love but John didn’t want that. He wanted to be the one to find the ring. Maybe it was a bit childish but it was his engagement. He loved Freddie but the man was already so involved in his love life- having introduced the two and played matchmaker and he would be John’s best man if Roger says yes- John wanted to do this on his own. 

John left another jewelry store without a ring and with only more examples of what he didn’t want. 

He groaned in annoyance, fumbling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lightening one. He had promised himself as soon as he had a ring, he would quit smoking but for now, he had went through more packs than ever. At least it felt like it. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t told anyone about his plans yet. Brian couldn’t keep a secret like this to save his life and Freddie would offer to help and John had never had the heart to deny his help when he offered it with his puppy eyes. So he had kept it a secret. 

One more store, John decided, then he would call it a quits for today and try again after doing some more research about which stores he could go to. 

He found a small store in a side-alley, squeezed in between an occult store and a tiny café. He had never seen it before but decided to give it a try. It couldn’t be any worse than with any of the other stores. 

The only person inside was a small, old lady who lit up when she saw him.

    “Oh, hello there, my dear! How can I help you?”

Her smile was much more gentler than any of the other salespersons he had met today. Not that he blamed them- they were only doing their jobs, too- but it got frustrating after a while. He returned her smile with a tired one from himself as he approached the counter. 

    “I’m looking for an engagement ring.” 

The woman’s face lit up even more if that was even possible and she nodded in excitement. 

    “Do you have any ideas about it yet or are you open for suggestions?” 

    “He’s quite picky. I can tell you what he doesn’t like and then we can go from there?” 

    “I can bring a few rings out for you to point out what’s good and what's bad. One moment, please.” She shuffled towards one of the showcases and pulled out a small assemble of rings to place them in front of John. “Those are some more popular styles for men.” 

John sighed and nodded. He couldn’t blame her for doing the same thing like everyone else. They couldn’t know what Roger liked. 

    “He isn’t really a fan of those big, broad bands. He likes thinner bands.” 

The woman hummed thoughtfully before putting the rings she had picked to the side and came around the counter, waving John to follow her. 

    “Let’s do this differently. Point out which parts of the rings you like and we go on from there.” 

John nodded again. It wasn’t much different from how the rest of his day had went and he obediently pointed out stuff he knew Roger liked and also made sure to mention what didn’t work at all for them, hoping it would lead to something. He didn’t have much hope if he was being honest but he wasn’t willing to give up just yet. 

After many rings, the woman hummed again and told him to wait as she picked out rings she thought to fit his needs. Meanwhile, John checked his phone to see several messages from Roger who took his lunch break to send him some selfies and John quickly sent a couple of hearts back and saved the pictures in his folder for Roger’s selfies he made on his phone. 

    I think I have something for you. Look at those, dear, and let me know what you think about them.”

John flinched but composed himself quickly when the woman looked at him with one eyebrow lifted, gesturing towards a new selection of rings. 

They were way better than her first try and much more of what John had envisioned for Roger. He carefully squashed the little shimmer of hope that threatened to rise in his chest just so he wouldn’t get immediately disappointed if something didn’t work out in the end. 

“I like this one.” He lifted a silver ring with three diamonds- a bigger one in the middle and two smaller one framing it- and held it up to inspect it closer. “Do you maybe have it with something else than diamonds?” 

    “Hm, a Bezel setting with three stones. I do have a couple of those in the back, I think. No diamonds?” 

    “Not only diamonds if possible. One or two are okay. Just for some contrast?”

She chuckled softly, already shuffling towards the door behind the counter. It only took a few minutes, then she came back with a handful of more rings, all of the same or similar making as the one he had liked. 

John allowed himself a little bit of excitement. 

    “So tell me about your man, then. He must be special.” 

    “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” John whispered, unable to suppress a smile. “He works as a radio host  and I love him so much.” 

The old lady patted his hand, then passed him another ring, one that was just a little different from the one before. 

    “How did you two meet?” 

    “A friend introduced us and basically played matchmaker. After a couple of months, he eventually asked me out and took me to a car show.” 

He remembered that day clearly. He had been pining for Roger for a while- thinking the man was way out of his league- but he had showed up at his house to fetch him for brunch with Freddie and Brian and nervously told him about the car show, asking him if he wanted to go there with him as a date. John had been ecstatic to say the least. 

It had been a wonderful date. They had walked between the displayed cars, their fingers brushing together until John had found the courage to tangle their fingers together, both of them blushing bright red but happy about it. Roger had dropped him off at his apartment with a chaste kiss and immediately asked for another date which John of course accepted. 

    “He sounds like a lovely young man. Do you already know how you will ask him?” 

John shook his head and took the next ring she offered him for inspection.

“No. Not yet. At home, probably.” 

The next ring was gold with two pale green stones and a blueish one in the middle and John immediately knew that this was the one. The woman must have noticed something about his expression changing because she made a satisfied sound and patted his arm again. 

    “This one then? A beautiful ring with moonstone and moissanite. I’m sure your boy will love it.” 

It did end up costing more than he had hoped for but it was the perfect ring and Roger was more than worth it. The whole way home, he couldn’t keep his fingers off the small velvet box. 

There were so many ways he could ask Roger. He knew Roger didn’t mind a public proposal- he liked being the center of attention- but it wasn’t what John wanted to do. 

He stopped at a supermarket to get some groceries that they still needed but barely even thought about what he was putting into his shopping cart, too distracted by thinking about the proposal. 

When he eventually made it home, he was packed with two big bags full of groceries which might or might not include some Jaffa Cakes and wine- he had got a big thing done today and he was proud of himself and willing to indulge himself- and spotted Roger’s shoes carelessly thrown onto the floor next to their full shoe shelf. 

    “I’m home!” he shouted as he kicked the shoes out of the way. 

There was some noise from further inside the apartment and then Roger appeared on the other end of the hallway. His hair was dishevelled and he was wearing one of John’s very short shorts and a shirt that just about reached the hem of the shorts along with some mismatched socks. 

    “Hey, baby. Need some help?” 

Roger pressed a quick kiss to his mouth in greeting before taking one of the bags and helped him putting their stuff away. John kissed him after they were done, resting one hand on his hip as he pulled him close. Roger laughed and wrapped his arms around his neck, willingly opening his mouth and letting himself pressed up against the kitchen counter. John wasn’t planning to have sex with him, though, and so he broke the kiss but stole another peck before stepping back. 

    “What have you’ve been up to today?” he asked. 

Roger kissed his cheek again, then dragged him towards their bedroom. There were clothes all over the floor, the bed and just generally every available surface. John stopped in the threshold, blinking in confusion while Roger stepped over a pile of clothes, spread his arms and gestured towards the chaos. 

    “I decided to go through my stuff and sort of some old stuff, get rid of things I don’t wear anymore and so on.” Roger bit his lips sheepishly. “But-” 

“You mostly just went through your clothes and got distracted by stuff and didn’t sort anything?” John offered and Roger laughed and nodded. 

    “I don’t think I want to throw anything away right now.” 

John picked up a dark green scarf, wrapped it around Roger’s neck and pulled him close to press a kiss to his nose which made him scrunch up his face and giggle. John laughed, too and let Roger put on a weird looking patterned hat on him. 

    “We can sort the stuff at least.” John suggested. “Get a little bit of order to your half of the closet.”

    “My half.” Roger mocked him, doing an impressive imitation of John’s accent while drawing quotation marks into the air. “More like my six-seventh of the closet.” 

John contemplated that statement for a moment- long enough for Roger to start laughing again- and hummed thoughtfully. 

    “I think I have at least three-seventh of the closet.”  

    “Three-seventh? Is this your professional opinion?” 

John nodded, then shrugged. 

    “In my professional opinion, yes. Three-seventh sounds about right. I can ask Brian for a second opinion, though. We’ll make a study out of it. It will keep us busy for a day or so.”

Roger got up to his tiptoes to kiss John once more- probably to shut him up- and he laughed against the blond’s mouth, bending down a little bit. The kiss was slow and lazy. 

    “And what did you do?” Roger asked when they pulled apart again. “Did you enjoy your day off?” 

There was a small, harmless lie on top of John’s tongue- window shopping for Brian’s and Freddie’s birthdays- but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. No time like the present, right? He could agonize for weeks or months for the perfect moment or he could just do it now. 

    “I got you something, actually.” 

    “Deaks!” Roger groaned, hitting his chest in mock-annoyance. “It’s your free day, you’re supposed to get stuff for yourself and not for me!” 

John smiled and let Roger roll his eyes at him, one hand slipping into his pocket and pulled the box out without letting him see it yet. 

    “Do you want to see it?” he asked. 

Roger still looked slightly exasperated but he nodded. His face went through several emotions- too fast for John to recognize them all- as soon as John got down on one knee and when he opened the box, he gasped audible. 

    “Rog-” 

    “You have to be shitting me!” Roger interrupted him. “Wait right there!”

He turned around, almost stumbling over a pair of pants as he rushed into their closet, leaving John kneeling in their bedroom and very confused. This wasn’t what he had imagined.

There was some noise as if Roger was moving stuff, then he came rushing back, triumphantly waving a small velvet box and John’s laughed, feeling tears rising in his eyes. 

Roger ended up kneeling in front of them, both of them laughing and close to crying and he opened his box with shaking fingers to reveal a slightly broader, matt silver band with a small, onyx stone. 

    “Go on.” Roger said and John chuckled.

    “Unbelievable.” He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “Roger, I won’t lie to you, I didn’t really plan this through. I only got the ring today and it took me so long to find one that’s good enough for you and all I want to say is: I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” 

Roger was nodding before he even finished talking, already holding out his hand for him to slip the ring on- which he did with shaking fingers. 

    “It’s beautiful.” Roger whispered, kissing John before straightening up again. “I have planned this out for weeks. I was going to wait for our anniversary and ask you after ordering take-out when we eat it on the sofa while watching something with either Winona Rider or Mark Ruffalo.” 

John laughed softly but Roger just pressed a finger against his lips and went on. 

    “But now we’re here and I had a whole speech prepared but I’ll save it for another time. I love you more than anything else in the world and I want to hear about how you’ll math out how much space I take up in our closet for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?” 

John had stopped trying to hold his tears back, letting them run down his face freely. He managed to choke out a “Yes.” and let Roger put the ring on him. 

They kissed messily, both of them crying and laughing and toppled over, Roger crawling on top of John to kiss him senseless. 

    “I love you.” Roger whispered against his lips, cupping his face in both his hands and kissed his lips, cheeks, forehead and just about every part of his face he could reach. “I love you so fucking much.”

    “Love you, too.” 

[hozukitofu]

treasure trove

To the eyes of the vast majority of the school, Miya Osamu is very composed - a stark distinction from bubbly and charming Atsumu.

Before the Odd Dye Jobs, the only foolproof method of distinguishing the twins apart is to walk up to a twin with the most serious face one can muster. One must then scrounge up all the vestiges of shamelessness and enunciate the most baffling news ever, i.e. I'm pregnant, and wait.

If the twin offers congratulations in an even tone, that's Osamu. If the twin starts to question the legitimacy of what was said, it's most likely Atsumu. 

Suna Rintarou, possessing life-changing knowledge that can potentially endanger the collective viewpoint Inarizaki High has of Miya Osamu, sees no need to impart his wisdom onto the unknowing collective. When questioned why by Ojiro, he shrugs and mumbles his usual tactic of deflecting unwanted questions.

Why should I? What do I get out of it?

(The truth is that his palms cup the underside of Osamu's chin, skin pulsing faintly under his fingertips as he searches for a nerve in the unwavering still eyes, gold and unperturbed flickers of green. The truth is that Rintarou brings their faces close together - close enough for him to taste the air Osamu takes in and sees the widening of unmoving pupils - close enough for him to taste the complaints of you keep defiling me in our classroom, Rin and knowing that they're all intervals of a performance Miya Osamu constructs and acts within.)

Out of nowhere, he is lumped as a set with the Miya-Ojiro trio, the Golden Three, the talented bunch of their whole lot. The team loves being referred by association to the Golden Trio, the shining gems of their club, but Rintarou desires none of the space in that limelight. He is content in observing the shenanigans by the sidelines without being forced as a participant in the twins’ antics, phone always at the ready to record every embarrassing moment to stash away for blackmail.

Though for a long time coming, he has screenshots of videos where the subject of the lens of his phone camera is quite obvious. The subtle twitch of lips, crease of eyes, the puncturing frown between dark eyebrows - Rintarou has too many captured moments of Osamu exhibiting human emotions. It's slightly concerning and vaguely illegal, infringing on the boy's privacy and his ownership of his face.

Rintarou is starting to dread every moment that Atsumu comes swinging closer to him for his phone, because he may be able to boast of having the longest running blackmail stash on the Miya twins, but he also is in possession of a concerning amount of Osamu's photos, which can then be turned into blackmail against him if it falls into Atsumu's hands.

He likes to think that he studies others as a way of passing his time, but he doesn't care enough to act out when he comes across information that can help those around him. Unlike Kita, Rintarou cares very little, and he has folders upon folders of shots of Inarizaki volleyball club members on his phone, pulled out as reaction images or gifs in the group chat and nothing more. He finds himself scrolling through Osamu's photos with a sigh that brings him back to Regency England, where a lady swoons over her beau who is not with her. 

Rintarou catches himself as those thoughts run free and reprimands himself. He is not a Regency lady nor is he mooning over a beau. Miya Osamu is pleasant to the eyes, objectively,  and Rintarou is interested in his unfeeling facade. Nothing else. 

(Nothing else, he murmurs, a lifetime later, how easily did I lie to myself. 

“Stop movin’,” Osamu complains, nose digging into the junction where Rin's neck joins shoulder, “and stop thinkin’ so hard too.”

“Get back to sleeping, ‘Samu, and stop bothering me.”)

[screamingatanemptyroom]

The Supervillain’s Daughter Pt 3

The story continues! It’s been a long time since the last update. 

Part 1 and Part 2 linked here. 

ERICA

Dinner was always an uncomfortable affair.

 I  pushed the food around on my plate, not feeling all that hungry. Seeing my parents watch me with suspicious eyes, however, I let out a soft sigh and started eating. Even a normal meal like this, simple actions sometimes felt like a hostile confrontation. As they watched me eat, my parents began to try the food from their plates as well. Their shoulders relaxed slowly, and it was almost as if we were a regular family for a moment.

Of course that didn’t last long.

“How goes your training, Erica?” My father asked, his gaze lingering on my face as if to study my reaction to his words.

I paused slightly, my fork hovering in mid air for a moment, before deciding to resume eating trying to avoid any change in my expression.

“As expected.” 

What could I say? They broke me, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Ground every part of me into the dirt and made sure that every piece was reshaped into their own image, into that of a super villain. Did they expect me to thank them?

My mother spoke up, as if to make up for my reticence. “Erica’s combat abilities are truly exceptional. Her knowledge in poisoning and explosives passable, but improving. The one area where she truly shines however is torture.” The woman smiled, but the expression was frightening when contrasted with the icy look in her eyes. “Her imagination in causing pain without leaving a mark… surpasses even my own.”

“Good. Good.”

My hand gripped the fork so tightly; I thought the metal might warp in my hand. I forced myself to keep moving, to keep eating, as if nothing was wrong. My shoulder throbbed with remembered pain, but I pushed it from my mind.

“But of course, there is still... that issue.” My mother spoke up, her tone meaningful.  At these words, a silence fell over the table.

Her father leaned forward, intently staring at me who continued to eat undisturbed. “You still haven’t learned to kill?”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “I’ve killed plenty for you. So many that I’ve lost count.”

“All villains. All murders, rapists and abusers.” my mother sighed loudly. “We thought to ease you into it dear, but you’ve remained so stubborn about taking innocent lives…”

“Who cares about whether or not I kill innocent people?”

“I don’t know… how about the police?”

I paused, staring quietly at the plate in front of me. Don’t give anything away. Feel nothing. Show nothing.

My father chuckled. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out about you researching into the police who are on our case?”

‘Maybe I was looking to take them down.”

“Sure. And definitely not hoping to cut a deal with them.” He leaned forward, his face twisting into a sneer, “Your hands aren’t as clean as you wish them to be dearest, I wouldn’t be so quick as to trust in a detective to stand by your side.”

“But all that changes tonight.” My mother was smiling again. Not a good sign. “Tonight, you either join the family business, all the way. Or…”

I took one last bite of my pasta, savoring the flavor. “Or what?”

There was no sympathy in either of my parents’ eyes. “Or you’ll die tonight.”

“What loving parents!” I smiled, feeling the expression slowly spreading across my face. “As… appealing… as those two options are…” I checked my watch. “I’ll choose option three.”

“What do you…?” My father’s face became shocked, and slowly he slumped over. Likewise my mother fell with a heavy thump to the floor. They both stared at me with open, accusing eyes.

 I sat back in my chair, closed my eyes and laughed. Rocking back and forth, gripping my sides,  laughing so hard that tears began rolling down my face. It lasted almost uncomfortably long, but after a while I slowed down and stopped. Wiping my eyes, I stood up and quickly searched their bodies for weapons. Seeing them still awake, I chuckled once more.

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be.” I tied them up, propping them against the wall as I spoke. “You never let me touch your food, but let me grab the dishes. All I had to do was coat our silverware and plates with poison.” I shrugged, settling in a chair across from them, idly turning my mother’s gun in my hands, contemplating. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a lethal dose. Just enough to paralyze you for the next 24 hrs. Long enough for me to turn you in with the evidence I’ve collected over the last few years. “

“…”Father’s eyes were filled with hatred, but he couldn’t disguise the curiosity he felt. I laughed again.

“You’re wondering how I avoided poisoning myself, since you placed the food on the plates and served them yourself, aren’t you?” I shrugged, pulling out a bottle from my pocket. “I didn’t. I took just as much as you. The difference is, I’ve been poisoning myself slowly for the past 2 years. The amount we all got tonight isn’t near enough to affect me anymore. “

Mother’s eyes widened upon seeing the label. Her gaze was questioning, as if wondering if I was crazy.

“Oh, don’t worry mother. I’m well aware of the long term effects of this poison.” I stretched and went to grab the phone and dial the police department. “Never planned on living long anyways. As long as I take you two down, that’s all that matters.” 

“Erica.”

Someone was calling my name. Breaking from my reverie as I sat at my desk impatiently tapping on the surface, I looked up at the VSU agent who called out to me.

I pushed back the memories to the corner of my mind. The day I had betrayed my parents and turned them in. One of my few happy memories of my family.

I smiled lightly, startling the agent who had been calling for me. It was fairly rare for me to show any emotions, at least any ones other than anger. I tried to remember his name but gave up quickly.

“What’s the matter?”

“The mole is in interrogation room 2, Jarrod wanted me to let you know.”

Quickly the smile faded from my face.

Jarrod.

After seeing his confrontation with his brother, I understood him a little better. I could see how a young boy could easily be swayed by his family into not coming back. Easily convinced into thinking I was safe. Deep down, I had always known there would be a rational answer behind his behavior. The gentle kind boy I had known as a child didn’t just disappear into thin air. He just believed the wrong people.

It didn’t matter.

He and I had changed. He grew up with heroes and trained to help others. I stayed with monsters and became an even worse one. It was much too late to change that.

It was too late for a lot of things.

With a nod, I stood up and headed towards the interrogation rooms.

 HENRY/JARROD

“It’s strange to see you on this side of the table.” I rubbed my neck, feeling tired, as I stared at my brother in chains. Michael’s face was bruised, courtesy of the beating I had given him earlier. He seemed fairly unconcerned with the fact that he was in cuffs, sitting calmly with his legs crossed, as comfortable as if he was in his own living room.

“Had to happen sometime, I guess.” He grinned, and I felt a flutter of unease in my stomach. “Is SHE coming?”

“Who?”

He leered. “Your partner. I’ve missed her.”

I fought back the urge to punch him again, my hands trembling with the desire of it.

“Shut up. You don’t know anything about her.”

“Oh, I know a lot more than you do, brother dearest.” He leaned forward. “She’s not some little innocent girl from your childhood. She has blood on her hands.”

I thought back to the folder that the Captain had shown me, shaking my head. I refused to consider his words too closely. No one could make it out of a hell like that without some regrets, and if I had come back sooner… It wasn’t time to dwell on that though.

“All of that is irrelevant.” I kept my voice emotionless. “All I want to know is where to find the Shadow Couple.”

Michael laughed. “Sorry, don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“And if I do?”

“You’re going to tell me.”

“What if I don’t?” He leaned back in his chair, looking smug. “What are you going to do, torture me?”

“That’s a great idea!”

The voice came from the doorway. We both looked up, shocked. Erica stood there, a faint smile on her face.

“Sounds like you know me pretty well.” She walked over, pulling blinds across the windows in the room. “Did you come by and check on me, like you told your brother you would?”

“…” Michael’s complexion had turned pale.

“Then you must have seen a lot.” She shook her head sadly, taking her jacket off. “You know what I’ve been trained to do, what I’m good at… Exactly what I’m capable of.”

“P-Please…” His voice was a whisper.

Erica threw her jacket on top of the security camera in the top corner of the room. Blocking its view. She tilted her head, hesitating for a moment at his plea. “’Please’? What a strange word. I wonder if you heard me say that when I was a child. I did… quite frequently.”

“I- I…”

“I wonder what you thought as you were watching me beg and scream from the safety of the shadows….” Her smile widened but her eyes reflected nothing but pain and sorrow.

“…”

“Jarrod.”

I jumped at the sound of my name.

“I need you to step out.” She took a small black case from her pocket and put it on the table between them. Michael seemed to recognize it, shrinking back in his chair, shaking his head back and forth rapidly.

“I – I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

She opened the door and pushed me through it. With my strength, it would have been easy to avoid her, but I let her guide me out.

“Please, I can’t show you this side of me.” For the first time, I saw a flash of deeper emotion on her face and felt the urge to look away.

“You can show me anythi…”

“Not this. Not the part of me my parents created.”

I had nothing to say. She shut the door quietly in my face.

I slowly walked back into the office, closing doors behind me to mask the sound of the screams. 

I paced back and forth between the desks, too anxious to sit down. I checked my watch again, but only a few more minutes had passed since the last time I looked. It had already been twenty minutes.

Should I head back there?

I thought of Erica’s face when she asked me to leave and shook my head. I barely had gotten her to trust me as a partner and if I broke that now… besides, Michael had brought everything he got on himself.

Why had he stood by and watched over all those years? Was he already so far gone that young, to ignore a young girl in danger?

It just didn’t make sense.

“Where is he?” A familiar frantic voice called out, causing me to groan with annoyance. I turned towards the rushing couple, a headache already starting to pound at my temples.

“Hi Mom, Hi Dad.”

My parents were superheroes. The kind everyone looked up to. They saved the world more times than I could count, and did it all while raising a family. To the outside world, they were perfect.

At least on the surface.

“Cut the crap, Jarrod.” My father was furious, his face red as he stepped closer, thrusting a finger in my face. “We heard that bitch arrested Michael under false charges, and we want you to get him out. Right. Now.”

I shook my head. “He was arrested after being caught red handed giving classified information to a super villain group by myself and my partner. He is now being questioned.

My mother paled. “His lawyer?”

“Declined.”

“I don’t believe it!”

At her wails, I frowned. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Mom. I caught him myself, in a sting operation to find a mole within the HAU.”

She ignored me, “Why are you even working with that… person? You’re a hero, you shouldn’t be with the Villain Suppression Unit!” Looking around at the dilapidated office with a shudder, she added “A bunch of thugs and bullies.”

A nearby agent snorted, but otherwise the entire room ignored the pair.

“I’m a liaison with the VSU and I’m working with Erica because she’s the best agent they have. “

“I very much doubt that.” My father placed an arm around my mother, his face indignant. “Given who her parents are, she’s more likely to be the mole than someone upstanding like Michael.”

“She has ten times the arrest record he does!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“The apple never falls far from the tree.”

“Funny words coming from the mother of a traitor.” Erica had returned, her face calm. She stood next to me, looking up with a sigh. “Sorry for the wait.”

“No problem, but…”

“We want to see our son!” My father was practically spitting with rage.

Her expression was emotionless. “He’s resting, and refusing visitors.”

“BULLSH…”My mother lunged at Erica, arms outstretched as if to strangle her, but I stepped in between them.

“Jarrod! Why are you protecting her?! Have you forgotten who your real family is? I mean, look at her!” My mother stood back, pointing. “She’s practically a super villain herself!”

“…”

I laughed, it came out more like a sob. “Is she really the villain here?”

“…”

Erica grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”

“Sure, where are we going?”

She grinned, and my heart skipped a beat at the wild look in her eye. “I found them.”

ERICA

We snuck up on a warehouse, looking at the patrolling guards carrying large guns.

“Well, we found something.” I chuckled nervously. “Let’s just hope it ‘s the right place. “

Jarrod stared at me intently, as if trying to see into my thoughts. “What… what did he tell you?”

“Everything…” I sighed. “Everything I wanted to know and much, much more.”

“Did he say why?”

“I’d… rather not talk about it.” I pushed his disgusting words to the back of my mind, refusing to dwell on them. As it was I would probably have nightmares for months just from listening to his awful insane ranting, on someone relatively more innocent like Jarrod…

It was better if he never knew the entire truth.

“Should we call for backup?” He was changing the subject, for which I was grateful.

I sat back, considering it. “Not yet. Let’s try to quietly confirm the presence of the Shadow Couple. Then we call the Captain. If the VSU raids the wrong place, we might tip them off too soon.”

He grinned. “Well, you’re the ‘Villain Lair Raiding Queen’, so I’ll listen to you. “

“I thought I was the Demon Witch?”

“Queen, Witch, close enough, why not keep both titles?”

We stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then laughed.

“Alright, Get us to the roof, we’ll break through the fire escape door on the third floor.”

He glanced up at the distance, nodding. “I can make that jump, sure.”

“Carrying me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Super strength, remember?”

“Alright, then I’m counting on you, Henry.”  I smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

“…” There was an uncomfortable silence, and in a moment of panic I realized what I had called him. “Shoot. Sorry, I mean Jarrod.”

He grinned, reaching over and pulling me into his arms. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind being called Henry.” As he prepared to jump, I heard him mutter. “I liked Henry a lot better than Jarrod anyways.”

He leapt into the night sky, timing it so that neither of the outside patrols were facing our direction. We landed on the roof, with a slight groan at the impact.

Right in front of another guard.

His eyes widening, he reached for his walkie-talkie…

Only to be stunned by a quick dart I shot, and slumped silently to the ground instead.

“Nice.” Henry patted me on the shoulder, an impressed look on his face.

“I’ve done this a time or two.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You still owe me a coffee for saving your butt.” I grinned.

“How is it my fault that there was a guard there? You were the one who said to jump to this location!”

“Excuses, excuses…” We moved forward, and for once, I didn’t feel uncomfortable with him at my side.

We disabled the emergency exit alarm and entered from the third floor.

Everything within the building was dark and quiet.

“I don’t like this.” I muttered, looking around.

“Me neither.”

“Feels like a trap.”

We moved into a larger empty room, the carpet of the small office we had entered into giving way to a concrete floor.

“What do you…”

BUZZZ!

A jolt traveled up my legs from the floor, paralyzing me. Stunned, I fell to the floor on my side, hearing Henry fall beside me. He groaned with pain, and although I couldn’t move very well at all, I could talk with some difficulty.

“Are… okay?” I forced the words past numb lips.

“…barely.”

Just as he answered, the lights of the warehouse turned on. Almost blinded by the incredible brightness, I blinked rapidly, trying to force my eyes to adjust. There were guards everywhere, their guns pointed straight at us.  

But that wasn’t where my eyes were drawn.

A middle-aged couple stood in front. Boring looking. Harmless. A couple that looked like the type to call driving to another city “a big adventure.” The last people you would suspect of any wrongdoing.

But there they were.

My personal demons, here to drag me back to Hell.

My parents.

HENRY/JARROD

I recognized them of course. I had thought they were my parents for most of my childhood after all. I tried to move, but whatever they had shocked us with was still working to paralyze us.

The woman bent down over Erica, a sweet smile on her face. “Hi there, sweetie, we’ve missed you.”

The man chuckled next to her, “Kind of disappointed you never came to see us in prison, kiddo!”

Erica was shaking with rage and fear.  Trying desperately to move, but still unable to, she forced out a few cold words. “Go. To. Hell.”

Her mother frowned prettily. “Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your parents?”

I wanted to shake my head, to force myself between them… anything to protect Erica from the look of terror that had flashed over her face at the sight of her parents. Despite her fear, her eyes were resolute.

“Choke and die.”

“Oh, honey, what disrespectful words to say to us after all this time.” The woman bent down, stroking her hair, ignoring the disgust on Erica’s face.

It was too much.

Using all my strength, I pushed against the floor, trying to reach her…

And only managed to move a few inches.

That small bit of movement however, attracted their attention like blood to a shark.

Her father smiled. “Oh, and it looks like you found your long lost brother, Henry!”

The woman moved closer, studying my face with curiosity. “You’ve grown up as well, child. It was so wonderfully cruel of you to escape without our girl, and never come back.”

“She used to cry your name at night.” The man’s eyes drilled into my own. “Praying you would come back for her.”

“She never told us where you went, even after we tortured her.”

He nodded. “Eventually, she was so delirious that all she would do is say your name, over and over again.” Laughing, he added. “We heard you don’t even go by that name anymore, how delightful.”

I felt tears run down my face, unable to look at Erica, wanting to look away from their cruel smiles. I could never undo what I had done to her, the terrible things she had suffered.  How could I…

“I’ve called the cops.” Erica’s voice was calm and steady.

They turned back towards her. “Impossible, dear, don’t tell lies.”

Her hand slowly opened up, and a panic button fell between her fingers to the floor with a clatter. “Directly to the Captain’s office. I’m sure he’d love to arrest you again.”

“…”

“…”

“How… Disappointing.”

“We were just about to kill him, did you guess?”

“Still protecting him, after all these years.”

“Never, changes, our daughter.”

The couple discussed amongst themselves calmly, as if the sound of sirens in the distance weren’t audible.

“Should we take her with us?”

“Not nearly as much fun.”

“We’ll find them later.”

Erica’s mother bent down again next to me, he face serious. “You’re not a very good brother, you know that?”

“…”

“Did she tell you she’s dying?” She whispered gleefully.

“…”

“Slowly poisoned herself for two years, just for the chance to turn us in. Has long term effects, she shouldn’t have much longer.”

“She knows it, but hides it from everyone.”

I couldn’t look away, but I felt Erica stiffen beside me.

“We have the cure for it, it was our poison after all, we developed it. But, she refuses to ask for our help.”

Erica spat in their direction. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ve made that abundantly clear darling.” Her mother caressed her face. “That’s why we’re not talking to you.” She turned towards me.

“We want the anti-super power technology that the VSU is developing.”

Her father chipped in. “In exchange we’ll give you the antidote.”

“Her life, for a lousy piece of technology.”

“You could finally save her, just like you always wanted.”

“Just think about it.”

I wanted to argue, to fight them, to do… anything… but even as I struggled, darkness overwhelmed me, and I fell unconscious.

[narumi-gens]

Weary Hearts Dazai Osamu/Reader Chapter 3 - Out of the Frying Pan

Read on AO3. 

Dazai felt lighter than air as he walked through the bustling Yokohama street. With a small folder under his arm and what could only be described as a spring in his step, he whistled to himself some nameless song that had been stuck in his head since that morning. It had been awhile since he had felt this good and his mood could be traced to a missing girl connected to two murders and the thin folder under his arm.

Yes. He felt good. So good in fact, that he’d decided to put off his planned suicide until he could see this chase through to the end. Once the game was over and he had caught you, then he would finally take his own life. But for the first time in a long while, he had something immediate worth living for.

But he was jarred from his daze when someone bumped into him, the force enough to cause the folder to slip from under his arm. With reflexes that could only be honed through years of training and practice, he managed to catch it before the folder’s contents could scatter across the sidewalk.

Of course, his movements carried the same dramatic flair as was usual, the file bouncing from hand to hand as he exaggerated the possibility that he might drop it. Once he had the file back in hand, he let out a loud sigh of relief and placed a hand over his heart.

“That was close,” he said happily to himself and he quickly flipped through the papers inside of the folder, ensuring that he hadn’t lost any in the scramble.

“Sorry,” a girl’s voice—the voice of the person who had run into him—murmured and Dazai looked up just in time to see the girl slip into the crowd. The playfulness disappeared from Dazai’s features as he lost track of her amongst the throng of people.

His eyes narrowed fractionally before he shrugged dismissively. At this point, there was nothing to be done and so he continued on his way, turning his mind back to the chase he was on and letting his excitement carry him the rest of the way to Lupin.

As he descended the stairs into the bar, he found himself whistling again, his earlier mood having returned in full force. Odasaku was already seated at the bar, a glass of whiskey placed in front of him. He looked up curiously and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“You seem in an exceptionally good mood,” he noted and Dazai gave him a cheerful smile in return as he sat down at his side. A moment later, a glass of whiskey was set down in front of him by the old bartender.

Rather than replying, Dazai began to hum the melody he had originally been whistling and set his folder onto the bartop before sliding it to Odasaku. Odasaku looked at it blankly for a moment before picking it up so that he could leaf through its contents.

“What’s this?” he asked, pausing for a moment on the picture of you that Arata had sent him—the one of your blood-stained face.

“My next project,” Dazai hummed happily, picking up his drink and taking a sip. Odasaku could immediately see what had captured Dazai’s interest as he read over the police report on the death of a boy named Iwasaki Eiji.

“‘Drowned in his own blood’?” Odasaku read aloud, the confusion evident in his voice. One couldn’t be a member of the Port Mafia without hearing of odd deaths, but this had to be one of the more remarkable ones that Odasaku had come across. Especially when he turned the page and saw the crime scene photos, the bed that was covered in blood. “What, this girl did that?”

He flipped back to the photo at the front and couldn’t stop the wave of pity that washed over him as he looked at your image. Whatever hopes of a normal life you had went out the window the moment this boy had died.

“That’s not all…” Dazai teased, capturing Odasaku’s attention and he returned where he had left off, flipping past the crime scene photos until he stopped at a still that had been printed out from a security camera. The image was slightly grainy, but it was clear enough for him to make out what was happening.

A middle-aged man had you bent forward over the hood of a car as he stood right behind you. Odasaku frowned heavily when he saw that your pants were down at your ankles. He flipped the photo and his eyes widened at the next image. The man from the first picture was lying face-up in a pool of his own blood, which was also splattered across the white hood of the car.

“She did this?” he asked as his eyes continued to absorb the details before turning to the next photo.

“Yep. The cop was on the payroll. He was supposed to hand her over but when I went to pick her up, this was what I found,” Dazai replied and Odasaku glanced up to see that rather than dismay at the girl having disappeared, a sincere smile had formed on his lips.

“And you haven’t found her yet?” Odasaku’s brow furrowed in confusion and he saw Dazai shake his head in his periphery. “Shouldn’t have been too hard, should it? She would have been drenched in his blood.”

“Turn the page.” Dazai’s words came out in a sing-song tone and when Odasaku saw the next photo, an impressed smile found its way onto his own lips. It was another still captured from CCTV footage of you walking alone into a love hotel. The picture was stapled to a credit card statement in Arata’s name showing a charge from the establishment. “She rented a room at a love hotel.”

“Smart,” Odasaku noted. “Shower and a bed. No interactions with staff. Cheap. By-the-hour. Discreet entrances. No one would have noticed her.”

Dazai hummed in agreement. When Odasaku flipped the page, he was surprised to find nothing else. He looked up in confusion at his friend.

“You don’t have anything else on her?” He turned back to the credit card statement and looked at the date of the love hotel transaction. “It’s been a week.”

Dazai let out a noise of frustration at the reminder, but something about it sounded slightly false. Odasaku looked at him for a long moment before he realized what it was. Dazai was enjoying this. He liked that the chase had become a challenge.

“The last thing I have on her is that the day after she killed the cop, she pawned his watch and wedding ring. She got a decent price in cash, which unfortunately means the paper trail ends,” he sighed, slouching forward against the bar dejectedly.

“This is Yokohama. She can’t just go missing from the Port Mafia in this town,” Odasaku pointed out. “Someone will find her and it won’t be long before they do.”

Dazai dropped his head forward until his face was pressed against the surface of the bar and gave a dramatic groan.

“And then all the fun would be gone,” he complained, his words coming out slightly muffled as he spoke into the wooden bartop. He then turned his head to the side without lifting it up and looked at Odasaku and the man saw something dark in Dazai’s eyes. “No, no one else in the Port Mafia will be looking for her. I’ve made sure of that.”

Odasaku merely raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the folder, flipping back towards the front where a short section on your background had been written on one of the pages. His eyes skimmed over the information.

Born and raised in a small, fishing town. Parents dead. Raised by your grandfather. Taken in by your aunt in Yokohama when he died. Exemplary student. And…

“‘Winner and two-time runner-up of the National Youth Go Tournament’?” Odasaku read, surprise lacing his tone. He looked over to Dazai and the corner of his lip turned upwards in a smirk. “No wonder she’s got you beat.”

Before Dazai could argue, the sound of footsteps approaching caused the pair to look up and see the final member of their trio climbing down the stairs to the bar.

“Ango,” Odasauke greeted, Ango returning it genially—or at least as genially as Ango could really be. He then turned to Dazai who was still slumped forward in distress.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, taking the seat to Dazai’s left. He then made a gesture for the bartender to make his usual.

“Just a discussion on the difficulty of playing cat-and-mouse with a talented Go player,” Dazai sighed heavily before pouting petulantly. “They’re too far-seeing and can make too many calculations.”

Odasaku looked at Dazai thoughtfully for a moment.

“Are you any good at Go?” he asked the executive and Dazai shrugged as he sat back up properly, his posture still remaining slouched.

“I can play,” he replied modestly and both Odasaku and Ango scoffed simultaneously. Dazai may complain about the calculating nature of Go players, but with how much he thought through each plan before taking action, there was no doubt that he excelled at the game of strategy.

“You think you could beat her?” Odasaku asked, tossing the file back in front of Dazai and pointing to the picture of you—the same picture of your blood-stained face that Dazai had already spent countless hours looking at.

Dazai picked it up and examined it carefully, almost as if this were the first time he had done so. Finally, his lips formed a dark smirk and he slid the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I guess we’ll find out when I catch her,” he replied before taking a satisfied sip of his whiskey. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and turned to Ango with a look of smug joy. “And you! It’s time for you to pay up!”

Ango dropped his head back with an annoyed groan. Dazai laughed at the reaction and held out his hand expectantly.

“What’s this?” Odasaku interrupted curiously.

“Ango here was foolish enough to bet that I couldn’t get an assassin stupid enough to get himself caught to talk,” Dazai grinned triumphantly, answering on behalf of Ango when the man in question ignored Odasaku to grumble under his breath in displeasure as he pulled out his wallet.

Counting out the money he owed, Ango slapped the folded bills into Dazai’s palm, making Dazai laugh again. However, Dazai’s laughter slowly died down when he reached into his pocket and found his wallet missing. Confused, he checked his remaining pockets, only to turn up empty.

“Something wrong?” Odasaku asked, watching Dazai’s movements and the executive was quiet for a moment before he burst into laughter so unexpectedly that it caught both Odasaku and Ango by surprise.

“Dazai?” Ango cautiously ventured. Despite being used to Dazai’s odd behavior, this seemed like something else entirely. Dazai tried to explain, only to burst out into another fit of laughter that had both Odasaku and Ango exchanging confused looks behind Dazai’s back.

Eventually, his laughter seemed to die down and when he looked at Ango, the man was taken aback by the pure joy on Dazai’s face

“I was pickpocketed,” he finally managed to tell them, a wide smile on his lips.

Ango’s features immediately scrunched up in confusion.

“Somebody pickpocketed you?” Ango asked, clearly bewildered by the notion. “And you let them?”

Dazai suddenly remembered the girl who had bumped into him less than an hour ago. Had his clumsy act left him vulnerable? He hadn’t even felt her fingers in his pocket. Before he could ruminate on the interaction any longer, a slip of paper was placed in front of him on the bartop.

Blinking owlishly, he looked at the bill before his gaze travelled up to the bartender to see the old man’s eyes twinkling in amusement, clearly having heard Dazai’s predicament. Odasaku and Ango laughed at the man’s perfect timing and the playfully distraught look on Dazai’s face.

“Good thing you won your bet with Ango,” Odasaku noted with a sly grin on his face, making Dazai laugh again. And despite Ango’s scoff at the joke at his expense, even he couldn’t fully stop the way the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

You frowned as you searched the leather wallet in your hands. Its owner had been wearing a nice suit, one that looked expensive. You had hoped that it would be reflected by the amount of cash you would find once you had stolen his wallet. Instead, other than the two, thousand-yen bills, there was nothing.

No form of ID, no credit cards, nothing. At least, until you searched it one last time and found a folded slip of paper that was slightly peeking out. Curiously, you pulled it out and opened it, only to immediately furrow your brow in confusion at what was written on it.

Death by train (lie on the tracks?)

Drowning (the bay or the river?)

Poison (pro: poetic, con: easily cured)

Jumping (how high does building need to be?)

Hanging (need to be careful, could end in paralysis instead of death)

“What?” you asked yourself in confusion, rereading the short, numbered list in an futile effort to understand what had been written. You flipped the paper over, looking for some sort of explanation only to find nothing. Who took the time to sit down and list ways to die?

Perhaps you should have known. Despite the expensive suit, the guy had been covered in bandages. From what could be inferred from the list in your hands as well as their placement, they were probably due to failed attempts to take his own life.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, pocketing the cash before tossing the wallet into the nearest trash bin. You’d need to find someone else to target.

You had been trying to limit how many people you had been stealing from. The last thing you wanted was for an increased police presence due to a sudden rash of complaints about pickpocketing.

But you didn't need that much more. You’d been doing this for almost a full week by now. Just a little more money and you would be able to afford to leave Yokohama for good with enough money to get by on until you could find somewhere new to start over. Just a little bit more and you could leave this all behind. It would all become some terrible memory that you could force yourself to forget in time.

You could feel your desperation warring with recklessness. You suddenly heard your grandfather’s voice again.

“You see why you lost? It’s because you felt like I was closing in on you in this part of the board and you got reckless. There’s a time to be bold, but only when it’s the right time.”

You remembered when he had given you that piece of advice. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the cryptic words and sarcastically asked him to clarify what the “right time” was. He had given you a light smack to the back of the head for that one.

“The line between boldness and and recklessness is a fine one, my most beloved and ungrateful granddaughter. Don’t stray over it into the latter.”

Your fingers began to twitch at your sides anxiously. You needed to get out of Yokohama.

That last thought echoed in your head, eclipsing the wisdom that your grandfather had tried to impart to you.

‘Just a little more,’ you repeated to yourself.

As you returned to looking at the crowd to find another target, a man in a suit caught your eye. He looked to be in his late-twenties or early-thirties and was muttering something under his breath. He looked upset. More importantly, he looked distracted.

You watched him with hawkish eyes as he walked along the sidewalk. Every so often, he would bump into someone in the crowd and still he remained distracted by whatever was on his mind. Your fingers drummed against your thigh, already prepared to be nimble. Looking ahead of him, you realized that he was headed for an intersection and would have to wait for the pedestrian signal to change in order to cross.

That was your opportunity.

Taking a deep breath to steady your remaining nerves, you slowly made your way towards him, closing the distance between the two of you until you were standing behind him at the intersection.

You glanced up at him discreetly one final time, making sure that he was still distracted before you slipped your fingers into his pocket and smoothly pulled out his wallet. It felt thicker than the last wallet you had stolen and you smiled to yourself. The pedestrian signal changed colors, directing you to begin crossing the street and you wasted no time in making your escape. Slipping past the man, you walked past him at a leisurely pace. Being too obvious would only raise suspicions.

But just as relief began to wash over you, your heart stopped at the sudden commotion you heard from behind.

“Fuck! Fuck!” a man started screaming and you knew it had to be the man that you had just stolen from.

And then you made a mistake, a mistake that would end up being bigger than you ever could have imagine, a mistake that would profoundly change the course of your life—you looked back.

The second that you did, you made eye contact with the man and you didn’t know if it was the panic that seeped through your expression or if the man was just that perceptive, but the realization hit him that you were the one who had robbed him.

You broke into a sprint, desperate to lose him in the crowd.

“Get back here, you bitch!” he shouted furiously as he pushed through the crowd to follow after you.

The sound of your feet hitting the concrete as you ran echoed loudly in your ears. Your heart was racing with both exertion and fear. If this man caught you, you knew it wouldn’t just be a lecture or the police. The fate that awaited you if you were captured wouldn’t be so benevolent.

You took turn after turn, hoping to lose the man in the maze of Yokohama’s side streets. But no matter how much distance you thought that you were putting between you and the man, all it took was one look back to see that he was still on your trail.

“You can’t run forever! Just wait until I get my hands on you!”

Tears began to blur your vision and you furiously wiped them away. Crying could come later, when you were safely out of Yokohama and on to start your new life. For now, all it did was obstruct your vision and make it harder for you to breathe.

Catching sight of an alley, you unexpectedly rounded the corner and darted past the crates and dumpsters, hoping that the debris would slow the man down. There was a chain link fence ahead, but the small hole along the edge gave you hope.

“Fuck!” you heard the man cry out, followed by the sound of something crashing into the ground. He must have tripped on something and it allowed you the time that you needed to slip through the hole in the fence.

Just as you squeezed through the hole and went to run, you heard the sound of fabric ripping and were yanked back and realized that the fence had torn a hole in the sweatshirt that you were wearing. You pushed away the memory that surfaced of when you had tried to escape Arata’s hold and he had pulled you back by your shirt. Unwilling to make the same mistake, you slipped off the sweatshirt, leaving you in a cheap, Yokohama souvenir t-shirt.

You tried not to get your hopes up, but there was no way the man would fit through that hole. You had just barely fit through it. And it was too flimsy to climb. Had it worked? Had you lost him?

It was like you were tempting fate with just that one thought. Just before you reached the end of the alley, the man appeared, blocking your exit. His expression looked wild and you saw that he had a gun in one hand.

“You little bitch. You think you know these streets better than me ?” he spat and tears filled your vision.

You realized that the wallet was still in your grasp and you quickly held it out for him.

“Take it back. Please. I’m so sorry,” you cried, backing up slowly. “I just needed a little money. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re not sorry. But you’re gonna be,” he warned as he began to move closer to you. For every step he took towards you, you took one back.

If you could just get to the fence, you could try and escape back through it. He still had a gun, but there was enough debris on the other side of the fence that as long as you could get past the fence, then you could find shelter behind one of the dumpsters.

He was only a few feet from you. If he got any closer then you wouldn’t have room to run. It was now or never. And so you sprinted towards the hole, hoping to take the man by surprise with the suddenness of your movements.

You hadn’t even made it halfway there before you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head.

And then, everything went black.

Consciousness slowly dawned on you. A shooting pain in your head soon followed that had you groaning. Or at least trying to. You realized there was some sort of fabric between your teeth and when you tried to groggily open your eyes, you found only darkness.

“She’s up, sir,” a voice said and your mind was foggy but you recognized the voice.

Then it hit you. The pickpocketing. Getting caught. Trying to run. Being cornered. Pain. And then nothing.

“Good, good, good,” a second voice said, excitement lacing his words. “Sit her up.”

A pair of hands were suddenly roughly grabbing your upper arms to pull you up and your attempts to struggle were weakened by your sluggish brain. When you tried to lift your hand to push them away, you found that your wrists were bound together and the realization had you panicking.

A loud crack filled the space and there was a blinding pain across your right cheek that had you seeing stars behind the blindfold covering your eyes and crying out into the makeshift gag between your teeth.

“Ogawa!” the second voice snapped, the threat unmistakable.

“Sorry, sir,” the first voice, the voice of the man that you had tried to pickpocket, apologized and despite the daze you were in from the slap you had received, you could imagine the cold look he was receiving.

There was silence and then a light touch on your unmarred cheek. You flinched away from it out of both fear and disgust.

“There, there,” the second voice, the authoritative voice, tried to soothe you before the owner’s gentle hands were gripping onto the fabric covering your eyes and lifting it away.

You immediately tried to open your eyes, desperate to see your surroundings, only to shut them at the room’s brightness. Forced to wait until your eyes could adjust to the lighting, you lifted up your bound wrists and began to pull at the knot at the base of your head that tied the cloth between your teeth. The gentle hands quickly covered yours before you could tug it loose.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m sorry, but for now that will have to stay.” The voice sounded apologetic, like he actually meant it.

You finally managed to open an eye and saw that you were in a modernly decorated living room. A look around revealed that you were on a fine, leather couch and that this man—a thin man with salt-and-pepper colored hair who appeared to be in his early-fifties wearing a fine suit—was sitting on the edge of the glass-top coffee table and facing you.

Desperate for relief, you held up your wrists to him but knew the request was in vain. He shook his head.

“That too, I’m afraid,” he said but already his attention was on something else—your face. With the same, gentle touch as before, he took your chin in his fingers and carefully tilted your face to the right, then to the left. “Very nice.”

However, when he looked at the large, quickly-reddening spot on your cheek, he frowned heavily. His eyes shot up to focus on something behind you and you figured it must be the man who had slapped you.

“Almost perfect.” His words were pointed and his gaze never wavered from the man behind you. “Now, get out.”

There was a moment of hesitation and you saw the way something dangerous creeped into the eyes of the man seated in front of you.

“Yes, sir,” the man behind you finally replied. You could then hear his footsteps as he made his leave. Instinctively, you turned your head to try and see the man’s retreating figure, only to find your chin still being firmly held. A door opened and then shut and suddenly, you were alone with your captor.

“I’m sorry for Ogawa,” he said as he continued to examine your features. “He has a tendency to use his fists rather than his brain.”

He scoffed before something that looked like approval appeared on his face.

“But he does get results,” he conceded with a resigned sigh. He released your chin and you immediately sat further back on the couch in an attempt to put space between the two of you. “I should introduce myself.”

He then leaned in, erasing the gap that you had just created, and took your hands in both of his. His thumb began rub circles against your skin and you had to fight down the shudder of revulsion at the intimacy of the gesture.

“I’m Takada Hisashi.” He didn’t ask for your name. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

You flinched away from him at his words and he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek.

“Now, now. You don’t need to be scared,” he reassured you. He gave you a smile that was tinged with something dark. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He was promising kindness but you could see the lie in his eyes. Whatever mask he was wearing wasn’t going to last for long.

“Ogawa told me how he came across you. That you actually had to gall to pickpocket him. He was reluctant to admit it but he also told me that you almost got away with it.” He gave a genuine laugh, honestly amused by the chain of events. “Now, imagine that. A seasoned member of the Port Mafia getting pickpocketed by a teenager.”

Your eyes widened. The Port Mafia? How could you live in Yokohama and not have heard of the Port Mafia? Whether it was in the news or the rumors spread through your school, talk of the Port Mafia was never far.

“How old are you?” the man, Takada, asked as he returned to looking over your face appraisingly. You didn’t know how he expected you to answer him with the gag still between your teeth. “You can’t be more than 18.”

His voice was a murmur now and you could see something that had your fight-or-flight response running hayware creeping into his gaze. Suddenly, his eyes met yours and the kind and gentle facade fell away. Quicker than you could process, the hand that was cupping your cheek buried itself in your hair and pulled on it so harshly that you cried out into your gag. Tears prickled your eyes at the stinging pain.

You instinctively raised your hand to try and fight his grip on your hair but the movement caused the rope around your wrists to rub painfully against your skin, further feeding your tears.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me,” he said, his voice still as soft as before but the genteel tone was nowhere to be heard. “Can you do that for me?”

When you took too long to answer him, his grip grew tighter and you cried out again. You hurriedly nodded, wincing at how the motion caused more of your hair to be tugged in his hold.

“Have you been with a man before?”

The question had your stomach sinking like a rock. You stared at him with wide, teary eyes until one of your tears fell down your cheek slowly. From the tone of his voice and the look on his face, he expected an answer.

Slowly and so minutely that the motion could have been missed, you nodded. Your reply had Takada sighing heavily before he released you roughly.

“Shame,” he remarked and he sounded sincerely disappointed. “I wanted to be the one to desecrate you.”  

You felt a nauseating wave of déjà vu wash over you.

“Fuck, I wish you were still a virgin. I got to you a couple hours too late.”

Takada’s sentiment echoed the words Arata had grunted into your ear only a week prior and you could feel your fear beginning to get the better of you.

“You teenagers can’t wait for anything these days, can you?” he asked bitterly before standing up. He then walked around the couch and you looked over your shoulder to see him stop in front of an expensive looking bar cart. He picked up one of the beautifully decorated decanters and began to fix himself a drink.

Now free from his gaze, you frantically began to pull at the bindings around your wrists. The rope burned your skin, but you knew that you needed to take advantage of this brief moment where you were free from Takada’s watchful gaze. The longer it took you to tug at the rope, the more desperate you could feel yourself becoming.

You weren’t going to be able to get loose. Takada was going to do whatever he wanted with you. And then after, maybe he’d let you go. Maybe he’d kill you. Maybe he’d keep you here until he grew tired of you and you became disposable.

Tears blurred your vision as you looked down at your wrists. The skin had been rubbed raw. It wouldn’t be long before they began to bleed. Time was running out.

You heard the gentle clink of glass touching glass and looked back to see that Takada has set the decanter back onto the bar cart and was lifting up the drink he had just made. You turned back around. Your time was up. Sniffling softly, you hurriedly wiped away any traces of tears from your eyes.

The sound of Takada’s footsteps returning to you had you trembling. You felt like you were on the executioner’s block and the man who controlled your fate was approaching with his axe.

Takada appeared in front of you once more and sat back down on the coffee table. You looked up at him and found more tears forming as you made eye contact with the man. When he saw how hard you were trying to keep from crying, a dark smile appeared on his lips and the kind front he had portrayed was nowhere to be found.

Setting his drink down, he cupped your cheek with one of his hands and when you flinched away at the contact, his hand immediately closed the gap.

“Let me see those tears,” he murmured, his voice low, and when you looked back at him you couldn’t help the tear that fell down your cheek, giving him exactly what he wanted. His smile grew slightly crazed as his eyes followed the trail of your tear as it crossed your jaw and slowly slid down your neck.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “I’ll do my best to make sure that’s not the last one you shed.”

The promise had you shutting your eyes tightly, no longer able to look at the man. Unfortunately, doing so only caused more of your tears to fall and Takada laughed maniacally.

Desperation reared its ugly head again as Takada’s laughter rang in your ears. You had to get free. Clenching your hands into fists, you took a deep, steadying breath.

There was a way—a way that you had wanted to forget. But could you do it? Could you kill him?

More tears escaped your closed eyelids as you asked yourself the question. Before...with the others...they had been accidents. Could you cross the line into intentionally taking someone else’s life?

But when you glanced up and looked at Takada through your tears to see the hungry look on his face, you realized that the question had been answered for you. If you wanted to make it out of here alive, you would have to use the ability that had already spilled more blood than anyone should have to see in their lifetime.

All you had to do was touch him, right? That’s how it worked with Arata. That was how it worked with...Eiji.

You would touch him and he would start coughing up blood. And then, once he was dead, you could run. You would be safe. You could finally leave Yokohama.

Looking down, you watched what felt like someone else’s weak, trembling hands, which were still bound together at the wrist with a piece of rope, slowly reaching out towards Takada’s.

But before you could touch him, his own hand grabbed onto your upper arm and yanked you up. His hold was tight enough to make you cry out into your gag and there was no doubt that he would be leaving behind a bruise on your arm.

You struggled not to trip over your own feet but the sudden movement had your head spinning, probably due to the likely concussion Ogawa had given you. As Takada dragged you along, it felt like you were seeing everything through a slightly hazy fog and it only served to feed both your fear and your desperation.

Your inner turmoil grew worse when you reached the threshold of Takada’s bedroom. As the horrific reality of your fate stared you in the face, you began to struggle wildly, trying as hard as you could to break free of his hold while simultaneously trying to dig your heels into the expensive hardwood floor.

This seemed to break whatever remained of Takada’s patience. Suddenly, his hand was closed around your throat and he used the new hold on you to slam you back into the wall, paying no regard to the framed painting already hanging there nor to the way the glass shattered from the force of your body hitting it. You cried out again as the glass dug into your back, shredding parts of your t-shirt and cutting into your skin.

His grip grew tight and the pain of the glass digging into your back faded away as you began to struggle for oxygen. You tried to bring your hands up to grab onto his own. If you could just touch his skin, you could stop him, you could get free. But with the rope still binding your wrists together and his body pressed up against yours, the closest that you could get was the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“This is good,” he said coolly as he kept you pinned to the wall. His hold on your throat remained just on the right side of keeping you from passing out—loose enough so that you didn’t lose consciousness, but tight enough that you were still in pain and having difficulty breathing. “Iwant you to fight. This would be boring if you didn’t.”

His hand squeezed harshly, making you see spots before he pulled you away from the wall by your throat and dragged you until he could slam your back onto his bed. Tiny shards of glass that had dug into your skin cut deeper at the pressure but you were too busy gulping in deep breaths of oxygen to pay attention to the pain as he released his hold on you. You heard him opening and closing a drawer and you rolled to your side and pushed yourself to sit up with shaky arms.

But just as you brought yourself to sit fully upright on the edge of the mattress, Takada was back. Only this time, there was no sign left of his temper. When he knelt down before you, there was an eerie calmness to his expression that had your heart hammering in your throat. You were still panting heavily now that your flow of oxygen was no longer being restricted.

Reaching into his jacket, Takada pulled out a knife and you immediately stilled. You watched with wide eyes as he brought it up to your neck. The blade was so close that you held your breath, worried that even breathing would cause it to pierce your skin.

“I could kill you,” Takada murmured and tears blurred your vision. “But I don’t want to. No, I think I want to keep you.”

He looked at you strangely for a long moment.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked and when you didn’t answer him, he moved the knife away from your neck just a fraction. “Give me a name, pretty girl.”

Not wanting to tempt his wrath again, you whispered your name around the cloth between your teeth. Despite how quiet and how muffled your voice was, Takada seemed to hear it clearly enough because he let your name fall from his lips and a shudder of revulsion ran down your spine.

He then leaned down at pressed his lips to your wrist, just above your bindings. And then, unexpectedly, he brought the knife away from your neck and cut away at the rope. The sudden relief that came when he finally pulled away the frayed cords had you gasping softly. While your wrists weren’t bleeding, there was a deep and worrying redness left on your skin from both how long and how tightly the rope had been tied.

But you didn’t have time to relish being free from your bindings. It meant nothing so long as you were still in Takada’s clutches.

He seemed to have some twisted sense of awe for you. As long as you made no sudden movements, you might be able to take advantage of it. You would do anything to escape.

‘Now. You have to do it now,’ a voice deep inside urged you, drowning out the loud beating of your heart in your ears.

Carefully, with movements that were glacially slow, you lifted one hand up and reached for Takada’s face. He watched your hand in fascination, like he couldn't comprehend what you were doing. Your fingers were trembling furiously by the time they reached his cheek and Takada leaned into your touch longingly.

“Please,” you whispered desperately through your gag, wanting more than anything for this ability of yours to save you. When you felt that odd yet increasingly familiar sensation wash over you, you closed your eyes in relief causing a tear to escape past your eyelids.

Your ability, your gift, your curse—whatever it was—it had worked.

Takada groaned loudly, sounding like he was in pain and you heard the knife clatter to the floor as he dropped it. Opening your eyes, you saw that he was hunched over your lap. His face was buried in one of his hands while the other had gone to your thigh, where his fingers were tightly gripping onto the fabric of your jeans.

He looked like he was in agony and you wanted to hate that the sight made your heart soar. You wanted to hate that you were happy and relieved that this man was about to die—because of you.

You shook your head gently to chase away the thought, mindful of the way the motion had caused your vision to spin. There would be time to deal with your moral crisis later. Right now, you needed to get out. Bringing up your hands, you weakly began to push at Takada’s shoulders to get him away from you.

It happened before you could even comprehend it.

One second you were trying to shove Takada off of you and the next, there was cold metal on your wrist and the familiar clink of a handcuff closing. Looking down in horror, you realized that Takada had pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed one of your wrists.

“No, no, no, no,” you cried through your gag as you tried to shove Takada away yet again with every ounce of strength left in your body.

Your efforts were quickly hampered when Takada yanked harshly on the loose cuff to pull you to him. His free hand then went to the back of your head and he used his hold to bring your lips onto his. His fingers fisted in your hair and kept your head right where he wanted, leaving you no room to try and avoid his hungry and feverish kisses.

Panicking, your free hand continued to shove at his shoulder and you used your legs to kick at his stomach. He let out a grunt when your foot hit him hard but he remained steadfast. With nothing else at your disposal, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down hard.

“Fuck!” he screamed, jumping back and bringing both of his hands to his now profusely bleeding lip.

Seeing your chance, you shot up skirted around him, aiming for the door. But before you could even get fully past him, he had grabbed onto the loose cuff that was dangling from your wrist and pulled you back harshly. The force had you tripping and he used your loss of balance to his advantage by pulling again so that you fell forward onto your stomach on his bed.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine now. No one else’s.”

The most frightening thing about his words wasn’t their meaning, but Takada’s tone. He didn’t sound angry or upset. He sounded almost loving, like this was for your own good.

Moving just as quickly as before, he looped the free cuff around one of the slats in his wooden headboard and then closed it around your remaining wrist. Once the telltale clink echoed throughout the room, Takada paused, his breathing heavy.

Tears blurred your vision as the previous events caught up with you. You looked desperately at the handcuffs that were tightly cuffed around your wrists and the way you were now chained to his bed. Yanking harshly, you cried out when there was no give. All you got was the loud clanking of the handcuff chain as it ground into the wooden headboard and blinding pain in your wrists as the metal dug into skin that had already been bruised and torn by the rope.

Sobs began to rack your body as you buried your face into your upper arm. They only grew worse when the mattress dipped as Takada climbed beside you.

“Shh. There’s no need to cry,” he murmured as he began to yank your jeans from your hips and then down your legs until he could throw them to the floor. “I’ll take good care of you. I take good care of the things that belong to me. And I want you to be mine so badly. I want you more than anything I’ve wanted before. You’re special. Do you understand that?”

He then said your name like it was the most precious word in the entire history of spoken words and your sobs grew harder. His hands slid back up your thighs until his fingers hooked the bottom of your shirt and lifted it up and over your head, exposing your back to him. The motion dislodged some of the small shards of glass that had dug into your back, but the pain simply blended into the turmoil that you were already experiencing.

“Please, please,” you begged through your tears but it simply fell on deaf ears.

You felt something wet and warm moving up and down your back and when you glanced over your shoulder as best you could, you realized that Takada was licking the small trails of blood that had formed from where the glass had cut you with his tongue. Disgust, revulsion, helplessness, panic, fear, and desperation all violently warred with one another inside of you.

“Please,” you cried softly and Takada switched to placing open-mouthed kisses along your back as he abandoned lapping up the small, crimson bloodstains.

“Shh. My pretty girl. I’ll make you feel so good. I swear,” he promised against your skin. His fingers then slid along your sides until he reached the cheap, cotton bra you were wearing. He tore at the band, disregarding the clasp altogether as the fabric easily gave way, allowing him to slip his hands underneath your front and grab both of your breasts roughly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, your voice as broken as you felt, but your protest was drowned out by the groans Takada was making as he continued to squeeze you. You tried to yank at your handcuffs again, although at this point you knew it was futile. “Stop.”

When he released you, for just a second you were stupid enough to believe that he had heard you. Instead, he had simply let go of your breasts so that he could move his hands to your hips and drag you to your knees. He used one hand to keep you from collapsing while the other moved to his belt.

The sound of it jingling, followed by the sound of his zipper was barely loud enough to be heard over your panicked breathing as it combined with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears and your broken sobs. His hand was then at your underwear, tugging it down to your knees so that it was out of the way.

“My pretty girl,” Takada groaned at the sight before him.

When you felt him beginning to line himself up at your entrance, you tried as hard as you could to retreat to someplace else. You tried to remember the afternoons you spent fishing on the dock in your town. You tried to remember the flashlight you hid in your room so that you could read in bed when you should have been sleeping. You tried to remember the games of Go you played against your grandfather.

But the blinding pain of Takada thrusting himself inside of you was too much and you continued to cry weakly. And suddenly, the only memory that came to you was one that you didn’t want.

You heard your grandfather’s voice. His words of forewarning echoed in your ears and you would have given anything to have remembered them earlier. But now, they were useless.

“Don’t act out of desperation, my dear. That’s when you’re prone to make the error that will cost you the game.”

How had you ended up here again?