#the wc got out of control again every day i am reflecting and learning

[cloudstrifing]

Gun Barrel Red Hot

relationship: nicholas d. wolfwood/vash the stampede (trigun) rating: explicit wordcount: 16.7k chapters: 2/2 tags: alien biology, mating cycles/in heat, intersex vash, switching, porn with feelings, they are sloppy and in love...

“Spikey,” Wolfwood says, slow and measured. “Are you, uh … are you turned on?”

—

Wolfwood helps Vash deal with a unique problem.

💖on ao3 here💖

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

[thatesqcrush]

Neighbors

Rafael Barba x reader. CW: language, some smut-implications.

WC: 2364

--

Rafael was overjoyed when he became the sole tenant of his floor. He paid a pretty price for his Manhattan walk up. He chose to live on the top floor for a reason. He relished the solitude. Every day he wished that someone would not come to inhabit it.

He was two weeks into his month long suspension after the whole mess with Ashtonja Abreu. He still felt so horrible for paying Ashtonja’s mother off, knowing she would use it for her next fix. But he also knew he got off easy with a month long suspension from the D.A.’s office. Meeting with the ethics committee from the NY Bar Association was something else – but they too only gave him a slap on the wrist at the end.

When Rafael came home one Tuesday morning after having gone to run errands for his abuela, he was displeased to hear sounds of loud music coming from down what he had grown accustom as “his hallway.” If he leaned into the music, he was certain it was something by Common.

Rafael could feel the irritably creep into his skin. He made his way into his apartment and dropped off the extra groceries he had picked for himself on the counter. He paused momentarily to give scratches to his cat Corzo, his ten year old Siamese.

The cat stood up and arched its back, trilling in greeting to his owner. “Can you believe this nonsense?” Rafael asked. “We had it so good. Now it’s ruined.”

Corzo meowed loudly in response before head butting Rafael’s palm.

“I’ll be right back.” Rafael replied to Corzo. “Don’t go poking around in the groceries. The salmon is not for you.”

Rafael headed back out, pausing momentarily once more to stop to look at his reflection. He peered at the “suspension beard” as Olivia liked to call it. “Maybe I’ll shave.” He muttered to himself.

With an audible sigh, Rafael made way to across the hall and knocked loudly on the door. He wasn’t even sure his knocks were heard since the music was so loud and just as he lifted his arm to knock again, the door swung open.

Rafael felt the air out of his lungs whoosh out.

Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever come across since Yelina. Suddenly he felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed hard.

You cocked your head at the handsome man in front of you. “Can I help you?”

Rafael raked in the sight of you with your rolled sweatpants and very snug tank-top. Your hair was pinned up and paint was smeared and splattered all over you. There was a fresh purple paint drop on your cheek and Rafael had to control himself from wiping it off with he pad of his thumb.

“I…I am Rafael Barba. I live across the hall.” Rafael introduced himself, extending his hand.

Your eyes lit up and you smiled as you took his hand in yours and shook it. “Hi! I am Y/F/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you neighbor!”

Rafael’s ears picked up a slight accent but he could not pick up from where. “I hate to be that guy… but your music is a little loud.”

Your cheeks turned pink. “I am so sorry.” You apologized. “I will turn it down right away.”

Rafael gave you a small smile. “No te precupes. It’s all good. Good luck with the paint job.”

You nodded and then opened the door a bit wider. “Want to come in and have some coffee? It’d be nice to get to know my neighbor.”

Rafael shook his head and when he saw your crestfallen face. “Um… I meant, why don’t you come over across the way? Consider it a welcome to the building.”

--

Hours passed easily as you two both chit-chatted and got to know each other. At some point a pizza was ordered – which Rafael insisted on paying for, despite being without pay from his suspension. He learned you were from Chicago – hence the accent. You didn’t exchange details about work – you were able to deduce though, from the vast library that graced his walls, he was in law. He provided some murmurings about being suspended and you explained about being transferred from your last job and how it was a much-needed change. Otherwise, you didn’t share explicit details.

You wiped your mouth on the napkin. “I will say New York pizza – not that bad. But nothing compares to a Chicago pizza.”

Rafael placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

You shrugged. “Once you have had the best, the rest… doesn’t matter.”

Rafael scoffed. “There is a lot of things that New York does better. That is why everyone comes here. And I will give you a crash course in the morning if you’re around.”

You winked. “Next thing you’ll say is that you guys have the better baseball team.”

Rafael smirked, crossing his arms. “Twenty-seven championships.”

Your brows furrowed. “But when did they last win one… oh that’s right, 2009. At least the Cubbies have won recently.”

“So not the White Sox?”

“Early on you learn to make your choice and stick to it. Forever.” That earned a guffaw from Rafael. You beamed.

Both of you realized in that moment, you were both so screwed.

--

True to his word, the very next day, Rafael brought you a classic New York breakfast – various bagels with assorted cream cheeses, jellies, and smoked fish. It was all washed down with the seemingly endless coffee carafe he had made. You had to admit that food here in this new city seemed to live up to the hype.

Over the course of the following two weeks, you got to know your neighbor Rafael well. You borrowed his paper – he borrowed sugar. You had to go downtown to complete paperwork for your new job – he sat in your apartment waiting for your couch be delivered. And when the Cubs came to town, you and Rafael went to The Bronx to catch the rubber game.

The friendship developed so rapidly and so carefree, that if it were anyone else, alarms would be ringing. It went against all of your training. But there was something about Rafael that disarmed you instantly. You felt like a magnet, drawn to him. The fact that he was deliciously handsome also didn’t hurt.

You learned Rafael was an only child. His parents had a turbulent, volatile marriage that ended when his father died. Rafael was close with his mother and grandmother. You learned that his work created long hours and is why chose to get a cat instead of a dog to keep him company. Rafael learned that you were one of three, but your brother had recently passed away. He also learned that you were a runner – by choice – and that you had run the Chicago Marathon at least a half dozen times. Rafael admitted that he too was a runner, but if given the choice, he would prefer to binge marathon watch the latest cooking show than run laps along the West Side Highway but he did so anyway in order to keep fit.

The attraction between you two grew quickly. Like if an accelerant had been poured over, stoking the fire. You were both way in over your heads.

Neither one of you did anything to stop it.

--

One evening, Rafael had to help his mother and grandmother and he called you to see if you could feed Corzo. You happily obliged and told him he was in for a treat when he got back. Coming back home, Rafael was a nervous wreck. He was not sure what you had in store for him.

When Rafael opened the door, he was surprised to see you sitting on the couch, nursing a low-ball of scotch. He sniffed the air – something delicious was cooking.

“What is that?” Rafael asked.

You approached him with an additional glass in your hand. If anyone else were watching, they would claim the action was rather domestic.

“That, is a Chicago deep dish that I had my friend Adam ship to me.”

“Is this Adam your boyfriend?” Rafael asked as he sipped the drink.

“What?” You blinked and shook your head. “No – well, he was but not anymore. I told him I was homesick and missed good pizza so he had some overnight from Lou Malnati’s. You are in for a treat.”

Rafael swallowed hard as he watched your form retreat into the kitchen. You bent over to pull out the pizza and Rafael felt his pants tighten. He coughed slightly and moved over to grab some plates. As you portioned out the pizza, he looked at you puzzled. “Am I supposed to eat this with a fork and knife?”

You nodded. “It’s not meant for the hands. I mean you can, but it’s very—” Your voice trailed off as Rafael clumsily handled the thick slice of pizza and bit into it. “Messy.” You finished.

“And honestly,” you continued, as you placed your hands on your hips. “Us Chicagoans crave a thin crust, square-cut, tavern-style pizza. You can't eat deep dish all the time. But we will defend deep dish to the end of time.”

A glob of sauce covered Rafael’s chin and instinctively you reached over and used your thumb to wipe it off. The very intimate action caused you both to pause.

“It’s very good.” Rafael croaked out.

The room felt very warm. You moved to be closer to Rafael. He pulled you closer and his lips ghosted yours.

“We shouldn’t’.” You murmured. “Aren’t their rules about doing this with a neighbor?”

“Fuck the rules.” Rafael growled before capturing your lips with his.

--

“How did you like your vacation?” Olivia asked, as she entered Rafael’s office.

“And you are very polite.” Rafael replied, shutting his laptop closed. “Turns out being suspended without pay is less than ideal.”

Olivia smirked and handed Rafael a gift bag. “You shouldn’t have.” Rafael remarked.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice.”

Rafael shook the box of candy before undoing the purple ribbon. He opened the box and popped a piece of chocolate in his mouth.

“So you have a perp that wants to make a deal?”

“I do.”

At that moment, Carmen poked her head in. “I’m sorry. Olivia, your detective is here. She said it was urgent.”

Rafael furrowed his brows. “Carmen, Rollins is always allowed in.”

“Oh, not Rollins. While you were away, I got us a new detective. A transfer from Chicago.” Liv cocked her head.

“Chicago?”

You poked your head through the door. “I’m sorry, I hope I am not…” Your face drained of all color as you recognized who your captain was talking with. “Rafael?”

“You two know each other?” Olivia asked, pointing her index between the two of you. Rafael beckoned you win and he felt his stomach lurch as he noticed the shiny badge that hung off your hip. The same hip he cradled as you rode him not even 24 hours prior – something about new work jitters.

“Something like that.” Rafael replied.

“We’re neighbors.” You replied.

Olivia nodded her understanding. “Well, reunion aside, Y/N comes from the 21st – worked with Voight in intelligence.”

“Yup. I learned well. I am excited to work with SVU. And you too.” You replied. Perhaps if you put it out to the universe, it would come to fruition. 

--

That evening you returned your apartment, feeling worn and weary. You tossed your keys into the candy dish. You rifled through your mail and tossed it next to your keys. You made way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. You sniffed the leftover Chinese takeout container and deduced it was fine to eat.

As you shrugged off your blazer, your mind whirled with the events of the day. Rafael – your handsome, Yankees loving, pizza-folding, cat-afficionado neighbor was your ADA. How were you going to focus at work after this? The whole reason you left Chicago was over a broken engagement with one Adam Ruzek.

A staccato knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. You sighed and kicked off your shoes before looking through the peephole. You sighed once more, seeing Rafael on the other side.

“Hey.” You greeted coolly.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Rafael asked, leaning against the door frame. His normally bright seafoam green eyes seemed dark and stormy.

“Good to see you too.” You replied, opening the door wider and walking back into the apartment. “Want a beer?”

“Sure.” Rafael replied as he made his way in. He shut the door with a click.

You opened the bottles of beer and tossed the leftover food back in the fridge. “You got rid of the beard.” You called out.

Rafael grunted a response and you rolled your eyes as you made your way back. You handed him a bottle and then sat at the opposite edge of the couch.

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming about your job.” Rafael replied.

“And neither were you!” You exclaimed. You took a long swig of your beer. You two both drank your beers in silence, unsure as what to say.

Finally Rafael spoke, unable to take the silence any further. “What we have - I think we can make this work. Quid pro quo – you scratch my back and I scratch yours.”

“I think that is called quid pro hoe.” You teased.

Rafael laughed. “Regardless – we’re adults. We can do this. No one needs to be the wiser.”

You pursed your lips together. “And what happens when this blows up in our faces?”

Rafael shook his head and moved closer to you. He cupped your face with one hand. “I don’t know.”

“Well that is reassuring.” You murmured. Rafael licked his lips and dart of his soft pink tongue was your undoing. You wrapped one hand around Rafael’s neck and pulled him down on top of you.

‘Y/N! What are you even doing?’ your mind screamed.

Rafael also ignored the alarm bells going off.

You gasped as his lips sucked on a sensitive spot. “We’re are totally going to hell.”

“At least we’ll be in good company with each other.” Rafael rumbled in your ear.

TBC.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49​ @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @differentshadesofgray​ @misssirenlove​ @esparza-army​ @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories​ @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty​ @ktiz90​ @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles​ @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​ @rachelxwayne

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn WC: 3,496 Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 13: Reflection

"But you know, sometimes I really really hate myself. To be honest, quite often, I really hate myself."

Seoul – Hannam; Yongsan District South Korea

When Yoongi got the call, he was on his way to the airport.

Seokjin managed to secure a personal financial advisor for their group so the next step that needed to be taken was to start consolidating their assets. Yoongi was one of the ones responsible for setting up accounts overseas and he wanted to get the business deals taken care of before the end of the week. He’d need a couple of days to adjust to the jetlag and then he would be in and out of office meetings for most of his stay. Americans were capitalists by nature and so they ultimately would try to get the biggest bang for their buck.

Yoongi was out to accomplish the same.

He’d packed his suitcase that morning. His flight was scheduled to depart in the late afternoon, and he would hopefully arrive in California first thing in the morning. He wasn’t planning on staying for more than three or four days, timelines depending. Yoongi wanted to get lunch with Eden before he left.

They’d agreed to be friends, after all.

Friends, he thought bitterly, staring at himself in the mirror as he adjusted the lapels of his gray blazer, who am I kidding?

It was an excuse. It was an excuse for himself.

Reaching out with the olive branch for friendship was his way of being able to stay close to Eden, but keeping her at arm’s length. He could lie to her every chance he could and he’d be a liar still if he didn’t feel a shred of relief when she’d accepted his offer for friendship. But there was a part of him that knew he had to keep the ruse up for as long as possible. The further he kept her from his life, the less entangled in the criminal underground she would get.

He’d been selfish to have maintained the illusion of their relationship for so long.

He sighed. Three years…

How could he have continued to lie to her for three years? It was one thing when they were just starting to get close while he was in the States. He never imagined she would travel all the way to South Korea. Yoongi wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she’d done it for him. He knew of her desire to learn more of her mother’s roots and to walk the same paths and see the same things that her mother had. She’d been an orphan for her entire life, but Eden always cherished that side of her heritage – even going so far as to learn the language and the culture long before he’d ever met her.

It was creeping closer toward mid-morning. He shot Eden a quick text, inquiring whether she had any plans for lunch. It was probably presumptuous of him to think she was just waiting around for him to call or text her. They met up one more time after he’d let a week slip by with no contact. Honestly, Yoongi spent those days contemplating if he’d made the right decision in wanting to maintain a friendship with her. Should he have just cut her out of his life completely and made the choice to stop making excuses to pull her into his orbit?

After waiting for her to respond and getting nothing back, he decided to leave it alone. He’d text her when he arrived State-side and let her know he was out of the country on a business trip. She was used to that, seeing as how he drew up his entrepreneur persona and maintained that guise for all the years he’d known her.

His phone rang and he answered, not bothering to look at the screen to see who was calling. He was already on his way out the door.

“Min Yoongi here.”

“Hyung, we have a problem.”

It was Namjoon.

“What’s wrong?”

Closing the door, he waited for the security lock to beep before he headed down the stone walkway leading out to the expansive front garden. Dragging his rolling suitcase with him, he fished for his keys so he could lock the front gate. Once it was locked, he rounded the corner of the building and headed out toward the street.

“It’s Hyungsoo-nim…”

Yoongi froze.

“What?”

“…uh, I mean, Raelyn Noona.”

He sighed, brushing a hand through his bangs in frustration. “Is Hoseok still having her monitored?”

“Look, Hyung, that’s not really important right now. You know how thorough Hoseok is. He just wants to make sure she’s safe and he always keeps his distance.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, that’s not the problem. The problem is that she was seen in Myeongdong today.”

Yoongi was about to take another step when he stopped. “She was seen in Jade Fang territory?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like she doesn’t know how those guys operate. Why would she risk even going there?”

“Well, she was out shopping with a friend. A mixed girl. I think her name is Eden?”

A lump of ice crashed into Yoongi’s gut.

No, he thought, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, how did I miss that?

But the answer was right there. He’d missed it because he always made it a point to keep Eden as far away from his world as possible. Which, in turn, caused him to be kept just as far away from her world and inner circle as well.

“Fuck.”

“Yoongi Hyung? Are you alright?”

“And we can’t send Taehyung to fetch her because he got caught fucking around out there, either.”

He heard Namjoon sigh on the other line.

"No. And I don’t want to risk sending any of the other boys out there. The Jade Fangs are probably itching for any excuse to start a skirmish.”

“God fucking dammit, Taehyung-ah,” he muttered. If he hadn’t blown his damn ability to sleuth around properly, this would have been a cake walk. “What about Jungkook?”

“With his reputation on the streets? They’d see him coming a mile away.”

“I know Seokjin Hyung is in Busan right now. What about Jimin-ah?”

Namjoon sighed again. He wished he’d quit doing that. It wasn’t helping his nerves in the slightest.

“He’s still not back from Jeju. He won’t be arriving until later in the evening.”

“Fine. I’ll go get her.”

“No, you can’t either Hyung. Just like everyone knows about Jungkook, they know about The Lightning Claw too.”

Yoongi hissed, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“And I can’t go running in there since I have to stay by Hoseok’s side. I’ve already had to convince him three times to stay put.”

This was getting stupid.

But Eden was with her. He knew that she could take care of herself and as long as they didn’t move against them, there would be no reason to stir up trouble. Hoseok wasn’t dating Raelyn anymore and, as a result, she was no longer the Hyungsoo-nim of the Golden Jackals. There would be no reason for them to push at her since she wasn’t tied to them anymore.

Well, at least not in that capacity. He couldn’t control what Taehyung and the others did.

“This is one giant fucking mess.” Yoongi spied the time. He’d have to cancel his flight. “Keep on them. And as soon as Jimin gets back, you let him know what the hell is happening. He’ll at least have an idea of what to do about this since he’s the only one of us who knows how to keep his foot out of his goddamn mouth.”

“Got it. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Good.”

He hung up the call and immediately called the airport to cancel his flight. Yoongi dialed a cab and after five minutes, he hopped in and made a beeline for Gangnam. He didn’t know how he was going to manage it, but he had to keep an eye out and make sure that nothing crazy happened. He’d keep his ears to the ground for as long as he could manage it before calling for reinforcements.

Seoul – Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

It was a fifteen-minute cab ride.

It felt like it took a hundred years to get to Eden’s street.

Arriving, he paid the cab driver and immediately made his way up the stairs. Once he reached the top, he fished into his pockets to retrieve his keys. He quickly plucked through them and saw the spare key.

He still had the spare key to Eden’s apartment and while he’d been meaning to give it back to her for some time, it just never came up. She never asked for it back. While he’d never encroached into her privacy, there were times he would swing by when he knew she was at the shop to make sure that she was at least eating properly.

She wasn’t, of course. She was always eating out – the tell-tale signs of Chinese takeout in her mini fridge.

Slipping the key inside, he unlocked the door and dipped inside. Kicking off his shoes, he slid into the spare house slippers and immediately began marching around the small space.

“Eden?” he called.

There was no answer.

The darker part of Yoongi’s mind that often dreamed up the worst scenarios immediately began to panic. His heart jack-hammered against his ribs and while her apartment was small, it felt like it took almost an hour to search. His legs frantically moved from one empty space and then to the other. She was nowhere to be found.

Dashing out of the apartment, he stalked around the rooftop – flinging his arms out to avoid being hit by the laundry she still had hanging out on the line.

She wasn’t there.

Fuck, came his angry thought.

Well, at least she wasn’t there bleeding out on the floor.

Shaking his head, he took a breath and quieted those dark thoughts – smothering toward the shadowy corner of his heart where they belonged. “She’s fine, Min Yoongi. Get it together.”

He tried calling her and texting her. The call went straight to voicemail.

Again, Yoongi attempted to quiet his frantic mind. It’s fine. Her phone just might be dead. You know how she barely keeps the thing fully charged daily. It’s fine.

Yoongi went back inside, deciding that he would wait for her. That was the best course of action to take. Falling onto the couch, he sank into it and felt like the weight of the universe had been thrust upon his shoulders; this being the first break he was able to take all day.

His phone began to ring and he answered before the first buzz got a chance to finish. “Hello?”

“Yoongi Hyung?” It was Jimin. “I just got back to Seoul. Is everything alright? Namjoon Hyung told me to call you as soon as I was able to use my phone again.”

“Are you still at the airport?”

“Yeah. I just picked up my bag.”

“Good. I need you to take a cab to Gangnam immediately. Raelyn was spotted in the Jung District.”

“Heaven help me, are you serious? Was she by herself?”

“No, Eden—” He paused, taking a moment. He could already tell he was about to sound way too familiar. “—her friend, Eden, is with her. At least that’s what was reported to me.”

There was a long pause and Yoongi looked at his phone to make sure the call wasn’t disconnected. “Jimin-ah?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry Hyung. I just got a bunch of texts from Jungkook. He’s bugging me about coming with him to check on someone. Hold on.” There was the distinct sound of street noises being heard. Yoongi heard Jimin hailing a cab and once he finished giving the driver directions, he returned to the line. “This boy. Well, it looks like I’m headed that way anyway, Hyung. Jungkook is up my ass about bothering Eden. If Hyungsoo-nim—I mean, if Raelyn Noona is with her, then I can kill two birds with one stone.”

Yoongi suddenly sat up. “Wait, what?” His eyes narrowed. “You and Jungkook both know Eden?”

“Huh? Well, yeah, Hyung. Jungkook met her a few months back when he brought his bike into her shop to get it looked at.”

“And you?”

“Hyung, I’m a Christian, remember? Eden goes to the same church I do.” He heard Jimin laugh. “Well, when she makes the time to come, anyway.”

He frowned. Had he even known that about her? Yoongi knew that she believed; that she was a believer, but he never remembered her attending church back when they were in the States. And she certainly hadn’t gone to church when they were still together.

But now that he thought about it, he was usually gone and when he wasn’t gone, he was with her and only her. He took her to various places away from prying eyes because he didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing him and tying her to him. The risk was too great; for her and for himself.

Yet she’d somehow managed to entangle herself in their world, regardless.

Yoongi got up and started heading toward the door. It was already dark outside. When had it gotten so late?

He took two steps out of the door, pulling it closed behind him. He locked the door just as the sound of a motorcycle roared to life from down the street. Yoongi moved to the other side of the roof, peering over the edge. Jungkook’s motorcycle could be seen from the other end of the street. He slowed his pace as he hit the wide turns as he peeled into the neighborhood. Yoongi spun on his heels and immediately went to the other end of the roof behind Eden’s apartment, vaulting over the edge and landing on the fire escape.

Descending the stairs, he hit the pavement in time to see a cab pulling up. Jimin stepped out from it but Yoongi remained hidden in the shadows. Part of him wanted to reveal himself to Jimin, feigning ignorance for why he was there. He was simply checking on Raelyn. Nothing more. He didn’t even know this Eden chick.

That was the lie he could have spun if Eden didn’t already know both Jimin and Jungkook.

He watched as Jimin and Jungkook met each other after parking, the two exchanging brief conversation and relaying to the other about the call from Namjoon. If the two of them were there, then that would be fine. He could leave things in their care and call it a night. He still had to fly out to the States tomorrow morning.

I’ll wait until she gets here, he told himself, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket pocket, then I’ll go.

He’d barely gotten a few puffs in before another cab pulled up. Yoongi spied that it was Eden with Raelyn in tow. She hefted the drunk woman up, barely able to keep herself upright as well. They’d been drinking a lot, it seemed. Eden managed to pull out a few shopping bags and paid the cab driver. When Jimin and Jungkook made themselves known to Eden, he was about to leave.

That is until he saw Jungkook brushing Eden’s hair behind her ear.

His legs remained rooted to the ground and a flare of heated jealousy exploded across his chest. While Yoongi knew he had no right to feel that way, the emotions pushed to the forefront. He recalled the conversation that he’d had with Jungkook a few days back about the “Stubborn Tiger” he was pursuing – how he’d stolen her number but was still willing to talk to him despite knowing that he was affiliated with the mafia.

And she hadn’t turned him away.

He took a step forward, away from the shadows and into the light. Could things have been different?

Yoongi watched as Jungkook started heading upstairs, only to stop when their eyes met.

“Jungkook-ah,” Eden called, but Jungkook didn’t take his eyes off of him, “what’s the matter?”

“…Yoongi Hyung.”

It was here that Eden’s eyes searched the darkness and when he appeared, he could see the confusion and surprise on her face. He did his best to ignore it, but he knew that his anger was showing all over his face.

“Yoongi,” she said, her eyes shifting to look back at him, “what are you doing here?”

“Go upstairs, Jungkook-ah,” he said, ignoring her question. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden and he knew it wasn’t because of the cigarette perched between his lips.

He watched Jungkook turn to look at Eden and this made his brow twitch. But when he turned to look back at Eden, he could see the wheels turning in her mind. And then that was when he watched her mentally put two and two together.

“Now, Jungkook.”

He waited until Jungkook was out of earshot before he tossed his Zippo lighter to her. She caught it easily. But he knew she wouldn’t light up in front of him. She was about to get angry. Her anger was about to rise to meet at the level of his own.

“You,” she began, her voice seething as her fists began to shake.

“That’s right,” he said, his expression neutral and his tone cold. But he couldn’t hide the throbbing behind his eyes – the way that his eyes seemed to shake with the heavy emotions swirling in his chest. “I’m one of the Golden Jackals.”

He dropped the cigarette from his lips and crushed the ember out with the heel of his shoe.

“Min Yoongi, The Lightning Claw.”

For a moment, nothing else was spoken between them.

And then he watched the tears form in her eyes, shining under the glow of the streetlight.

“You son of a bitch,” she muttered. Yoongi watched her reach into her pocket and she pulled out the switchblade she was always known to carry. “You fucking…SON OF A BITCH!”

Yoongi watched Eden run at him, and just when she was about to strike, he caught her wrist at the last second. Holding her arm high, he squeezed on the pressure point where her wrist was – forcing her to drop the knife. It landed on the ground with a loud clatter and she raged at him, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the residential housing in the area. He watched her left hand curl into a fist and when she tried to land a blow to his face, he blocked it with his forearm and gripped onto her wrist.

“You liar! You goddamn fucking lying sack of shit!” She tried to jerk free, but his grip tightened. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

He braced most of his weight onto his back leg, spinning her around and forcing her arms up and over her. Once they were crossed in front of her, he held her tightly against him. He wasn’t sure if it was her heart or his own drumming mercilessly against his chest, but he knew that their breaths were coming out in rough huffs simultaneously.

“How could you lie to me? After all these years, you had me believing I was nothing to you!”

Eden shook violently, doing her damnedest to break free of his hold. But he wasn’t letting go.

“I did it because I didn’t want you wrapped up in this shit, Eden!”

She was practically vibrating now. “That wasn’t your choice to make! It was mine, you bastard! It was mine and you took it from me!” Eden tried her best to fight his hold, but he was too strong. He could hear a broken sob escaping her. “You never even let me make the choice for myself, you asshole.”

The sob was what did it and he finally released her. When he did, Eden whirled around and a loud crack issued as her palm connected with his cheek. Tears streamed down her face and he sighed, the pain of the strike nothing compared to the betrayal that was etched so perfectly all over her face.

“Is that why you finally decided to tell me the truth? Because you’ve figured out that I not only know Raelyn Unnie, but Jimin and Jungkook too? Because your little lie was finally going to come back full circle and kick you in the balls?”

Yoongi couldn’t say anything. What could he say? It wasn’t like anything she’d said was a lie.

He watched her angrily swipe at her nose and cheeks. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Min Yoongi?”

And without another glance his way, Yoongi watched Eden ascend the stairs. He couldn’t bring himself to go after her. Because what excuse did he have now? What leg did he have left to stand on?

Eden McGee, once again, managed to knock all the fight he had left out of him.

AN: So it's come to my attention that some of you might not know which honorifics I'm using. I've decided to go ahead and start by listing the honorifics in the story in notes so there is no confusion. -- Hyung - what a younger man calls an older man who they are close with or actually blood-related to. -- Noona - what a younger man calls an older woman who they are close with or actually blood-related to. -- Hyung-nim - what younger men call an older man who they are close with and also see as a mentor; can also be a term for rank, as in Hoseok's case. This can also be used in terms of "In-laws" when speaking to the older brother of their wife. -- Hyungsoo-nim - what a younger man calls his older brother's wife. In this case, since Hoseok is the leader of the Golden Jackals, his ex-girlfriend, Raelyn, was once called "Hyungsoo-nim" as a show of respect. -- Unnie - what a younger woman calls an older woman who they are close with or actually blood-related to. -- Name-ssi - a polite way to address someone deemed as an acquaintance or used in the workplace between fellow colleagues. -- Name-ah/ie - an informal way to address someone who is more than just an acquaintance; generally used between close friends and by older siblings to address their younger siblings. These are the ones that I use the most and will be the most prevalent in this fic. I figured I would go ahead and clear up the confusion. Hope this helps. I will update these as I go depending on which ones are used in the story.