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#imagine punching someone with these rings
thvhoe · 3 months
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Slipping through my fingers | JJK
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PAIRING: BOXER!Jungkook x Ballerina!Reader
Jungkook is frustrated, and you're the only one who can calm him down
WARNINGS: Disgusting amounts of fluff, Jungkook tired tk be a badboy, lowkey succeeds, lowkey doesnt, fighting, mentions of blood and bruises, long hair jk, sentimental stuff, Christmas trauma?, oc is super joyful, she makes him talk about his feelings, small argument scene, cringe nicknames, polar opposites, KISSING
A/N: Happy Holidays 🩵
Jungkook was convinced that he was destined to be a fighter. He was a natural In the ring, his fists speaking for themselves–proving what he was meant to do was this.
But despite his insane training and fights, something, or rather someone, captured his eye–tugging at his heartstrings.
That someone was you.
Despite being surrounded by the boxing arena's dark ashy scenery, you stood out like a burst of colour on a white canvas. Your smile lighting up the entire room, piercing straight into his heart.
Your outfit stood out against the bland colours of the rest of the place. Bright, colourful outfits were your thing, something you thrived to pick out each morning.
Yellows and pinks, blues and greens.
But it was your cute little head tilt that drew him in the most. It was a little, unintentional act, yet it was absolutely endearing in Jungkook's eyes. He'd grin to himself, remembering how he'd use his tattooed finger to gently tilt your head back into place each time. He loved your confusion and the giggle that left your lips when you noticed what he was doing. He loved it all.
"Dude, you okay?" Namjoon's voice pulls him out of his thoughts, the gentle pat on his back breaking out of his daydream–you here, sitting neatly, looking radiant as ever. He could almost hear your cheering, giving him with the encouragement he never needed until you came along.
It was a vivid daydream, so real that he could almost reach out and touch it. Touch you.
But the harsh reality hits him like a brick as he realizes you weren't actually there. You were just a spark of his imagination, a comforting thought. A sigh escapes his lips–relief.
Relief because he knows youre safe and sound at the ballet academy. Rather than here.
Neatly tucked away from any potential harm, shielding you from the evil in a place like this. Another sigh slips past his lips as he clings to that comforting thought. Youre safe.
Youre safe.
"You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" Joon asks as he lets out a breathy laugh, his amusement clear. "I can tell, you know," he continues, shaking his head playfully punching Jungkook's shoulder in brotherly fashion
Jungkook just rolls his eyes in response, doing nothing to hide his annoyance. He throws a sweaty towel in his direction, a curse slipping from his lips as he does so. "How many times have I told you? No talk about Y/n at the gym," Jungkook grumbles, his tone bordering a snarl.
But that wasnt new. Jungkook wasnt dangerous, but he might as well could be when it came to you.
His seriousness about keeping you away from this place was set in stone.
It wasn't that you were a secret, far from it. He loved showing you off. But his protective instincts kick in if anyone dared to bother you.
-
Mrs. Chuu walked you through the steps while music played loudly. You knew them by heart at this point, but it was never a terrible idea to have her help when practicing, especially for such an important dance as this.
A couple of critics were on their way to visit you, take notes, and possibly admit you into a two-week program abroad.
Another step into the professional life of ballet. If you werent already in it.
It wasn't long, but it felt like it. Especially now that you have someone here you care about and don't want to leave. Jungkook.
You close your eyes for a second, thinking about him, the tone of his voice on the other end of the phone line when you spoke this morning telling you he was stressed. You figured it was anxiety for his fight on friday, or just lack of sleep
You weren't sure how you'd tell him about the whole program thing in the first place, so you'd tell him once you were sure you got in. You didn't want to add to his tension for nothing.
"What's on your mind, dear?" Her voice is smooth and calming, but your bright smile reveals your thoight even before you say a single word.
"Jungkook," you say, his name flowing off your tongue with the ease
"Am I going to have to have a talk with that young boyfriend of yours, huh?" She laughs, filling the room with brightness "He's distracting you," she observes, her tone becoming more solemn.
Where shes right, shes right.
You swiftly shake your head. "I was just thinking of a way to cheer him up after practice." Playing with your fjngers you pout looking down, lost in thought again. "He sounded tense when we talked earlier," you admit
"Try to think of something after class. I need you to be at your best next week," she says, referring to the opportunity you've been given.
You nod in agreement–Ballet was your passion and your life. But so was Jungkook.
-
The air is cold as you step outside the venue, your eyes scouring the parking lot for your boyfriend, hoping to avoid walking through the puddles and puddles of water that cover the usual dry gravel ground.
But when you only see the pink ice cream van that stops by every day even in the winter, your shoulders slumb as you sit down on the dry stairs, turning on your phone and tapping on Jungkook's chat, the last message just being a simple good morning in response to his message, after that he called you and you talked for 10 minutes before your practise started.
A soft sigh leaves your lips as you scroll through your instagram feed, but not even the cute cat videos on your home page could make the wait more entertaining
It was over 7 hours ago since you last talked, and both of you should have finished your work for the day; Jungkook offering to pick you up before he hung up this morning.
You weren't impatient, and you didn't mind waiting a little longer because traffic is a thing, and it's becoming worse because of all the people doing last-minute Christmas shopping. But it's already been 15 minutes, and Jungkook was never more than 5 minutes late.
You're so preoccupied with your thoughts that you don't hear or see the large Harley park right in front of your feet, your wide eyes peering up but being blinded by his vehicle's lights until he turns them off.
Damnit, all this thinking numbed even your ears.
"Sorry for the wait," your boyfriend says as he steps off the bike and walks over to you. Leather pants and jacket making you almkst drool. Almost.
As he lands a little, adorable kiss on your lips, your lips twist into a smile. "Missed me?" he taunts, dipping his head and pinching your side in that familiar way he always did.
"So much," you tease back, poking his chest playfully. "You had me concerned for a second there, weirdo. I thought something had happened," you moan into his chest, taking in the scent of his deodorant and body.
He throws his head back and lets out a low groan. "Had to take a smoke break before coming here, today was shit," he grumbles, his mood now at rock bottom.
Oh?
"Did someone bother you?" you inquire, tilting your head, and Jungkook knew that moment, that from now on his day could only get better.
Its only then that you notice a small bruise under his lip. Jungkook never got bruises.
"Not someone, rather, who didn't bother me today," he says, hissing and rolling his eyes. "Christmas has got people acting like idiots," he continues, and you laugh.
"Did you just indirectly call me an idiot?" you joke, knowing he wasn't referring to you. But it was still fun to ruffle his feathers a bit
"Don't start," he warns, tilting your head back into a more upright position with his tattooed finger, knuckles wearing a few scars from previous fights. Ones where you werent part of his life yet. "Let's get out of here."
-
Jungkook didnt hate Christmas. He hated how people acted this time around. The stupid swsaters, stupid presents and stupid unnecessary decorations. The fake smiles. Fake happiness.
He was sure, however, that the smile on your face was genuine as you pointed up at the large Christmas tree in the middle of Seoul's largest Christmas market.
You'd dragged him here, of course, and to his surprise, he didn't dislike it altogether, despite the fact that he was certain it was because you were here with him.
And when you approach him with that dazzling smile of yours, the hand that wass itching towards his lighter and cigs in the backpocket of his trousers, immediately tugs them back.
"Stand in front of the Christmas tree Kook, i wanna take a pic" Your voice cuts through the festive music coming from the speakers hanging from the ornaments and surrounding trees.
He laughs as he raises a brow, the mere image of him standing in front of a Christmas tree makes him cringe. But who is he to deny you what you want when you look as cute as you did right now
Your fingers struggle with your phone for a second, straining to remove your gloves before snapping a couple pics of your adorable boyfriend.
"You look so handsome," you mutter as you take a few more photos and motion for him to come look at them once you were done.
Some were fuzzy, but despite his complaints, you decided to not delete them–you argued that they had a particular aesthetic to them, and Jungkook couldn't fight back. Maybe you were right.
"This one's my favourite," you chuckle as you show the photo, focusing in on how he scrunches his nose while maintaining a serious expression.
"Don't let anyone else see these," Jungkook sighs, embarrassed by how adorable he looks all dressed up for the cold night.
"Nah, these are just for me," you grin, switching off your phone and clasping his hand, the start of a new christmas song making you hum along as you walked through the market, stopping a few times to look at some of the stores or buy some snacks.
But its when you tried to persuade the marshmallow selling lady to give you guys a discount, that Jungkook couldn't help but smile.
And you didnt know it yet, but Jungkooks day got better the moment he picked you up from practise. He just thought it was cute how much effort you were putting into making him feel good.
Youd call him evil if you knew, so he kept it to himself.
-
Earlier
His fists hit his opponent's like there's no tomorrow, his strength increasing by the second as Jay–a newbie who'd begged and begged Jungkook for a fight all day until Jungkook finally agreed to shut him up–falls to the ground, face bruised in a way that Jungkook knew would make you cry.
That's why he didn't want you around. This is not your scene. Not your way of life.
Jungkook's thoughts temporarily return to you, but just as quickly as he threw Jay to the ground, he stands up and punches Jungkook in the face, deliberately targeting his lower lip.
"What the fuck?" Jungkook yells, pulling off his gloves and punching Jay in the face with his bare fist before Joon moves in to stop him. "The fight ends when the opponent's on the floor, you fucking idiot!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenched and bruised, fuelled by rage.
Jay, on the other hand, is too preoccupied with holding his wounded eye to pay attention.
"Dude, he's new, he doesn't-" Namjoon tries to explain, but Jungkook dismisses him by shaking his head, walkinb off and toiching his lower lip with his finger. Shit. You would totally never let him hear the end of it if you saw him like this.
-
Present
You grasp his hand and draw him away from the crowd before planting a quick kiss on his cheek and running your fingers over it. The small scar on it making a frown form on your forehead, but as quickly as it comes, it also disappears.
"Kook, at least crack a smile today, hmm?" You pout, and Jungkook sighs before kissing you, the soft feeling of his familiar lips sending butterflies through your entire body, making you inch closer to him
"Just a rough day, sugar." He mumbles against them after, but when you frown, he knows his answer doesn't quite cut it.
"Thats what youve been saying all day, but I..." you shrug, "Is there anything I can do to brighten your day, even if it's already-" you check your phone "-eight pm?" You bite your lower lip as you wait for an answer.
There's a brief pause, but Jungkook, as always, keeps his concerns to himself, handing you your cup of hot chocolate and reaching into his back pocket for his Harley keys. The feeling of his cigs next to the keys makes his mouth twitch, and the need to smoke one is almost overwhelming.
"Let me drive you home, yeah?" He dismisses your earlier question, your hand tightening around the hot cup as you walk back to the parking lot hand in hand.
"Wanna spend the night?" you ask, moving in close, your cheek against his arm, his hand clutching yours, and for a brief moment, you notice a faint smile forming on his lips. A win is a win. "My parents aren't home," you add, though it was very much obvious the moment you asked him to stay.
"Do you want to?" Jungkook's voice is a little harsher, not rude, but somewhat anxious.
He hums in response to your nod. Long hair fallig into his perfect face as he looks down at you, scrunching up his nose, thinking, then relxing it again. What youd do to take a peak inside his mind
"I have practice at 7 am tomorrow," he says, implying that staying over might not be the best idea. However, you, like him, simply hum.
Two could play the humming game as you liked to call it. At times where Jungkook shut down, and all he did was hum or give short answers.
Call it childish. You thought it was a great way to tease him.
"I could keep you company-" you begin, but your words are cut off as you both look at each other. Knowing
As he gives you a harsh look, his hand lowers yours. Letting go, and running it through his already messy hair. Agitated.
"No," he says as he unlocks his Harley.
"But-"
"Y/n, I said no," his voice remains calm, despite the fact that his thinking is not. Jungkook was never controlling, only when it came to the gym. It was a blessing and a curse, not that youd ever let him comand you around, Jungkook knew better than to underestimate you.
But the short sentence left you fuzzy.
Y/n. He rarely addressed you by your name.
Sugar or bubu being his go to's, even when he got mad sometimes.
You grasp his shirt and pull him closer as he goes for one of the helmets in the trunk.
Jungkook is used to it. Your actions speak volumes, the silent language remaining calm, similar to him but for entirely different reasons.
"I want you to stay over, Kook," you say firmly, silently appealing this time. The prospect of Jungkook not feeling well would keep you up all nighg, and whether or not he tells you why, you just need him close, as much as he needs you.
-
Youd stopped at the convenience store on your way home to get some snacks. It was like a tradition for you, a place you went for late night cravings, movie nights or just to grab a drink and chill at the beach.
Despite the fact that you had a small disagreement before, the atmosphere between you had improved, none of you really giving itba second thought as you enter the shop–small LED lights lighting up the room, low music playing through the speakers as you hum along
You were joking and goofing around as you walked through the snack aisle, Jungkook laughing at your stupid jokes as you walked around hand in hand, his rings feeling cold against your bare fingers, but you ddint mind.
An older lady only shook her head, a frown on her lips at your antics, only making you both laugh even harder, once she left.
After a second of looking around your gaze was drawn to a pack of strawberry flavored gummies, your favourite, but it was just a bit out of reach, making you stand on your tippy toes as you tried your best to get them. Usually you had no issue, but it seems as if the store had relocated them onto he very top shelf
Jungkook just smiles as he watches you struggle for a minute before he hands you the pack of gummies effortlessly with a smirk, his raised brow making you pout as you mutter "i couldve gotten them myself" under your breath
He only shakes his head as he reaches for a pack of chips unbothered by your huff, as he walks up and paid for everything before heading out the store close behind you, his hand in yours as you lead him back to his harley.
The sun was now fully gone as the moon lit up the sky, a small brise of air hitting both your faces
He took off his jacket and handed it to you without hesitation. It was as if he had a sixth sense, always knowing when you got cold. But before you could possibly make a protest, tell him that he probably needs the jacket more than you do because you were already wearing one, he had already helped you on your seat behind him
Starting the engine, he sat in the driver's seat with his back to you. "You good?" he turns slightly to check on you, an amazing view for you to catch a glimpse of his sculpted jawline.
When you nod he feels your body lean into his, your head resting against his back, giving him the go to start driving off.
He didnt say it, but he loved how much more comfortable you were getting riding with him on his bike, a smile forming on his face whne he remembered the first few times;
"Im not getting on that thing"
"Oh but you are"
-
Jungkook rarely comes in through the front door–he's more used to the tree-climbing routine hed started ever since he met you. It was his only way of seeing you sometimes.
He didnt mind, he liked it when you gave him that "really?" expression, whenever he showed up unannounced. Youd end up making out on your bed not even 10 mjnutes later anyway, your hands entangled in his hair as he tried to get as close to you as humanly possible
Hed seen your kitchen and living room a couple of times when he was staying over, sneaking down to grab a glass of water without waking up your parents. But of course he wouldnt ever tell you that.
Your coats hang at the entrance, your light pink pair of uggs adorning next to the doormat as you fixed your eyeliner in the mirror over it.
"You look good" Jungkook jokes as he stands behind you, hands reaching over your belly as he pulls you close and planst a small but soft kiss on your cheek before retrieving and letting you unload your groceries in the kitchen.
It takes you a second to decide between hot chocolate and tea while Jungkook sits down on the couch, scrolling through netflix for a movie that's so bad it's good. One that would make you laugh from how cringe it is. Same old.
"Kook, marshmallows?" you yell from the kitchen, placing some on your hot chocolate but hesitating with his. He wasnt a sweet tooth so maybe marshmallowswere a little much.
"Nah, I'm fine," he responds, kicking off his shoes as he puts on a christmas movie trilogy that showed up on your netflix recommended before walking over to help you set up the snacks on the livingroom table.
"I think thats all" you mutter as you take a look back at the kitchen, scanning it for a second before humming and taking a seat next to Jungkook. Your fingers reach out instantly, tenderly brushing aside a stray strand of hair that threatened to cover his doe eyes.
You sigh as you look at him, and you find yourself instinctively scrunching up your nose. He was so handsome.
The movie is playing in the background, but all you can think about is your half-empty hot chocolate and Jungkook's hand on your tigh, rubbing up and down, to the left and right, squeezing the skin and smoothing it with his palm.
When you place your legs above his, burying your face into his neck and leaving a trail of soft kisses, he shifsts in his seat.
Jungkook smelled like perfume and cigarettes and was still cold to the touch
You hum. "Kook the movies boring," you moan into the quiet, his hand that was scratching your back coming to a rest as he reclines in his seat and nods
"Fuck thank you for saying something, I couldn't spend another hour wtaching this shit," he groans, making you laugh. Your face now inches away from his as he leans in for a kiss.
You tilt your head in curiosity because, while Jungkook loved kissing you, he had never kissed you as many times as he did today. Not that you disliked it. Quite the contrary.
"You've got chocolate on your lip," you manage to murmur in between kisses, his brow furrowed as he wipes his palm over his lip, never cleaning the area until you brush your thumb over it. "Done,"
You stare at each other for a hot minute, noses touching yet lips miles apart
You feel a warmth surrounding you as Jungkook's hand softly squeezes your hip, a familiar, reassuring action.
His hand rises, gently guiding your head into a more comfortable posture. And youre thankful. He knows everything about you, including those cute quirks that may cause neck pain later.
Youre about to say something when the slight sound of rain outside could be heard above the silent glances and comfortable silence, your tilting looking behind you outside to watch the storm unfold as you sat comfortably and dry in the livingroom.
Part of you felt bad for the wildlife outisde that had to seek shelter.
Which makes you think-
For the second time this evening, you ask, "How are you feeling?"
Jungkook shifts uneasily beneath you on the sofa, his gaze darting between you and your neck as he groans. "Sugar-" he starts, but you gently cut him off, placing a calming hand on his solid chest.
"I just-" you begin, "-want to know you're okay." Your fingers brush against his cheek once again. "Tell me you're fine," you say quietly, your gaze on his.
Jungkook's hand caresses yours, cradling it with a softness that betrays his usual stern facade.
He gently guides your hand back down to your lap after kissing it lightly. A soft smile runs across his lips "Do you really think i could be in a bad mood when I'm with you, sugar? I've been fine since I saw you smile earlier," he rasps out, throwing his head back in embarrassment "hate it when you make me talk all emotional and shit"
Now a giggle leaves your lips as you pat his chest "well if you told me you were fine all along i wouldnt have to make you say this stuff" you tease back, whispering a low barely audible "although i like it when you get all sentimental" you wink making him roll his eyes
"Youre the epitome of a princess you know that?" He shakes his head adjusting you on his lap, making you feel closer.
Not that its a bad thing, he thinks to himself
"Gotta make sure you wont ever slip through my fingers" you point at him accusingly "you love to do that sometimes"
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steddiealltheway · 10 months
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It's a random Wednesday night, and Steve is hanging out with Eddie Munson. Not that that's exactly a weird thing anymore since the world went to shit and Eddie had this whole "you saved my life and I'm going to annoy you for the rest of yours to show my gratitude" type of thing going on. (And yes, he had said those exact words so many times that Steve had memorized them).
But tonight, they kind of just... sit. Not that Steve is complaining. He hates being alone, and always has, so just having someone next to him is nice.
He glances over at Eddie whose eyes are shut, so Steve allows himself to really look.
He had always prided himself in knowing he was comfortable enough in his masculinity to notice when men were attractive. And Eddie certainly was very very attractive. And strangely... pretty.
He has those nice big eyes that make Steve wonder if it makes girls feel all tingly when Eddie looks at them. If they notice the way he's not afraid to make eye contact and lean into it until it feels like he's got their soul on display and memorized it.
He wonders if the girls stare at his full lips and if their hearts flutter when he runs his tongue over his top lip. If they feel all warm and flushed when they imagine what it would be like to feel their lips against his.
Steve nearly groans at the thought for some reason. He wonders if Eddie would kiss a girl gently as if she were fragile or if he would be rough and enthusiastic with the same energy he usually has buzzing around him whenever he walks into a room. He wonders if the girl would run her hand through his hair, and if it's as soft as it looks or if her fingers would get tangled and pull-
"You've gotta stop looking at me like that," Eddie says, startling Steve out of his thoughts as he notices his eyes are now open and on him.
He takes a moment to collect himself and process what he just said. "Like what?"
Eddie looks at him and turns his head away, and Steve tries not to get lost in his profile and the slope of his nose-
Eddie sighs and shakes his head, muttering something like I guess now is the time under his breath, and Steve has no idea what that means. "I mean," Eddie starts and glances at Steve nervously, "You have to stop looking at me with that Harrington look. The one that charms all those girls out of their pants."
Steve scoffs, "I don't have a look."
"You do," Eddie insists as his hand comes up to fiddle with his rings.
Steve looks at Eddie's hands and pulls his eyes away before his thoughts run a mile a minute. "Okay, so maybe I do, but why can't I look at you like that?" As soon as Steve asks, he knows it's a stupid question, but he hopes Eddie gets what he means.
Eddie raises his eyebrows at him and shakes his head. His mouth opens and closes and he groans, leaning over to grab his beer and chug half of it in one go. Steve tries not to look at the tendons in his neck as he swallows.
"Because I'm not those girls," Eddie says as he puts his can back down, "But I certainly think like them."
Steve tilts his head a little and knows that Robin would laugh at him for doing the golden retriever look as she puts it, but he's confused. He guesses by Eddie's sigh that the metalhead can tell he needs more explanation.
Eddie's knees come up to his chest as he turns towards Steve. "Just don't... punch me, okay?"
Steve nods and wonders what that means.
Eddie takes a deep breath and his damn tongue worries his top lip, and it's almost so distracting that Steve almost doesn't hear him say, "I'm gay."
It takes Steve a while to process, and he feels like for some reason his whole view of Eddie changes but... in an exciting way. Almost anticipatory. But he's also still so Eddie that Steve just kind of shrugs.
Apparently, his reaction is a little too late because Eddie is rambling as if he needs to defend himself as he explains, "At first I thought I was maybe bisexual or something, and I held out hope that maybe some girl would come along and I would be wooed or whatever, but then I realized all these crushes I had on girls were kind of just friend crushes and I didn't want to kiss them but-"
"What's bisexual?" Steve asks and continues, "Like what does that mean?"
"It's when a person like girls and boys," Eddie explains and continues on.
But Steve hears nothing else Eddie rambles on about because all that's happening in his head is little flashes of memories of all these men he's found attractive, and how he thought it was normal for men to feel all fluttery when they see another attractive man. Especially one like Eddie who makes Steve feel like his heart is about to rip out of his chest, but he just thought that's how Eddie makes people feel... especially girls.
Or maybe especially guys. Especially guys like Steve.
Shit. Holy shit.
"Steve?" Eddie asks gently, "Are you okay?"
Steve glances back at Eddie and looks at him. Like really really looks at him. And then he focuses on how he feels.
Like maybe... maybe the girls he always wonders about... maybe they're him. Maybe he wants to know what it's like to kiss Eddie and run his hands through his hair. Maybe he's...
"There's that look again," Eddie teases lightly but Steve can see the thin veil of terror he's trying to hide in his features.
"What was that word again?" Steve asks sounding more breathless than he realized he was.
Eddie furrows his brow and shakes his head.
"The bi... the bicycle type word," Steve explains hoping that'll work well enough since he can't properly say the definition right now.
"Bisexual?" Eddie tries.
Steve nods and mumbles, "Bisexual." It feels... weird. But it feels right. But it also feels almost shameful? And how the hell did he not realize this until now?
"Steve," Eddie says and lays his hand over Steve's. His rings are cold against Steve's hand.
"Eddie, what if?" Steve takes a deep breath and tries again, "What if that was me?"
Eddie stares at him for a moment and just nods slowly looking deeply lost in thought until he suddenly clears his throat and asks, "Have you ever felt... attracted to a man or wanted to kiss one?"
Steve can't help but have his eyes flicker down to Eddie's lips. "Yes," he says without thinking too hard about it.
Eddie's eyes flicker to Steve's lips as he practically whispers, "I told you, you got to stop with that look."
"Is it working?" Steve asks as he leans in.
He doesn't expect the hand to his chest as he's shoved back lightly but firmly. "You just figured out what bisexuality is, you can't just..." Eddie's hands flap about as he gestures between them.
"Says who?" Steve asks and Eddie just gestures more and mumbles some incoherent phrases. Steve gently grabs his hands and holds them still. "Eddie, I really want to kiss you."
Eddie's eyes widen as he mutters out, "The speed at which you're bypassing this gay panic is alarmingly fast."
"Bisexual panic," Steve corrects trying the word out again to make sure he got it right plus to tease Eddie who huffs. "If you don't want to kiss me, you can just say it," Steve says, thinking that's maybe the problem.
Eddie shakes his head and rambles out, "I've wanted to kiss you since you ripped that damn bat's head off, Christ." He flails back and runs his hands over his face before turning back to Steve and inching closer to him. "Just... promise you won't punch me if you hate this?"
"Promise," Steve says with a wide smile as he cups Eddie's face.
"Holy shit, I'm about to kiss Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington is about to kiss m-"
"Eddie?"
Eddie hums in response.
"I'm gonna kiss you now," Steve says, trying not to laugh as Eddie seems to be panicking about this way more than he is.
Eddie nods and leans forward along with Steve.
Their lips meet and Steve can't help but smile slightly against his lips as Eddie treats him like Steve had half imagined - sweet and gentle as if Steve were the most fragile thing in the world. Then, the kiss shifts as Eddie's lips move roughly against his, using that same frantic, manic energy he always has as his hands come up to tug Steve's hair.
Steve groans and realizes he can do that too, and Eddie's hair is just as soft as he imagined, but then Eddie's pulling away and Steve is chasing after his lips before he notices the look Eddie is giving him. Is this okay?
"Definitely bisexual," Steve announces before pulling Eddie back in and kissing him again.
He's going to have a field day telling Robin later.
AO3 Link :)
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Maybe I should have problems, but I love. With a happy ending. After all, I love your writing! ❤️ I wanted to ask about Lando. Where the character has a girls' night out and ends up getting drunk, When Lando goes to pick her up she simply says "please don't touch me, I have a boyfriend". Lando ends up trying to convince her that she is his girlfriend, but she simply punches him back and tells him to stay away, but in the end she recognizes him and feels really bad about it, a night of care when they get home maybe?
I'm from Brazil, sorry for the bad English ❤️ I would be very happy if you wrote about this, but if you are not enthusiastic about the idea you can discard it, I appreciate your comfort. 💕
Keep Your Hands To Yourself - LN
I love this idea. I have done a like post-girls night out fic before but she wasn't so drunk she doesn't recognise him, she kind of just lets Lando take care of her. But this sounds a little funny, I hope I do it justice.
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Lando being home means his girlfriend is home too and while her boyfriend is sitting doing a stream with Max, she is out on the town with the girls.
Usually y/n is the mother of the group, pretty responsible and takes care of herself and everyone else. So Lando trusts her to be safe on a night out without him there needing protect her.
However when his phone rings with her name popping up, Lando is confused and almost worried.
"Lando? Lando?" A voice that is definitely not his girlfriend's calls out, but it is the voice of one of her friends.
"Hey, what's up? Is everything ok?" Lando asks while hearing his girlfriend's voice which is very much loud in the background making him laugh. "Is that y/n?"
"Lando, you have to come get her. She got kicked out the club for throwing up. She's going ballistic and she won't listen to anyone." Y/f/n states sounding nearly desperate. "Please, come get her. None of us have seen her like this and we don't know what to do."
"Fucking hell, she sounds feral mate." Max chuckles before they hear her voice.
"I'm not drunk! I'm trying to get a fucking McDonalds, stop getting in my way!"
"Alright, I have you location. I'll come and get her. Do you guys need a ride?" Lando asks making the young woman sigh in very obvious relief.
"No, we're not done for the night but she's too far gone and we can't get into anywhere else with her like this."
"Yeah, yeah. That's fine." Lando nods standing up with a smile as he pats Max's shoulder. "I gotta go mate, y/n is going feral."
"Let me know how that goes. I can't imagine y/n being that drunk...she's always so chill."
"Yeah, wish me luck."
-
Getting the location, it's not hard to miss where his girlfriend is since there's a crowd of young women around her as she sits on top of a wall.
"Alright, I'm here. Hey, princess." Lando smiles parting the crowd who practically vanish in seconds. Presumably happy to hand over the drunk woman and get on with their night, they trust Lando to take care of her and get her home safely.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Now sober, y/n is a sweet, softly spoken girl who he's rarely heard swear.
"Very funny, y/n. Come on home time." Lando laughs moving towards her, his hands moving to takes hers so he can pull her up.
But when her own hand comes up and he finds himself with a burning cheek. Out of sheer shock, her grabs her hand pushing it down, mainly to make sure she's not going to follow up with a backhand.
"Don't touch me. Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming over here, trying to grab at me. My boyfriend would run you over with his car."
Lando's seriousness over her reaction is replaced with trying to hold a laugh in from her saying he'd run someone over with his car.
"Baby...I am your boyfriend." Lando states making rage burn behind her eyes. "I'm Lando Norris, I'm your boyfriend. You're my girlfriend. We met 7 months, 3 weeks and 2 days ago. You'd never forgive me if I forgot that but you let me get away with not knowing hours, minutes and seconds."
That's a real conversation they had, as a joke she said she allow him to not have to know hours minutes and seconds but months, weeks and days were mandatory. It was a joke, but Lando has been keeping count.
"Can I please take you home? You're never this drunk." Lando pleads and thankfully everything simmers away from behind her eyes for a moment as recognition lights up behind her drunk gaze.
Tears well in y/n's eyes as he hand raises again and she gently rubs his cheek which is still burning hot from the slap.
"I hit you."
"It's ok."
"No. No. It's not." Y/n hiccups making him sigh. A new level of drunk unlocked with her but at least she knows who he is now. "I'm so sorry."
"Baby, it's ok." Though it did sting.
"No, I hit you so hard." Y/n hiccups very much upset.
"How about we get you some McDonalds and then we can get you home and you'll be ok?" Lando offers making her somewhat whine but she nods sighing as he holds out his hands to help her up and thankfully this time he doesn't get slapped the fuck out of.
Her hands are in his and she is pulled up onto wobbly legs before she swallows thickly and she does have to dodge Lando trying to kiss her.
"No. I vomited in the bushes, you don't want to kiss me right now." Y/n states making Lando grimace but nod at her.
They get to his car quick enough where Lando fusses over her, making sure her seatbelt is clipped in and secure and putting her bag gently in the footwell before taking her shoes off too.
"Comfortable?" He asks making her nod a little but the guilty expression is still very prominent on her face. "Baby, I'm completely fine. Just lets me know that you won't stand for anyone else touching you and you can defend yourself when you need to."
"There's a mark."
"Stop, baby. I'm ok, I just wanted to get you home. It's alright." Lando continues to assure her before smiling lightly. "I love you and we're going to go get you some food then get you home, clean you up because you're a bit mucky and then we're going to sleep. Both of us. Does that sound ok?"
They get her what she thinks is an excessive amount of McDonalds but she does eat more than half of it, much to Lando's amusement and then when they get back to the house. Lando decides to carry her out of the car to the indoors.
"Ok, are you still hungry?" Lando asks since she's still holding the McDonald's.
"No. I'm full." Y/n murmurs certainly sobered up a little from her earlier state thanks to the food.
"You're full?" Lando questions making her nod a little before she's placed down on her feet and he places the bag of food on the counter. "Alright, clean up time."
He gets her make up off first, something he's beginning to be a pro at doing correctly because he likes to do it when she's not been on a night out too. Following up with brushing her teeth twice, just wanting to make sure that the food and residue vomit is all washed from her mouth.
"In the shower." Lando instructs after turning on the water and making sure it's just below the temperature that he dupes "the bowls of hell" since his girlfriend does like to boil herself alive in the shower and step out looking like a lobster.
"Thank you."
Y/n gives herself an aggressive scrub up and down while Lando smiles just watching her. He might be trying to take care of her and make sure she's all safe and sound in her room, but there's no denying he enjoys seeing his girlfriend naked in nearly any certain circumstance.
"Towel, please baby." Y/n murmurs making him smile and stand up unfolding the towel that he's been waiting with and wraps around her. Finally getting a kiss that he feels almost having been deprived off before now since he didn't get a kiss after she'd brushed her teeth.
Eventually she's dried off, Lando does blow-dry her hair for her before they finally climb into bed and he sighs as she curls up against him. No surprise that y/n is quick to fall asleep. Completely exhausted and her sleep very nicely aided by the alcohol still very much present in her system.
No doubt he'll be helping nurse her through a hangover tomorrow, but for now he just enjoys her cuddliness and quiet.
1K notes · View notes
lonelysatellites · 5 months
Text
Hold Me Like a Grudge
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Eddie Munson x fem reader
18+ minors dni: smut, established relationship with some d/s dynamics, ages aren’t specified but I’m imagining mid twenties for Eddie and reader, daddy kink, shower sex, oral (f receiving), anal play, mention of spanking, mention of oral (m receiving), biting, bratty reader (with good reason tbf). Wrote this on my lunch break so it’s barely proofread.
Starting to feel like you’re not a priority in Eddie’s life, it all comes to head when he lets you down again.
Eddie edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple
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Fat droplets of rain land on the face of your watch, beading on the glass until the hands ticking away underneath are blurred and impossible to read. Swiping at them with fingers numb from the cold, you frown when the time is revealed.
4:32.
Eddie should’ve been here by now.
He’d dropped you off this morning, pulling you across the centre console in the van to steal just one more kiss before you left. All sleep mussed hair, glowing pink cheeks from the warm air kicking out of the vents, his wiry frame still wrapped in PJs. A teasing reminder that he got to go back to bed after this. He didn’t have to cover the shift of a colleague sick with the flu, which you’re 99% certain is more likely a hangover.
He’s never late.
Well, that’s not entirely true. He was almost always late, but never for you.
It was a running joke among your friends, if the plans start at eight thirty, you’d better tell Eddie eight. Unless he was picking you up first, in which case he’d always be punctual.
Until these last few weeks. He seemed distracted, careless in a way that you’d never felt directed at you before.
You tried not to take it personally, he had a lot going on - his promotion at the record store requiring longer hours. Corroded Coffin booking bigger shows in cities further away, which demanded more practice, and more stints out of town without you when your shifts didn’t allow you the time to go too. Steve and Robin had just moved into their new apartment, and the pair of them struggled with even the most basic Ikea flat pack, calling on Eddie when their bickering over an unassembled coffee table reached a fever pitch.
So you knew it wasn’t personal.
But it still stung.
And now he was late.
You press your back against the door, but there’s no real shelter from the rain, the wind driving the drops in diagonally, like they’re aimed just at you.
You could go back inside and wait for him there. But the thought of fishing in your purse for the keys and resetting all the alarms takes more energy than you have right now. You’re bone tired, and just want to go home.
You glance at your watch again.
4:40.
He should’ve been here half an hour ago.
Large puddles begin to pool in the road. A beemer passing through too fast sends a mini tidal wave up onto the sidewalk, cold water covering your sneaker clad feet and soaking your socks. You curse under your breath.
You’re starting to worry now. The rain had come unexpectedly hard and fast, the shitty Hawkins drainage struggling to swallow to sudden downpour. Drains gurgle noisily, the puddles on the tarmac growing deeper and wider with each passing minute.
Maybe he’d broken down somewhere. Or worse, maybe he’d not been careful enough, speeding down the wet roads and veering off into a ditch.
Your stomach churns at the thought.
Having had enough of waiting, you make a break for the pay phone across the street. Your shoes squelch with every hurried step, and by the time you make it into the box you’re drenched, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin, soaked hair plastered to your face.
You dig in your pockets for loose change, numb fingers trembling as you slot the coins in and punch in the numbers. You take a deep breath as the phone rings, regretting it instantly.
Someone’s definitely used this phone booth as a bathroom recently.
“Harrington-Buckley residence.” Steve says brightly.
“Hey Steve.”
“Hey honey! How’s it going?”
“Fine.” You reply through chattering teeth, too pent up with worry to exchange the usual pleasantries.
“I’m just wondering, what time did Eddie leave your place?”
“Eddie? He’s still here.”
“What?” You snap. The receiver slips in your wet hand, fingertips squeezing the plastic so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap in two.
“Yeah, hang on a sec. I’ll put him on.”
There’s the shuffling of movement in the background.
“It’s your girl.” You hear Steve whisper.
“She sounds pissed.”
“Hey sweet thing, what’s up?” Eddie asks cheerily.
“What’s up? What’s up is that you were supposed to pick me up Ed! I’ve been waiting in the rain for you!”
“B-but you don’t finish til five thirty?”
“It’s Sunday Eddie! We close at four!” You shout.
“Oh shit! Baby, I’m sorry. I’m coming right now, I’ll be there in ten.”
“Whatever.” You snap.
The entire booth shakes with the force of how hard you slam the phone down.
Not willing to spend another second in what is essentially a public bathroom, you storm out of the phone booth back into the rain.
You know you’re being petty. And you know you’ll pay the price for your pettiness when you inevitably come down with a cold and spend a week with sinuses that feel like they’re stuffed full of cotton balls.
But you don’t run back across to the store and squeeze yourself under the thin strip of bricks above the door that offer a small bit of protection.
Instead, you choose to stand shivering beneath the full force of the downpour, tiny daggers of water stinging your skin and fierce wind biting your cheeks.
You want Eddie to feel guilty.
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When his van finally rolls to a stop beside you, the wipers are struggling to keep up with the speed of the rain. You can’t see Eddie through the fogged up windows, so he probably can’t see you either, but you aim a scowl his way regardless.
There’s a small towel waiting on the passenger seat when you swing the door open.
“Hey baby.” Eddie says softly.
“Borrowed that from Steve.”
You say nothing, clambering into the seat and slamming the door behind you. You know he hates it, can hear him sucking a sharp breath through his teeth. But he chooses to let it go.
“I’m sorry angel. Really, I am.” He says.
You continue to ignore him, using the towel to squeeze the excess water from your hair.
“Baby? D’you hear me?” He asks hesitantly.
“Yes.” You say coldly.
“I’m sorry.” He whines.
“I said I heard you Eddie.”
You look at him for the first time. He flinches at your tone, chocolate eyes so sad and wounded you almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“C’mon, don’t be like this.” He pleads.
The frosty atmosphere your mood creates overwhelms the hot air blowing from the vents. Eddie waits, staring at you with pleading eyes. You return his gaze with an icy stare.
You can practically see the cogs turning in his brain. The subtle shift in his mood, eyes hardening to beads of onyx, blazing with a heat that’s fuelled by his temper. His jaw twitches, teeth audibly grinding together. He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel, knuckles turned white.
“Okay. So it’s gonna be like that huh?” He scoffs.
Your head thumps against the cushion behind you with how hard he accelerates.
“You gonna keep this up for the rest of the night?” He asks. His voice has dropped, the low timbre vibrating in your chest.
You’re not so sure it’s Eddie speaking anymore.
Your lips remain clamped shut, eyes locked on the road.
“Hey!” He snaps.
There he is.
Daddy’s home.
“What?” You bite back, tone laced with venom.
“I asked you a fuckin’ question.” He snarls.
“Don’t talk to me like that Ed. You’re the one who fucked up here, not me.”
“Jesus H Christ, I said I was sorry!”
“So what? I don’t have to instantly forgive you!”
“It was an accident, okay? Just a one off.”
“One off?!” You bark with a humourless laugh.
“You were late for dinner with my Mom last week. Then got so pissed in Indy you had to crash at Jeff’s for the night instead of coming home like you promised you would. And now you forget me and leave me in the pouring rain for almost an hour!”
The following silence after your outburst is thick with tension. Eddie’s figure blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. You blink them away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.
Not that he’d notice anyway. He doesn’t look at you for the rest of the journey.
—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—xx—
Once he’s pulled up outside your building you’re out of the van like a shot, another slam of the door punctuating your exit. You stomp up the stairs to the third floor without sparing Eddie a second glance, but you know from the heavy thud of his boots that he’s following.
You swing open your front door, not bothering to hold it. Eddie’s palm manages to catch it just before it closes in his face. Ignoring his exasperated sigh you kick off your sneakers and throw your jacket in the direction of the coat hook, not caring that it lands on the floor instead.
Within seconds you’re in the bathroom, banging the door closed behind you and clicking the lock shut.
The tears begin to fall as you strip out of your wet clothes, peeling soaked cotton away from your skin and letting it hit the tiles with a squelch.
You stand under the stream of steaming water, hoping that the sound will be enough to drown out your sobs. You’re frustrated, and hurt, and maybe just a little embarrassed at your outburst.
But mainly you’re angry. And Eddie deserves to feel your rage. He’s made you feel like you’re at the very bottom of his list of priorities, when he’s always the top of yours.
Weeks of missed calls, turning up late or not at all, being too tired when you’re finally alone together for him to do much more than sleep. You love that Eddie would do anything for anyone, drops everything he’s doing when his friends need him. But you need him. And he doesn’t seem to get that.
With your face buried in your hands and the water coming down on top of you, you don’t notice the lock slowly turning, being forced open from the other side. It’s only when the door opens, and a dark figure steps in that you raise your head. Through the foggy glass of the door you can see Eddie shedding his clothes, hear the soft plink of his rings being placed next to the sink.
“I locked the door.” You grumble as he steps into the shower.
“You should know by now that I’m not above picking a lock or two baby.” He smiles.
You look at him hesitantly. If he’s come in here to punish you for shouting at him, you’re frankly not in the mood.
Any other time you’d be happy for him to bend you over and spank your ass until the skin was burning hot and raw. Let him get you on your knees and bruise your throat with unforgiving thrusts. Tangle his fist in your hair and fuck the brat out of you.
But you’re not in the mood for that now.
You turn away from him with an eye roll. Facing the wall, you reach for your body wash, ignoring his presence.
“You still not talking to me?” He teases.
You jolt when his hand comes to rest on your waist, a gentler touch than you anticipated. You wait for the mean press of his fingertips, for his grip to turn bruising, for him to force you over with your ass in the air.
“I’m sorry baby.” He murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder that move up to your neck.
You weren't expecting more apologies. They come delivered in the soothing purr that turns your brain to mush, words that drip from his lips like hot honey, rich and sweet. Still his Daddy voice, but not mean, not degrading. Despite the heat in the room goosebumps break out on your skin.
“I’ve not been treatin’ you right, have I? I’ve not been taking care of my girl like I should have.” Eddie whispers. He nips at your lobe, pulling the soft flesh between his teeth and releasing it with a pop.
A throbbing builds between your legs, your body betraying you, arousal taking over. Your sour mood washes down the drain with mango scented bubbles.
“No. You haven’t.” You agree with a quiet whine.
“S’not good enough, is it baby? I’ve gotta make it up to you, don’t ya think?”
His hand cups your jaw, guiding you to look over your shoulder. He smirks when your eyes meet his, your pupils blown already.
“Yeah?” He repeats.
Just a little patronising, but you can’t find it in you to care, nodding dumbly in time with him. He’s caught you off guard with his sweet and soft approach. And now he’s got you just where he wants you.
“You gonna let Daddy make you feel good?”
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please Daddy.”
“That’s my girl.”
His lips pull away before you can plant a kiss on them. You huff in annoyance and Eddie grins, lowering himself to his knees. One hand presses against your lower back, pushing you flat against the wall. The other rubs a soothing massage on your inner thigh, encouraging your legs to part a little.
When you’re in the position he wants you, Eddie grabs fistfuls of your ass, parting your cheeks and putting you on display. Your neck twinges as you crane to get a look at him, seeing nothing but the damp curls on the top of his head, frizzy from the humid air.
Your gasp cuts through the hissing of the shower head when Eddie’s tongue runs up the seam of you. He groans in satisfaction.
His tongue swirls lazily around your clit, the pace almost painfully slow. Your damp palms squeak on the tiles as your hands flail, trying and failing to find purchase on the smooth surface.
“Oh! Fuck.” You squeak, eyes rolling back in your skull.
“Always so fuckin’ sweet f’me.” Eddie says, the words muffled by your cunt. His tongue snakes through your folds, sending bolts of pleasure zipping up your spine, your back curling into a deeper arch.
He takes his time with you, worshipping at the altar of your body. This is what you’ve missed. Not just the sex, but the closeness, the intimacy. The feeling that he needs you, craves you in the same way you do him.
Eddie turns his attention back to your clit, his tongue flicking over the bud at the steady pace he knows gets you there every time. You keen when the calloused pad of his thumb dips into your entrance, collecting the wetness there and dragging it up slow. It presses down over your other hole, not enough to pop inside, but enough to have excitement tingling in your belly.
“You like that honey? You like when Daddy plays with your ass?” Eddie says smugly.
“Yes!” You cry, rocking your hips back to chase the feeling.
He sinks his teeth into your asscheek, a bruising imprint of his smirk left behind.
“I tell you what. You cum for me now, and when we get into the bedroom you can have more than just my thumb. How’s that sound?”
“G-good. Sounds so good Daddy.” You whine.
“Okay. Well you know what you need to do baby.”
It doesn’t take much. A few more strokes over your neglected hole, a harsh suck at your clit, and you’re falling. Your pussy gushes as your body turns boneless, Eddie’s quick reflexes and arm wound tight around your waist the only thing keeping you standing. You wail and cry through your orgasm, only silenced when Eddie spins you and crashes his lips against yours.
His tongue tastes like you, earthy and sweet. You let him kiss you until you’re lightheaded, finally twisting your head away when the need to breathe becomes overwhelming.
“Are you still mad at me?” Eddie murmurs, running his nose up the line of your throat.
“Huh?” You pant. Your mind feels hazy.
You were mad at him?
“I - I don’t-“
Eddie laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“C’mon, let’s get out and dry off. You can remember why you were pissed, and I’ll make it up to you all over again.”
1K notes · View notes
bindeds · 22 days
Text
[ DON’T BE SORRY. ] : 5.1k words. 𖤐 LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM READER. — you’re dating the big boss of hell himself, but it’s a sticky situation when you’re also good friends with a tech-savvy overlord who believes the cause of your boyfriend’s daughter is absolute bullshit.
#tags. slight hurt/comfort, slight jealousy, nsfw (+18), fluff, smut, vox being a hell of a friend, lucifer being vulnerable as hell,
a/n. fuuuuck i forgot to post this under the request but this was the request that i wrote this for <33 didn''t even remember they wanted fluff which is lucky bc i suck at fluff so i don't write it too often but i ended up writing in fluff anyway bc it felt appropriate for the fic SO
masterlist. request something :>
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“Sir, someone is here to see you.”
Vox growled. His office would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the multitude of tv screens that stared right back at him, boring holes into his screen. They buzzed and whined with a cyan glare bright enough to light the entire pentagram. Claw marks left the edges of his head unpolished, his bowtie askew as his teeth grinded so hard he wanted to encounter a system error.
“Tell Val I am not in the mood for sorting out whatever’s got his panties in a twist this time—”
“Someone else, sir.”
“Well don’t just stand there you useless fuck! Who the fuck is it?” Static shocks ruptured from the wires on his head as he jumped out of his chair fuming. 
The employee pulled one of the handles of Vox’s grand doors. In pranced a sunlit woman with a grin that stained her cheeks red. On her arms were shopping bags lined all the way down their forearms, marking their weight on her flesh.
You pulled your rose-tinted sunglasses away from your face as you cocked a brow.
“What, are you not happy to see me Vicky?” 
“When are you gonna stop calling me that, you absolute slut!” Vox beamed, and as if a new line of code had entered his program, he shedded his jacket off to peel your shopping bags off you as he set them on his couch.
“What brings you back here after all this time, whore? And whose money are you wearing because I know there’s no goddamn way that’s all yours,” Vox laughed through his clearly lighthearted remarks. 
“Whatever. Whore is right because you’ll never guess who I’m fucking.”
.
On the edge of the pride ring resided halls and halls of vintage red wallpaper and intricate gold decor. Knocking frantically at her father’s door just to ask where his partner had gone was never how Charlie would have imagined her morning to go, ever, but here she was, knees wobbling with her hands clasped together as she waited no longer than a second before she had her fist in the air again to—
“Charlie?” 
“Dad!”
When Charlie had asked of your whereabouts, Lucifer simply frowned, though a hint of terror struck his shrunken pupils.
“Uh—I thought she was with you? Don’t you guys have that trust building exercise thing on today—”
“Yes! Yes that is precisely why I am panicking—she’s not in her room and she never misses our gatherings! Dad, how do you not know where she is?” Charlie screeched anxiously.
“Relax, Charlie I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for—”
“For her not to tell her own boyfriend where she’s going?” Charlie seethed with dirt kicked into her tone. 
“Let me call her, okay?” Lucifer pulled his phone out and speed dialed you. 
Something in his room buzzed intermittently. 
Charlie peered into her father’s room, only to find another phone rattling on the further bedside table.
Lucifer looked over his shoulder to the same view. His shoulders dropped.
“Ohhh no.”
.
“Face it baby, I got bigger bucks than daddy could ever conjure up.”
“Vox!” You punched him in the shoulder, unable to hold back laughs that pulled at the bottom of your stomach.
“What? Oh my god, you actually call him that in bed don’t you, you bitch? Holy shit, you really are a slut!” Vox cracked up after you both had left his building. “Where to?” 
“A few blocks away I got something to show you in the ma …”
Your lips fell numb when your gaze fell on a certain man with a white overcoat tailing in the wind as he approached your direction with a storm in his steps. He had been looking at his sides—your hand moved to shove Vox even before your body could follow.
“Ow, what—”
“Go.”
“Babe, what’s—”
“Vox go GO! Back in now!” You spun him on his heel and elbowed him back into the glass doors of his building lobby.
“Honey?” 
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—”
He called your name, loud and clear as day that even the ruby skies of hell echoed it.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” Vox deadpanned.
“Hey!”
Both yours and Vox’s heads turned to the sound, Lucifer just a few strides away from possibly opening a portal down a ring.
“You!” Lucifer barked, gaze locked with Vox’s. “The fuck are you doing calling my girlfriend ‘babe’?” 
“Oh, that’s not—”
“Lie to me and I swear to fucking god I’ll make sure they’ll be prying you for parts.”
“Luci.”
“What?” His head snapped in your direction.
A silent gasp escaped you. 
His shoes hadn’t nearly been dragged through as much gravel as his voice had been. It was something he’d dug up from the depths of his chest like it was nothing—and it brimmed with the filth of his own disdain. 
Lucifer blinked hard as he shook his head. “Honey, I didn’t—”
“We’re just friends.”
“I know that but—”
“It’s an expression.”
Lucifer blinked a few times again, and with each blink he lost more and more tension in his brows, his shoulders—even his lips parted, perhaps to say something, perhaps not.
You and Vox were frozen halfway through the door so Lucifer kicked him in and shut the door quickly to leave you and himself out on the street.
“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” Lucifer asked, and it was like he placed a pillow to your head with the way his tone softened. His thumb had somehow ended up stroking soft circles on the back of your palm as he held your hand.
Vox stayed inside but his prying eyes stared through the glass nonetheless. He crossed his arms.
“Don’t look at him, darling,” Lucifer consoled with a lowered voice. He delicately took your chin and pivoted it back to him. “Look at me.”
“Look, can we talk about this back at the hotel?” You asked, but with the tone you used, you were teetering on the edge of pleading. “I’m … I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey,” Lucifer cooed, tucking away any small pieces of hair that hung over your face. “Of course we can.”
All you could do was give Vox a weary glance before you ducked down into Lucifer’s car and disappeared in the distance.
.
The ride back had not been short of thick silences that hung in the air. Everytime you looked to him for some sort of emotion, there was nothing for you to read; his complexion was a still pond resting under the moon’s grace. Not even anger bubbled up the surface—and this is solely based on your assumption of what he must have been feeling, because he was a blank page. It’s only reasonable. 
Lucifer stopped at the newly built hazbin parking lot but didn’t pull out the key.
He looked at you expectantly, turning even his upper body to face you. 
You bit your lip.
“You don’t wanna go inside first?” A squeak of a voice was all you managed.
“I don’t want Charlie to see us upset,” Lucifer reasoned solemnly as he frowned at the floor before he returned his attentive gaze to you. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out in here.”
“I’m … ashamed, okay,” you exhaled, folding your arms over your chest as you slouched forward. “I’m in hell for a reason. I know it looks bad but I’ve known Vox since he was alive. And I still believe in Charlie’s cause! I’m doing better … you know that, right?”
“Of course, I do, sweetie,” Lucifer blurted immediately, holding your arms like he was the glue to keep you from crumbling apart. “But why did you … did you think I wasn’t going to understand if you had told me?”
“Yes,” you admitted. “Even I wouldn’t have understood if I were in your shoes. I mean, I act like a completely different person around him. And I know what Vox has done, trying to send in Sir Pentious as a spy. It’s horrible. But he wasn’t always like that. Or, maybe he was but—never with me.”
“Honey, I trust you more than just about anyone in this hell. And fuck, that’s difficult in this side of the world, right? I mean—I just … you had me thinking the worst. Well, maybe not the worst but—”
“You thought I was cheating on you, didn’t you?”
“No, never,” Lucifer denied immediately as his eyes widened but his brows furrowed. “I knew it was some kind of mistake. I know you’d never do that to me. But you know … catching up with an overlord like it’s a regular tuesday still raises a few questions if—”
“I know that. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’m sorry,” you repeated rigidly, curling into yourself so much that your head landed on his shoulder as he still held your arms. 
Lucifer pulled back to hold your face by the cheeks, and you didn’t struggle against him as he pressed his forehead on yours, his hat tilting up to accomodate you. 
“How about a kiss and we’ll call it even?” He smiled, and you felt his warmth spread to your cheeks.
You grinned back. “Okay.”
You tilted your chin up and gave him a kiss, and both of you had sustained it longer than either of you had expected. Your hand cupped his own over your cheek. 
Your lips finally parted, but not much before you both reconnected again, then again, and the third time your mouth was a little more open—and Lucifer’s tongue slithered inside. 
Your tongue met his, and they rolled over each other every time you kissed him. A few more kisses, and suddenly you were biting his lip lightly. He chuckled.
“I can see you’re eager to make it up to me, princess,” he said in that voice he knew drove you up the wall.
“I am,” you hummed, a little more innocently than you had intended. 
“Well, what are you gonna do?” He asked, genuine curiosity brewing in a higher tone.
You slipped away from his flowerbud grasp and pulled the lever of your seat. The backrest declined all the way backwards, and you laid down comfortably while your thumb slid under your dress and hooked around something that was already mildly damp.
“I’m gonna sit back …”
You chuckled as Lucifer’s eyes followed your every movement like a moth to a lamp; he followed the way your underwear slid down your knees before you folded your legs up to your chest to fully rid yourself from the garment. You tossed your underwear in his face before he could get a good view of what he’s getting himself into. 
He shook his head in a jolt, crumpling your panties and stuffing them into his pocket anxiously. But by then you were modest again, with your dress covering your thighs but still riding up dangerously high. 
“And let you decide the rest,” you finished in a thin breath.
“Goodness, okay, woo! Okay—” Lucifer sputtered and fanned his overcoat as he averted his gaze. It didn’t last long when his gaze gravitated towards your core that had been concealed but outlined your dress.
You bit your lip. “Well?”
Lucifer’s shoulder emerged from his coat as he shrugged one side of it off, and your gaze magnetized to the view as it slipped down him like a snake traversing down a tree. 
He planted his knee on the closer edge of your seat and it didn’t take long for him to shift your legs closer together, allowing space for his knees on either side of your thighs. Though, steadying himself naturally had his chest protruding as he held onto the car ceiling for support. His muscles peeked through the folds of his dress shirt, and the same can be said with his chest under his waistcoat. But that—that was no complaint. 
He finally fell to you with only his forearms to keep him up. His eyelids sank, his gaze indecisive between your eyes and your dry lips.
He settled on neither when he ducked below your jaw and planted kisses along it before he strayed downwards. 
The spaghetti string of your dress slid down your shoulder the more your squirmed at Lucifer’s nibbles. You knew the moment he caught sight of this because he hesitated for a tenth of a second. 
He grinned. He took it between his fingers delicately and slid it down further. 
“Whoops,” he grinned. 
Glossy silicon mocked him as it peeked out from what had been peeled off you. 
“Luci, careful with that, I’ll need to put it back on later—”
Lucifer tore it off you anyway, tossing it to the back with his overcoat. “I’ll give you my coat when we go in, you’ll be fine.”
“Luci!” You laughed as he did the same with the other, your nipples stiffened from the cold air of the car. 
Lucifer sat on your pelvis, his hands traveling under your boobs to cradle them. 
You both have had sex multiple times together, and yet every time he removes undergarments off you, he enters a dazed trance like it was something new. Something to bask in the wonders of. 
He massaged your breasts gently, and it didn’t take long before he ducked down and had his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, one hand twisting and playing with the other.
A noise bubbled in your throat but you held your breath and bit your lip. Watching Lucifer hadn’t been any help; he cocked a brow at you, and a cheeky grin still made its way to the red circles on his cheeks as he quicked his tongue’s flicks against you. You gritted your teeth, a squeak making it past your lips. 
His hand abandoned the other nipple, but before you could whine in protest a new sensation rose in your lower stomach as Lucifer shifted his entire body further down.
His fingers had already been deep beneath your folds, your clit sitting pretty between as he pinched it and rubbed it in his grasp.
“Luci … fuck …”
“Atta girl,” he chuckled. Hell, you hated just how raspy his voice gets when he’s worked up. That by itself had been a leg-opener all on its own. “That’s it. Let me hear you sing.”
Your legs flinched at the jolt of pleasure his fingers brought, and Lucifer took this opportunity to lift the hem of your dress for easier access—and perhaps, a pretty view.
Every so often, he’d bring the threat of pushing his middle finger past your walls, but through the haze of pleasure, it was impossible to read his intentions when he easily could have been using your juices to lubricate his ministrations on your clit.
It had been like the wave of a wand, the way his free hand undid his tie. It dangled loose below his collar that he used to straighten out so diligently; something once so clean soon turned into a crumpled mess in your name. 
His wrist pivoted down to the buttons on his waistcoat. The faintest flick of his thumb and suddenly his waistcoat hung dead on his torso before he rubbed faster on your clit, making your squeal. 
Cold air brushed past your arousal at the sudden absence of him, and your walls throbbed against each other in response; they bruised and ached and when Lucifer turned down the brightness of the car light, it was all you could feel besides the leather your nails were sinking into.
“Luci, please …”
“Please what, honey?”
“It hurts,” you whined. You didn’t mean to, and in fact a burning sense of shame rose up to your neck and cheeks as sweat tore through the pores on your forehead but all you could do was grab his hand.
“I’m coming, daddy’s coming.”
A slow zipping sound ensued and just as quickly, the head of his erection pressed into your folds and your dripping walls pushed back from the pressure.
You moaned and grabbed Lucifer’s shoulders out of raw instinct, which brought him closer to you. 
“You want it all, princess?”
“Yes, fuck yes,” your mouth sagged numb from having to carry your writhing heart in your throat. The vulnerability of his skin on yours, the way his head was just so warm compared to the cold air earlier—your pussy throbbed once more.
 “Are you sure?”
“Please please please Luci I can’t—oh! Fuck!”
He pushed his length into you, your neck arching back as you grabbed a fistful of his shirt from where your hands hung around his neck.
Your throat clogged with the embarrassing sounds you knew you would have let out if you had no restraint left. You closed your eyes, knowing well that they were halfway to the back of your head. 
Your stomach seemed to make way for his size in you, tossing and spreading the ache to your limbs as your entire body steeled to accommodate him and the space he filled in you. 
“Are you okay?” He asked. 
You nodded, and a hole punctured through your throat as you sighed shakily. “Yes, god—” 
“Don’t say his name,” Lucifer breathed, his hand soft on your neck as he looked at your lips then back up at you. “If you have to say someone’s name, let it be mine.”
“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing your brain conjured, and the only thing you could utter when all else in there had been undone. 
Lucifer kissed your jaw. “Don’t be sorry baby.”
He took your lips in his, his forked tongue brushing past your teeth once more. “Don’t be sorry.”
It was barely considered movement when he pulled out less than half his entire length and pushed in gently, as if you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to drop. You bit your lip and hummed at how smooth he slid into you, how your juices coated him beyond what was needed. 
He pulled out quickly but reentered languidly, like a wave finding its way to shore your core clenched at the nerves that tingled in you, the bruises almost sated in what it yearned for as he thrusted again, and your heart spewed.
“Fuck, if you make a sound like that again I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself,” Lucifer panted. “You’re so pretty, it makes me tremble.”
You reached up to give him another kiss, tilting your head along with the circles spinning in it. “Do whatever you want to me. You deserve that much.”
“Yeah? Well, I want to treat you like fucking royalty. Savor every inch if you,” Lucifer hissed through his pleasure. A choked moan left you, causing Lucifer to smile. “Yeah, see? Just like that princess. Fuck, taking me so well …”
With how soft his thrusts were, pressure subsided into more liquid pleasure that sloshed over your nerves. They lit up like christmas lights in your brain as you both moved in tandem to Lucifer’s pace. 
A fire had started at your nape from the body heat that had nowhere to go, sweat dripping from your hairline and paving wavy lines of hair that caused your forehead to glisten. Your collarbones warmed up in a different way, Lucifer’s hot breath filling the space between the both of you. 
His thrusts grew anxious over time, but his hips never once hit your ass which might have scalded your stomach further; the fact that this man possessed an iron grip over his control in his strokes, he had been careful not to taint you—he only took from places he knew both of you would be enraptured in—and absolutely nothing less. 
“Honey, I can’t—” he hissed through gritted teeth as his fingers curled in your hair. His eyes wandered down to how your breasts bobbed to his strokes. He moaned your name, and if the car hadn’t been shaking from Lucifer’s rutting, it shook from the way he proclaimed your name and dropped his head like he was bowing to a god. “Holding me so tight—you worried I’m gonna let go, sweetie?”
“No—ngh! You just feel so good I c-can’t!” You yelped in time with each thrust that followed. “Luci, I—fuck!”
His head perked up, just like the bundle of nerves in that oh-so familiar spot. An old friend. 
Lucifer gave a determined grin, sweat trickling down his cheek as he paused to wipe it away. 
“Well, hello,” he greeted in a low sultry voice.
He resumed fucking you, but this time he had you screaming his name as his length rubbed up against that spot your body purred to. You shivered and your walls clenched, causing Lucifer to falter.
“F-Fuck, that’s it, good girl,” he grunted in between controlled thrusts that had your gut squeezing. He never once missed. 
When your walls fluttered, Lucifer chuffed through his teeth and through the fog of your satisfaction, you indulged in the smell of cotton candy sweat. 
“You’re close, princess, so close, I can feel it.”
You gritted your teeth with whatever strength you had left, even your hands had begun to slip from Lucifer’s shoulders. 
 “You?” Was all you could manage. 
“Me? Baby, seeing you like this has me fucked out,” Lucifer huffed. “Shit!”
You squeezed his shoulders before he could pull out.
“In me, Luci!”
He froze, shaking his head to wave away his own daze to focus on you, the things your … request entailed. 
“Darling, I don’t have a condom on,” he whispered as the inner corners of his brow quivered. 
“You’d make beautiful fucking babies, Luci—I wanna carry them.” Your voice had been obliterated from the sounds Lucifer had fucked out of you. Wispy breaths was what it had become—but the red in your cheeks and your weakened yet felicious state made Lucifer smile.
“You’re not thinking straight,” he said your name and it was nearly enough to get you back down from the clouds. “C’mon, honey …”
“Luci …” you whined. “You’re so goddamn hot when you’re being responsible …”
“Yeah?” He laughed softly, cradling your cheek in his hand. 
“Yeah …”
“Let’s finish you up, okay?” He reached up to kiss your forehead but you squeaked from the fact that his length slid deep into you in the process. “Ah, sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry, baby,” you quoted him from last time, and his surprise melted into a warm smile instead. “Please fuck me.”
“As you wish.”
You screamed brokenly as he continued his ruthless pace from before, and he remembered the exact angle to hit. Your nerves were about ready to jump out from your body as you skyrocketed back into the clouds, your orgasm coming sooner than you could warn him. 
“Cumming!” He gritted through his teeth as his horns shot up from his head and you both came together with Lucifer’s cum hitting your dress instead.
Your head hung off the car seat’s headrest. Sweat shimmered on the leather you laid on, and your legs trembled from how long they’d been held at the same position. The only thing you two shared now was open-mouth breaths. You thought of moving, but your muscles were well past its limit to even be lifted.
Lucifer twisted around to grab tissues from the passenger seat compartment. In just a few seconds, he wiped out most of the evidence of himself on your dress. By this time, his horns were long gone and his eyes had returned back to its original form.
“Fuck … I didn’t think this through …” Lucifer grumbled to himself as he hit his temple with his palm. He ran his fingers through his hair before he mustered a weak smile for you. “Wait here, I’ll grab your clothes from your room.”
You exhaled audibly as he vanished with a swirl of sparkling red smoke. 
A few breaths of silence by yourself wasn’t ideal, especially when you felt the whine and ache of your limbs in the fact that you were as good as scattered leaves across autumn grass. 
Just then, your phone buzzed from the cupholder.
You winced as you bent to take it.
Brat >:)
you better not be fucking him right now i swear to FUCKING GOD [ 13:06 ]
you disappear for years and suddenly you’re back and you’re telling me YOU’RE DISAPPEARING AGAIN?&2$:$$3;: FUCKING [ 13:05 ]
HELLO? THE FUCK [ 12 :57 ]
i’m not gonna let even the king of hell himself keep you from me [ 12:16 ]
because i am not done with you yet [ 12:15 ]
bitch you better show me whatever the fuck you wanted to show me earlier before daddy decided to whisk you away like some fucking fairy tale prince [ 12:15 ]
You chuckled as you swiped the notification.
You [ 13:06 ] : bitch you know the dick is good cmon now
Vox [ 13:06 ] : i mean this in the most platonic and murderous way possible, i will fuck you myself if that’ll get you to ACTUALLY BE A FRIEND AND VISIT ME INSTEAD OF DISAPPEARING FOR YEARS
Vox [ 13:06 ] : i already have to deal with the heartbreak of al
Vox [ 13:06 ] : ykw doesn’t matter THE POINT IS THAT YOU ARE THE SHITTIEST FUCKING FRIEND AND I MISS YOU IS THAT NOT REASON ENOUGH
You [ 13:07 ] : okay, okay, how about this sunday then lmaoo
Vox [ 13:07 ] : you better fucking believe i’ll be blowing a fucking hole through that radio prick’s hotel just to pick you the fuck up asshole
You [ 13:07 ] : if i didn’t know any better vicky i would have assumed you’re actually coming to pick alastor up HAHAHAHAAHAHAH
Vox : ( typing … )
Your phone levitated out of your hands and when you followed where it zipped off to—
“Luci!” You sprung up from the declined backrest in surprise.
Lucifer squinted at your phone as he swiped his thumb down on your screen.
“First of all, I’m honored that you’re telling people how well I pleasure you. Second of all,” Lucifer paused, leaning into you as he used his free arm to hold himself up to you. “Vox is in a world of hurt if he thinks I’m gonna let him lay a finger on you.”
“Yeah?” You copied the way Lucifer says it and watched as his face reddened.
You noticed your spare clothes on his lap and you lifted the dress over your head and discarded it on the floor of the backseat. 
You held out your hand for Lucifer to hand you your clothes.
He simply looked at your hand, then back at your naked body, then back at your hand as took it in his own.
You laughed. Hard.
“What—what’s happening why’re you—”
“The clothes, baby!” 
“Oh—Oh! Right! Shit!” He finally handed you an oversized shirt, fresh underwear and a pair of shorts you used to at-home wear. “I thought you were asking for another round or something, holy shit—”
“I mean …” you smirked. 
“Honey …” Lucifer warned, as if trying to keep a predator from attacking. 
“Oh? You don’t wanna? My bad,” you replied innocently. “I was just wondering if Vox was free tonight—”
“I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me but honey …” Lucifer trailed off as he flipped your phone and shoved it into his back pocket. 
He crossed over to your seat once more and pinned you back down where you once were, one knee pressed on the side of your seat as his hands ended up on either side of your neck.
“I hate to remind you that I am the fucking devil,” his voice dripped with a poison much worse than what you’ve heard from Alastor’s static. His horns hadn’t sprouted out yet but with his eyes aching red, it wasn’t too far from reappearing. “And if you love me as much as I love you then there is no goddamn way in this realm I am sharing you with anyone else let alone some overlord who thinks Alexander is worth anyone’s fucking time.”
“It’s Alastor and—” you paused, combing through your hair idly. “Luci, Vox is only a friend from the living world—“
“A friend who thinks he can fuck you.”
“He’s in hell for a reason.” You crossed your arms.
Lucifer sighed and closed his eyes, the red dissipating from them once they reopened. 
“Listen, honey, I—” Lucifer’s gaze lifted away from you for a moment, almost like he’d been overwhelmed with the words clogged in his throat. “You’re someone I can’t afford to … mess up … again. And I know that means simply letting you be. But also, I’ve just—I’ve lost so much, and I only just got Charlie back so I …”
You lifted your arm as your hand fell on his cheek, your thumb softly stroking him back and forth. 
He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he placed his hand on yours. 
“I know Vox is just a friend. And I know it’s insane to think I’ll lose you to him, but … at the end of the day, this is hell. He still mocks the very thing we’re trying to achieve and I get that you’re not like that and that you’re not easily manipulated but I just …”
“Luci …” you muttered. You sat up and kissed him chastely on the cheek. 
“I think about losing you a lot. I think about it to an irrational degree. So it’s not actually something you can fix. It’s something I have to do on my own.”
“Even if that’s true, I can still do my best to be with you and make sure you feel loved everyday. I really was a dick today, I had no idea you were … I’m s—”
“It’s okay. We …” Lucifer chuckled weakly. “We made up, remember?”
“Yeah,” you smiled. “Luci … you know I love you, right?”
“Like the sun loves the moon,” Lucifer said. 
And you knew where it came from, maybe not its exact whereabouts but just how deep it was embedded to him, that statement; he himself had witnessed the creation of the sun and the moon. He knew the tides the two shared, the way their yearning for each other’s pull had been the natural way of things, the only way the people could ever experience day like they do night.
I know you love me because we love like its fate.
.
You and Lucifer walked into the hotel, your back slouched with Lucifer’s overcoat hanging over your shoulders as you folded your arms beneath them. 
“Hey Charlie,” Lucifer greeted, and he told her daughter who was already making her way to you that you weren’t feeling well and that you needed rest. Of course, Charlie nodded and resumed her activities with her other friends. 
You retired to Lucifer’s room, the left side of the bed while he took the right.
“I love you,” your chest exhausted what it had been used to holding for him, until you saw him.
“I love you, too,” Lucifer hummed back, a sigh escaping him like cherry blossoms in the wind. 
“I love you for the soul you are beneath your bones.”
804 notes · View notes
awearywritersworld · 6 months
Text
"i'll always come when you call"
gojo satoru x reader summary: when you're gravely injured on a mission, your best friend finds you just in time w/c: 1.35k tags/warnings: friends to lovers, obviously reader is hurt but nothing is terribly graphic, though there are lots of mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lots of emotional distress for gojo, he punches a wall, ft. a very worried yuuji and gumi a/n: home boy is in pieces at the thought of losing us. i make myself emotional masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here
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it wasn't supposed to go like this. not hardly, not half.
a simple mission turned into an ambush. what was originally one mid-grade cursed spirit became several. you lost count somewhere around the fifth.
rain patters against your body, washing away the crimson that's seeping from numerous wounds. at first everything hurt, but now all you feel is a foreboding numbness spreading throughout your limbs.
you hardly remember slipping your phone from your pocket or dialing his number when you hear your best friend's voice ring out from the speaker. "hey, princess. how'd it go?"
you try to speak, but no sound comes out. eventually, you manage a choked cough and the faint sensation of liquid flowing from the corner of your mouth accompanies the effort.
you barely make out his worried tone calling your name before your phone clatters to the ground, screen going black as it lies in a puddle of pale red.
you fight to keep your eyes open, you really do, but you're incredibly drowsy and the coldness has begun to ebb away, replaced by a comforting warmness.
you always imagined the light that welcomes you into the afterlife would be a blinding white, but instead, it's a familiar shade of blue.
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an unsettling feeling had made a home in the pit of gojo's stomach long before he received your call. he's pacing, his eyebrows furrowed with inexplicable worry when his ringtone fills the room.
relief floods through him once he sees your name on the screen, but it's short lived when your end of the line remains quiet. he hears you sputter and it isn't a second later that he teleports to the city where your assigned mission is.
his heart is hammering away, a dull thudding in his ears, as he follows the traces of cursed energy that grow stronger with each long stride. he covers ground impressively fast, though as soon as his eyes land on your body, it's as if everything shifts to slow motion.
it feels like he's fighting against an invisible force as he approaches the spot where you lay. he can hear someone howling your name and it's not until he feels the hoarseness in throat that he recognizes the voice as his own. his knees crash painfully into the pavement at your side.
the situation is worse than he could have imagined. it's looks like you, sure, but it can't be you. not when your eyes have just fluttered shut, no movement beneath your lids. not when your body is still, no steady rise and fall of your chest. and certainly not when it looks as if you're—
"wake up," he begs, shaking your shoulders. "please, wake up!"
not wasting another moment, he gathers your limp body in his arms, one arm behind curling around your shoulders, the other hooking behind your knees.
he teleports directly into the infirmary and shoko nearly scolds him before she takes in your dreadful state. the cigarette that was hanging between her lips falls to the floor. "get her on the bed."
she moves around the room in haste, pulling drawers and cabinets open wildly.
"she's going to be okay, right? tell me that she's going to be fine," he implores, panicking when the brunette fails to reassure him. "..shoko!"
"get out, satoru!" she barks. she can't concentrate, not while one of her oldest friends is hysterical with worry and the other is lying there half dead.
"please, i can't—"
"now!"
he stares at you for a moment before turning on his heel and retreating to the hall. his fist meets the wall with such force, the drywall crumbles to the floor. gojo himself follows suit soon thereafter.
the commotion catches the attention of yuuji and megumi, who round the corner just seconds later.
"sensei—" yuuji begins to question, but the words die in his throat.
gojo's crouched down, his face buried in his hands. they're still covered in your blood. he wants to scream and yell and curse the world, but instead, he clenches his jaw so fiercely it's a wonder his teeth don't crack under the pressure.
the boys share a look, both startled by the present state of their usually frivolous teacher. neither of them need to ask who's behind that door, they know there's only one person who could elicit such a reaction from gojo.
megumi approaches him cautiously, swallowing his own concern, and places a hand on his shoulder. "she'll be okay."
the white haired man doesn't look up, just nods weakly in acknowledgement. megumi joins yuuji who is already sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and the three of them wait together in silence.
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gojo hardly moves until the infirmary door opens, which makes him rise so quickly it leaves him dizzy. shoko surveys the three of them before speaking.
"she's.. she's still unconscious, but you should be with her. she's been calling for you in her sleep—"
she scarcely finishes before gojo makes his way through the door. shoko stays in the hallway to update yuuji and megumi, giving the two of you a bit of privacy.
pulling up a chair beside you, he threads his fingers between yours, your skin still frightfully cool. though it's not until he hears you mumble his name that he truly falls apart.
his free hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, his shoulders shaking. this all could have gone very differently and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. he should have gone with you, or at the very least, he should have gotten to you faster.
"'toru?" your raspy voice fills his ears.
when he looks up to find you peering at him through tired eyes, the tension that'd been weighing heavily in his chest dissipates and he exhales deeply. still, his voice trembles. "hey, sweetheart."
every part of you aches, but it's nothing compared to the guilt you feel upon seeing gojo like this— his eyes red and swollen, your blood painted across his hands and face.
you have a vague memory of everything that happened. you remember just barely exorcising the last cursed spirit. you remember being sure you weren't going to survive and using your last bit of strength to call him. "you found me."
he nods, his hand squeezing yours. "i thought i was too late.. i.. i thought i'd lost you."
his voice cracks and it nearly shatters your heart, tears welling up in your eyes. "i'm so sorry, 'toru. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough, t-that you had to come save me."
you attempt to sit up, but he puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes his head. "don't you dare apologize. i'll always come when you call and i'll always be there when you need me. you have to know that."
the intensity of his gaze forces you to look away and the conviction in his voice makes you feel woozy. thinking about it, there really never had been an instance in which gojo wasn't there for you. he's the person you've sought out time and time again and he's never once let you down.
his hand finds your face and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye.
"i love you," you blurt out.
you stare at each other with wide eyes and the seconds tick by markedly until he finally whispers, "say it again."
"i love you."
he had no idea how much he needed to hear those three words fall from your lips until he nearly lost the chance forever. truthfully, it makes him feel a bit foolish, but now was hardly the time to dwell on that.
he smiles for the first time in hours, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "i love you, too."
and he always has— he knows that now.
"you should get some rest, angel," he suggests tenderly. "i'll be right here when you wake up."
2K notes · View notes
koqabear · 8 months
Text
Killer Instinct
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× Playlist ×
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“Beomgyu knows better than to get himself involved in that shady fight club you always warn him about— but he never listens to you, and despite how much you beg him to leave that place alone, you don’t find yourself to be too surprised when he starts bringing those same people you warned him about to you.”
MMA Fighter! Taehyun x fem!reader 
Genre: underground fight club! au, mma fighter!taehyun, enemies to lovers, thriller/action, angst, smut
Word count: 37.4K
Warnings: general violence. (This is an mma au; fighting, blood, injuries, etc.) illegal activities (underground clubs, gambling, etc) older!mc (3 years gap), use of the word “noona”, talks about family issues, single parenting, tae is a little bitch, weapons, (knives, guns), stabbing, cigarette smoking, mc is also a bitch (they’re mean to each other), medical inaccuracies probably sksjsj, a bit of jealousy… mentions of bullying, mentions of power imbalance & manipulation, alcohol consumption, mentions of death & coping, mma inaccuracies bc i am not a professional!!
Smut warnings: dom!tae, sub!mc, mc is slightly bratty, manhandling, breast play, marking, biting, oral (f. rec), bro is a pussy fiend, (service top!tae? maybe?) hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie(s)
Notes: i’ve worked on this stupid story for so long that i don’t even want to look at it anymore. (/hj.) another warning that idk anything abt mma, so there are definitely inaccuracies! features literally the whole idol industry,,, they're scattered like easter eggs. 
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The air is thick and foggy; Taehyun can already feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow the moment he enters, pushed around like a rag-doll from the full capacity of the room. No one bothers to spare him a glance— he’s a nobody, a clueless figure that’s given away from the sheer curiosity that breaks through his eyes. The poor boy is forced to hold in a cough as someone proceeds to blow cigarette smoke in his face; he hears a few mocking chuckles around him. 
None of that matters, though. The flickering, weak lights overhead manage to spotlight his objective perfectly, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he feels a grin threatening to spread on his face; before him, two unknown men stand in a ring. 
Taehyun’s muscles twitch in attention— his mind is racing, imagining himself in their place as he watches the two slowly circle each other, wondering what he would do if he were in their place; even from here, Taehyun can see the hungry look on one of the men’s faces, a bloody grin stuck on his face as he keeps his hands up and close— his hair is tied up and out of his face as he stares his opponent down. 
It’s tense, wild even, as he finally swings, landing a punch to the other man’s stomach as the crowd around the ring roars— in approval or dread, he isn’t sure entirely. It’s a mixture of everything, men and women alike gesturing wildly as their screams blend in with the crowd; all to form a violent audience, closing in hysterically on the ring in hopes of getting a good view. 
Taehyun feels adrenaline coursing through him— it’s contagious. 
He fights the urge to try and push through, curious to see what might be going on as a sudden unanimous roar sweeps through the crowd. His eyes dart wildly, watching people celebrate, clapping each other on the backs as they cheer; others don't share the feeling, upset or even angry as he finds people being held back from trying to get on the ring— security is quick to put an end to it, though. 
And as he slowly watches the crowd scatter, he sees the same man from before circling the ring, bloody and bruised as he walks back to the referee; his arm is thrust up by the official as his supporters cheer in victory. Eyes scanning the room, his eyes briefly land on Taehyun’s before he’s back to gloating, proud despite the clear beating he took himself. 
Taehyun can feel his ambitious heart beat faster— he doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he wants to be up there next. 
The buzz of it all is quick to calm down; it’s as though nothing happened, and he notices the way the unconscious man gets picked up and carried towards an infirmary— taking in his condition, Taehyun shudders, trying to shake it off before he looks for his target.
“‘scuse me,” Taehyun says, voice rough and as confident as he can get it to be— he hopes the referee can’t see through his act of bravery. The man barely spares him a glance before he nods, seemingly able to see what he’s here for— the small quirk of his lips is more mocking than anything to Taehyun. 
“What do you want, kid,” the unamused tone of the man before him isn’t very encouraging— for a moment, Taehyun almost feels foolish for stepping inside such a foreign ground without proper connections; he’s quick to push the feeling away, much too used to the patronizing looks he gets for being a newcomer. 
“Get me in the ring,” he can’t seem unsure now— if anything, any ounce of hesitation will get him denied immediately. Taehyun is demanding, jaw clenched and gaze hard as he stares at the older man before him; his eyes narrow at the younger’s words, and for a second Taehyun wonders if he took the wrong approach. 
“You got money to bet?” The older man’s words only bring excitement to Taehyun— he can’t hold back his eager nod, ignoring the man’s amused chuckles as he reaches into his duffle bag; carefully, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, allowing it to peek slightly out of his bag as he glances back up at the referee— judging by the smug look on his face, Taehyun is sure that what he’s brought is more than enough. 
“Good boy,” the referee whistles, but Taehyun chooses to ignore his blatant mockery as he tucks the envelope back in. 
“Jin,” the man introduces himself, offering his hand out in the introduction— Taehyun takes it, the smooth leather of Jin’s black gloves stained with blood as he holds the younger’s hand tightly; he tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice the blood smudge onto his skin, attempting to wipe it off without being noticed. “Let’s go get you on the registry, I’ll see if I can find another newbie for you.”
“Taehyun,” he says, following obediently as Jin weaves through the crowd effortlessly. Taehyun, however, isn’t as lucky, struggling to keep up as everyone seemingly goes out of their way to get in his path— it isn’t long before Taehyun resorts to pushing roughly through the faceless people. 
“Newbie? I don’t—“ Taehyun grunts as someone shoulder checks him, turning to the side roughly as he attempts to keep his sight on Jin; slowly, he’s able to catch up, “Don’t put me up against a newbie.” 
The curious glance Jin spares is enough for Taehyun to get the confidence to continue. 
“Put me up with someone experienced— all or nothing.” 
Jin can’t control the laugh that escapes him at the younger’s words; his head is thrown back, briefly catching the attention of those around him as he stops before the bar. Leaning against the wooden counter, Jin’s act quickly becomes unamusing to Taehyun as he’s forced to watch as the older man attempts to regain his composure. When he does, Taehyun can feel his jaw tick— pure mockery fills Jin’s eyes.
“You even know how to fight, kid?” Taehyun says nothing, afraid of what might come out if he chooses to open his mouth. But his steely gaze is enough for Jin, who reluctantly holds his hands up in surrender—he can tell there’s still a reluctance in the man to take him seriously. 
“Fine, I’ll give you your money’s worth,” Jin mutters, glancing back at the black duffle bag that remains secured at Taehyun’s side, “from the amount you showed me, I’m sure I could get The Bear’s attention.” 
“The Bear?” Taehyun echoed, frowning at the name. Jin only scoffs, rolling his eyes at the title. 
“I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Whatever sticks, I guess,” the referee grumbled, clearly displeased at the thought of having to announce any ridiculous names— clearing his throat, Jin squared his shoulders as he shot Taehyun a smug smile. 
“The one who just won— that’s The Bear,” Jin explains, narrowing his eyes as he gauged Taehyun’s expression, “I saw you staring— you stick out badly— and I know you wanna have a go at him.”
Solemnly, Taehyun nods— Jin only sighs at that.
“Of course,” he runs a hand through his hair, seemingly unfazed by the uncleanliness of his gloves, “everyone does.”
Taehyun wondered if Jin berated every newcomer like this— he wouldn’t put it past the referee, quite honestly. It hadn’t been long since they met, but this short amount of time had Taehyun wondering if the older man even wanted to be a part of this place; slowly, a fire lights in Jin’s eyes, leaving Taehyun confused as he watches the man let out a cruel laugh; his eyes were no longer on Taehyun’s, but instead at a very distant point behind him— one glance over his shoulder and he was able to see victor from before approaching— The Bear. 
“Cocky, faceless fighters like you,” Jin calls out, bringing Taehyun’s attention back as the younger’s eyes meet his— something is threatening within them, and Taehyun wished that he didn’t feel a sense of danger lick up his body as a grin overtook the referee’s face, “I love watching them get put in their place.”
Taehyun was unable to say anything to that— Jin’s expression seemed to light up as he pushed himself off the bar, his gloved hand slapping on Taehyun’s shoulder, startling the boy as he felt himself turned around forcefully— any angry comments died on his tongue as Jin pulled him into his side, walking forward as he called out a foreign name: Beomgyu.
“Beomgyu!” Jin calls out, grinning wildly as he forces Taehyun to follow along. Like before, Taehyun is turned into nothing but a rag-doll, fighting back the urge to shake him off as they approach the man— he can feel the curious stares of the patrons dig into him, and Taehyun begins to wonder what he got himself into as Seokjin’s fingers dig into his shoulder— almost as though he were preventing him from running away. 
One look at the man before him has Taehyun’s nerves on fire— were they really going to let him fight like this? The man before him is bruised and bloody, refusing to stop at the infirmary as he shrugs on his coat; slowly, a grin overtakes his features, a slight wince stopping him as his cut lip reopens— Taehyun can hear the man curse under his breath. 
“Who’s this?” Though Beomgyu’s eyes remain on Taehyun’s, he’s not truly talking to the newcomer; Jin is quick to respond, shaking the young boy teasingly as he laughs.
“Taehyun,” Jin says, patting the boy’s shoulder as he glances at him, “says he wants to have a go at you.” 
Beomgyu quirks a brow at that— he’s clearly amused, letting out a soft huff as he’s crossing his arms over his bare torso; Taehyun can already spot dark bruises forming in certain spots, his thin and reddened fingers tapping at his bicep impatiently as he surveys Taehyun.
“I don’t know,” Beomgyu drawls, tilting his head as though he were in thought, “I don’t wanna scare the poor kid off by giving him a good beating.”
This, Taehyun decides, is about all he can put up with; shrugging Jin’s hand off his shoulder, he scoffs, stepping forward and coming face to face with Beomgyu— the man isn’t even much taller than him, and he seems to be around his age too— yet the arrogance pours off him in waves, looking at Taehyun as though he were lesser than him— yet, he hasn’t seen what Taehyun can do. 
Beomgyu doesn’t seem phased by any of this; it’s like the smug look on his face is permanent, his head held high as Taehyun takes a moment to survey him. The air is tense as the patrons at the bar become aware of what’s happening before them; it isn’t long before they’re all taunting either Taehyun or Beomgyu, encouraging them to fight in hopes that they’ll get another show.
“If anything, I should be the one worried for you,” Taehyun mutters, a fake look of sympathy crossing his face at the thought, his voice patronizing as he continues, “I wouldn’t wanna ruin your pretty face.”
A pause. Beomgyu’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he fights back the smile that itches to show; shaking his head, he scoffs, enjoying the way Taehyun’s fiery gaze seems to burn into his skin. He sighs— it’s long and labored, his head thrown back as he shakes his bangs out of his face— then he reaches out, clapping Taehyun on his shoulder as he looks at Jin, nodding in approval. 
“Get us in the next best slot,” Beomgyu says, and the spectators seem to grow more excited with his every word. Glancing back at Taehyun, he smiles; it’s mischievous and sly, but Taehyun doesn’t allow it to get to him as he stands his ground. “I need to freshen up.”
The room is buzzing with energy as everyone seems to spread out, watching Beomgyu disappear into the locker room before they begin to bet on the results; Taehyun grimaces at the number of people who are already betting against him. 
“Seems like you bit off more than you can chew,” Jin whispers, leaning in as he bumps against Taehyun playfully. “You got twenty minutes; pray if you need to.” 
Taehyun grits his teeth as Seokjin walks back to the bar, leaning in towards the bartender as they talk, glancing back at Taehyun before they’re laughing and nodding— it doesn’t take a genius to guess what they’re talking about. Readjusting the strap of his duffle bag, Taehyun has no choice but to make his way into the locker room; he just hopes The Bear can save his temper for the match. 
It wasn’t as though he wanted to provoke the man— if anything, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But, it wasn’t long before Taehyun realized that being nice wouldn’t get him anywhere; luckily for him, he didn’t truly mind. 
The locker room is small, just as Taehyun expected; the lighting is dim and there isn’t much room to move due to the benches that line the walkways— Taehyun frowns at the inconvenient layout. At the end of the wall to his left, he finds a doorway to another room— he catches a glimpse of showers and bathroom stalls; the water runs on that side of the room, and Taehyun can already guess who might be behind the flimsy wall that separates them. Sighing, Taehyun looks for the nearest empty locker.
The sound of running water fills Taehyun’s head, blocking out everything else as he begins to think— attempting to remember all the moves Beomgyu used, trying to decipher his fighting style; his mind raced with different possibilities he could use to counter him. 
“Hey,” Taehyun is ripped out of his reverie at the firm voice, his head snapping up at the realization that they were talking to him; turning around, he’s unfazed to find The Bear staring at him blankly. 
“First time in the cage?” He asks, tilting his head as he surveys Taehyun curiously. Taehyun shakes his head in response, watching as Beomgyu only nods thoughtfully at that. It’s clear he took a moment to patch himself up, but it’s still strange to Taehyun that he’s willing to go for another match so soon— his cockiness only fuels Taehyun further. 
“It sure does look like it.” Beomgyu doesn’t bother lingering around— he’s ready, clapping Taehyun on the shoulder before he’s walking away, heading back out as he spares Taehyun one last apathetic glance. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, ‘kay? I’ll even go easy on you.” 
Taehyun says nothing. He can feel his jaw clench, trying his best to bite back another comment as he watches the older man exit the locker room; His fists tighten, the feeling of his hands tightening over the material of his wraps allowing him to calm down as he takes a steady breath. Sighing, his head is tilted back, eyes surveying the dim room for a clock— it isn’t long before he spots it above the doorway, calculating how much time he has left to prepare. 
Ten minutes.
That’s more than enough for him.
⊹⊹⊹
The cage is freshly cleaned. It reeks of cleaner and is scuffed and old under Taehyun’s feet. He has no interest in hearing about the fight that went on before his— the bored mumblings of the spectators were enough for him to tune everything out. The seating area wasn’t that big, but it was enough for the people that were more than ready to gamble and waste away from alcohol as they watched; it didn’t take a genius to know that the regulations in the place weren’t very strict. 
There’s someone new standing in the cage— a commentator, Taehyun realizes. He looks like he could be a fighter himself, but the fire in his eyes seems to be curated more for the thrill of commentating every detail of the fights before him. Words spill rapidly from his mouth, but Taehyun can’t bring himself to tune in; his bright platinum hair is glowing, even under the flickering lights, and the commentator’s names manages to slip through the walls of Taehyun’s concentration— Taeyong, with his co-commentator, Jeno. 
It’s clear they’re here to do nothing more than build up tension, making useless comments that make the audience cheer or roar with disapproval. Taeyong is gesturing wildly, pointing to the fighter’s separate corners as he seems to be talking about them; Taehyun can feel the searing stares of the people around him.
Beomgyu stands across from him, his hair pulled back and his face gone dead as he stares at Taehyun— he doesn’t look away for a second. His hands are left at his sides, fingers clenching around his wraps as he tilts his head side to side; Taehyun hears the faint crack of his bones, even from where he stands. He frowns, beginning to feel antsy the longer the commentators take— from the corner of his eye, he sees Jin enter the ring, nodding to Taeyong and Jeno as they shake hands.
Taehyun takes a slow breath, jaw clenching as he feels his teeth bite into his mouth guard. He can feel his impatience growing the longer he stares at The Bear, watching as the man before him only smiles mischievously at him; he’s pacing around his side, eyes pinned to Taehyun as though he were a predator ready to strike. 
The Bear’s eyes light up the moment the two commentators exit the ring. 
Their voices still ring out through the speakers, spewing random things about the scene as Jin beckons the two to approach him. 
“I want a clean, fair fight.” Jin begins, reaching out to clasp the two’s shoulders, “You know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, touch gloves if you want to.” 
A beat passes as Jin glances at the two fighters— Taehyun does nothing; Beomgyu only grins at that. 
Sighing, Jin backs away from the two, clapping his hands before he points back to their respective sides. 
“Back to your corners,” Jin yells, huffing as he backs away, mumbling under his breath as he does so, “let’s get this over with.”
Taehyun’s hands come up instinctively, eyes narrowing as he waits for the familiar sound of the bell. Beomgyu does the same, his stance opening as an undeniable smile graces his lips; if Taehyun didn’t know better, he’d almost think this was nothing but a game to him.
His body tenses the moment the bell rings throughout the room, his mind racing as he watches Beomgyu begin to make his way to him.
Nothing happens at first; they circle each other, Taehyun’s feet pacing quickly around the cage as he waits for a good opening. The useless chatter of the commentators threatens to break his concentration, but he knows better than to pay attention to anything other than the man before him. 
Beomgyu throws the first punch. A sharp jab is directed toward his head, but it doesn’t land as Taehyun sharply moves away. Everything changes in an instant; the moment Beomgyu puts his arm out is the moment Taehyun begins to look for a weakness. It’s a rapid flow of punches and dodges, the commentators making a fuss over everything as nothing connects properly.
Beomgyu’s punches are strong; Taehyun’s forearms ache at the impact, jumping back the moment Beomgyu attempts to land a kick— a liver shot, Taehyun realizes with a small smile. 
The two boys are equally matched, and it isn’t long before the crowd catches onto that fact— suddenly the fight has become more interesting, and Taehyun can sense everyone’s eyes on them as he watches Beomgyu prep for another kick, the minuscule mistake of his rear hand coming down giving Taehyun the perfect opening. 
Taehyun’s body twists violently, his right hand swinging around as he aims for Beomgyu’s head; the impact sends the crowd roaring. 
He feels his fist come in contact with a wound from his previous fight, his brow splitting back open as Beomgyu winces at the feeling— he wobbles slightly from the shock, his eye squinting as blood begins to trickle down.
“You motherfucker,” Beomgyu’s lips read, snarling at Taehyun as his guard seems to be raised. His arms immediately come back up, protecting his head as another of Taehyun’s punches threatens to connect. With his body exposed, Taehyun is unable to stop the kick that shoots straight at him, at the same spot as before; He feels his vision blur for a second as his breath is knocked out of him. 
Beomgyu is coming back for more as the last counts for the round are yelled out. Jabs and kicks are exchanged in rapid fire, and it’s all lost in a blur of motion as the two attempt to weaken the other— the bell rings, signaling the end of the round. 
Back in his corner, Taehyun is surprised to find that Beomgyu has no coach. He’s just like him, forced to tend to his wounds and think of a new strategy on his own; Taehyun is surprised The Bear was able to land such strong hits with his vision impaired so badly. 
Beomgyu is a ruthless fighter; he has technique and experience, and it seems that all mercy will fly out the window the moment he catches his opponent in a vulnerable spot— Taehyun just needs to make sure to not give him the opportunity.
“Ready?” Jin’s strong yell breaks through both of the fighter’s minds, and it isn’t long before Taehyun finds himself back in the center of the ring, adjusting his mouthpiece as he doesn’t bother paying attention to Jin’s rambles. 
“Knock ‘em out Bear, get this over with,” it’s the only thing that catches Taehyun’s attention, the sharp glare he sends to Jin doing nothing as he’s told to go back to his corner— though he doesn’t miss the smug look that Beomgyu sends him. 
The new round is immediate; there’s a fire in Taehyun’s eyes, his body pumping with adrenaline as he immediately approaches Beomgyu, unsurprised to find that he does the same. His breathing is slightly labored as the exhaustion from the last round seems to be catching up to him, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling deter him as Beomgyu attempts to deliver another kick; Taehyun counters it with one of his own. 
Nothing seems to land properly; it’s beginning to frustrate Taehyun, but he knows not to let the feeling linger too long— he’s found himself cornered, and it isn’t long before he’s wrapped up in a clinch; The Bear’s limbs constrict his, tightening around him as he attempts to wrestle him to the ground, his punches directing jabs to his ribs and face— one connects roughly against his nose, and he can already feel the familiar liquid dripping out. It’s painful, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling overwhelm him as he tries to break the other’s hold on him.
Though he finds himself on the floor, he’s able to break away from The Bear’s grapple, shaking himself off as he backs away, attempting to reassess the situation before him. 
Something shifts in his opponent. 
Time is running out in the round, and they both seem to realize this as punches are delivered in a more rapid fire. Taehyun hates to think it, but The Bear’s technique is good as his hits begin to fly before him, struggling to keep up as he delivers a few of his own.
One lands against the side of Beomgyu’s head; it manages to break his concentration, the hook breaking through him as it connects harshly to the man’s jaw. Taehyun can already feel his body moving before he realizes, his body seemingly moving on its own like instinct. Beomgyu manages to get a jab of his own, but it does nothing against the next punch that has him stumbling back, his vision spinning as Taehyun continues to go after him, preparing for one final move.
A roundhouse kick— straight to his liver, stunning the man as he feels his body begin to scream at him from the impact, leaving Taehyun stumbling from his horrible footing. He’s only able to get a few more punches out before Beomgyu’s falling, the referee screaming at Taehyun to back away from him the moment he falls back.
Adrenaline fills Taehyun’s body the moment he processes everything.
The crowd roars at the spectacle; Taehyun doesn’t realize what he’s doing as he roams before Beomgyu— his wounds sting and his skin is red and bruised as he grins, teeth gritting against his mouthpiece as he smiles, not bothering to wipe away the blood that drips down from his wounds— the cage is stained with it, a mark of his territory as adrenaline courses through his veins; his eyes scan over the crowd, filled with people who were set on him losing— he can only laugh at the sight.  
“Get up,” Jin yells at Beomgyu, attempting to break through the noise as he pats his cheek, “can you get up?”
Beomgyu’s nod is slow and defeated. He’s sitting up and leaning against the cage as the bell tolls like a deadly gong around him. Peering through his heavy lids, he sees Taehyun’s celebration, in a condition no better than his as he’s stumbling to the center to meet Jin.
“Impressive,” Jin admits quietly, and just like he’s seen before, his hand is thrust up as the audience cheers wildly, the proud grin taking energy from Taehyun as his posture slouches slightly.
Despite looking down at him, Jin looks surprised— impressed, even. The thought makes Taehyun smile as he tilts his head back, squinting at the bright lights that are hot on his skin, a long exhale leaving him as he laughs once more; he was just getting started.
⊹⊹⊹
Taehyun’s head feels as though it’s been split open; he doesn’t really remember what happened after his win. 
He can’t bring himself to move, a deep sigh escaping him as he winces at the bright lights above him; the cot he lays on is stiff, the uncomfortable paper beneath him crinkling as he attempts to get slightly comfortable— his face is stiff with bandages.
Another fight seems to be going on outside; the annoying ramblings of the commentators seem to seep into where he is. Taehyun is too tired to linger around, so he attempts to put the last of his energy into sitting up properly— his thoughts are interrupted by the loud footsteps that approach the room. 
“Beomgyu!” The voice is angry, growling with frustration as the door swings open. Taehyun attempts to look up at the sound, but it’s futile as the curtain around his cot obscures his view. 
“Beomgyu, you fucker!” Taehyun winces— his head is throbbing at the intrusion, and his eyes shut tightly in hopes that the newcomer will shut up soon. “You little snake, you’re dead meat!”
“Can you please quiet down?” The voice that was once taunting and dripping with confidence is now gruff and tired— Taehyun can recognize that voice anywhere, and suddenly, his urge to leave is only amplified. 
“Jesus, I don’t get why you always come here screaming like that,” Beomgyu says, exhaustion sowed in his voice, “It’s not like it’ll change anything.” 
“Fuck! Look at you!” The woman pushes past all his irritated comments, and Taehyun hears both protests from Beomgyu and the crinkling of paper, “I can’t believe you, how the hell am I gonna explain this to your mother? You know she hates it when you sneak over here!” 
“Chill with that, I can handle myself just fine,” Beomgyu scoffs, “You should be more worried about the other guy, anyway— gave him a good beating.” 
Taehyun scoffs at that. 
“The other guy?” The woman says, and before Taehyun can prepare himself, he hears footsteps approaching where he lays— the curtain is ripped away without warning, and Taehyun hisses at the lights that shine in his eyes. 
“Holy shit!”
He’s not sure if he should be offended by that, but Taehyun keeps his eyes shut in hopes that the woman will simply turn her attention back to Beomgyu; he’s surprised to feel her approaching him more. 
“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, observing Taehyun as though he were a spectacle; Taehyun takes a deep breath, hoping that his patience doesn’t run out soon, “Beomgyu, you prick!”
“Hey,” Taehyun grumbles, brows twitching in frustration as he screws his eyes shut, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream in my ear.” 
“Oh shit,” The woman jumps back at his words— almost as though she hadn’t expected him to be awake. One look at his angry expression has her quieting down, whispering a soft apology before she’s turning back to Beomgyu. 
“You little snake,” she hisses, whispering angrily as she crosses her arms on her chest angrily, “you were supposed to come help unload the delivery today! You were the only strong one available that day, so imagine your mother’s surprise when you’re nowhere in sight!” 
Peeking through his lids, Taehyun is able to catch a glimpse of the woman stomping over to Beomgyu, slapping his arm roughly as he yelps in response; the sight is almost amusing. 
“I had to lie my ass off and say you were fucking studying!” Another rough smack is delivered to his arm, as though her mentioning the incident brings back pure rage, “Of course she didn’t believe me at first! So I volunteered to do it myself! My arms are so sore, you fucker!” 
“Don’t seem sore to me,” Beomgyu grumbles, rubbing his bicep as he scoots away from the violent woman. “I’ll make it up to you, ___. I promise.”
The woman, ___, only shakes her head in disappointment. Turning back around, she stalks her way back to Taehyun. 
“Sorry about his recklessness,” she says, and Taehyun’s eyes only widen as she bows in apology— he sits up, wincing as he awkwardly attempts to shake her off. Standing straight, she huffs, hands folded neatly in front of her as she sends him a polite smile.
“___,” she introduces, fishing in her pocket for something; a business card, he realizes. “Feel free to stop by for a meal— on the house. I promise we don’t condone that one’s behavior,” Beomgyu quietly dismisses her, saying that he’s not that different from me; his words don’t seem to reach her. 
The card is cool and smooth in his fingers, and Taehyun nods softly as he watches her bow again; then she’s walking back to Beomgyu, sending him a sickly sweet smile as she leans in.
“Two hours. You better be back for the dinner rush. Or else,” wordlessly, she brings up a fist, slamming it into her open palm in a clear threat. Beomgyu gulps, the action not as subtle as he wished as he nods nervously. Straightening up, she smiles, ruffling Beomgyu’s hair before she leaves— it isn’t until then that Beomgyu clears his throat, calling after her hurriedly. 
“Hey,” He yells, pointing at her accusingly— yet she doesn’t turn back around once, his words falling on deaf ears as they watch her retreat, “Stop giving out free meals like that, you’ll go broke doing this shit!” 
Swiftly, she flicks him off. 
Then, she’s gone. 
Taehyun has to stifle a laugh as Beomgyu huffs in bewilderment, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide it the moment Beomgyu sends him a killer glare. From the corner of his eye, Beomgyu runs his hand through his hair desperately, cursing quietly to himself as he stares at the doorway, then glances back up at the clock— it’s silent save for the quiet mutterings of the man next to him. 
The door opens again, and Jin walks inside.
“___ just left?” He asks, leaning against the doorway as he looks expectantly at Beomgyu; he nods, a frustrated look on his face at the very mention of the woman. Jin groans, shaking his head as he lets out a deep sigh. 
“Damn. I promised Jungkook I’d try to make her stay a while.” Beomgyu sneers at that, throwing his pillow at the referee as Jin dodges it with ease, a squeaky laugh escaping him before he throws it back at the younger man. 
“Tell him to go find her at that damn restaurant if he’s so interested,” Beomgyu snarls, rolling his eyes at Jin’s amused reaction. Laying back down, he pulls the curtains back around his cot, his voice muffled as he calls out, “And you better not be thinking about going for that free meal, newbie.”
It becomes Taehyun’s turn to sneer. 
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu is dead meat.
It’s the only thought that runs through your mind, glaring at the cutting board beneath you as vegetables fly through your hands. All the background noise dies as you allow yourself to think, glancing back at the clock in hopes that the next hour will pass by quickly. 
You’re not sure what led him to involve himself so deeply in that strange underground MMA club. It was dangerous and untrustworthy— you and his mother made sure to drill that into his head the first time you caught him messing around. 
Even so, it seems as though your efforts only fall short in the end. No matter how much you team up with his mother, telling him that he should consider taking up the business in the future, or god forbid, actually focus on college, it always ends up in him shrugging you off dumbly, or waving you off as he tells you not to worry—  he knows what he’s doing. 
You’re on autopilot as you sift through the countless orders, the small open layout of the kitchen allowing you to peek at the entrance from time to time—all in false hopes of seeing the young boy you always pestered.
Two years isn’t much of a difference, but god, Beomgyu made it feel like it was sometimes. Most of the time you felt more like an older sister than an employee at his mother’s restaurant— it wasn’t your fault the man was quite the nuisance, your schedule becoming much more consistent and forcing you to see him practically all the time, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself wrapped up in the Choi family's personal lives. 
Five minutes. You think to yourself, gritting your teeth as the next hour passes, you’ll give him five more minutes.
The next five minutes pass seamlessly. 
Honestly, was two hours not enough? You get that Beomgyu was very particular about his appearance despite his interest, but two hours was more than enough for a person to patch themselves up and come back home. You attempted to not let your frustration show, averting your eyes the moment Ms. Choi appears in your peripheral vision, mumbling in curiosity about where her son might be. 
Another five minutes pass— then, thirty. The restaurant is beginning to fill up as it always does, and you’re trying to hone your concentration in hopes that your undying rage won’t seep through your face. The sound of the bell ringing breaks through your thoughts, and you look up automatically to greet the new customer. 
Your grip on your knife tightens. 
“He—“ Ms. Choi gulps, her jaw dropping at the sight as she turns frantically to you. Taking in your expression she sighs, exasperated as she rubs at her face in frustration. “He wasn’t studying, was he?”  
Making eye contact with Beomgyu, you allow your muscle memory to take over, cutting through the vegetables effortlessly as you grit your teeth, not looking away from him for a second. 
“No ma’am.”
His mother is speechless as she scoffs in frustration, cursing at her son under her breath before she’s taking off her apron— you don’t bother glancing back at the younger boy as you turn back to your cooking, the sounds of the Choi’s hushed bickering reaching your ears as they go to the back. 
It takes a while before Beomgyu emerges, patched up and pouting as walks up behind you. 
“Where do you want me,” he says, petulant with his tone as he glances at the workers around him; they barely spare him a glance, all too used to his behaviors as they focus on their orders instead. You hum in thought, looking up from your stove as you survey the area— like always, Beomgyu has managed to sneak in toward the end of the rush hour; it’s not like you’re short-staffed in the kitchen, either. 
“Go bus tables,” you say, rolling your eyes at the way Beomgyu whines at your words. He’s as annoying as ever, pulling at your sleeves in an attempt to get your attention as you refuse to look at him; shrugging him off, you hear him groan behind you. 
“You never let me help in the kitchen,” he protests, and it takes all the strength within you to not turn around and smack him. 
“If you arrived an hour earlier, you would’ve,” you hiss, waving him off, you walk past him as he opens his mouth to protest more, “get to work.” 
His mumbles and whines still reach your ears as he exits the kitchen— and it only takes one sharp glare from you to shut him up. For the rest of your shift, all you can think is how spoiled this boy remains— he doesn’t know how lucky he is, watching as his mother finally grows soft on him, shooing him back to their home to rest as he meekly nods at her words, putting an act of weakness as he immediately leaves his position— but the smug smile he adorns as he hangs up his apron doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 
Sighing, you glance back at the clock— two more hours, then you close. 
⊹⊹⊹
“You’re still here?” 
You refuse to respond to that— instead, you grit your teeth, scrubbing at a stain on the bar as you continue to pre-close. Beomgyu sighs, sitting at the bar as he leans on the counter, seemingly paying no mind to the damp wood that comes in contact with his sleeves. He’s desperate to get your attention, calling your name out softly as you continue to ignore him. 
“Are you closing today? Why is it just you?”
“Sent everyone home. They helped enough.”
If the place remained as empty as it is now, the only thing you would need to do is clean the floors and machines— which takes little to no effort for you. Beomgyu shakes his head at your words, sitting up straight as he folds his hands in his lap. 
“I’ll help,” his words are immediately met with a scoff from you, his brows furrowing as he watches you shake your head in amusement— you only laugh more as he softly questions why you’re laughing. 
“Help?” You say, tilting your head as you finally look at him. Throwing the wet towel on the counter, you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back. 
“I asked for your help— three hours ago. Yet you still chose to be a brat and go back upstairs the moment your mother pitied you. You—“ cutting yourself off, you sigh, shaking your head before you’re picking the wet towel back off, turning your back to him, “I hope you realize how much she spoils you.” 
A twinge of embarrassment threatens to consume you due to your outburst, for the silence that follows after is entirely unexpected— usually, Beomgyu never knows when to shut his mouth. Then again, he never really knew what to say when the topic of his parent arose; he was afraid of saying something insensitive to you, you suppose. 
Yet you refuse to be the one to cave in— you refuse to even make eye contact with him, walking out of the kitchen area as you go to wipe down tables; it’s then that the small bell above the restaurant door rings. 
Mentally, you sigh— there was less than an hour left; nevertheless, you plaster on a cheery smile, straightening as you glance behind you and to the new customer; stiffening, you wince as you try to not let your surprise show through.
“Welcome,” you grit out, meeting eyes with the same man Beomgyu had beaten to a pulp a couple of hours ago— yet he seems perfectly fine, patched up and unphased as he sends you a somber nod, your worries that he’d be another bitter fighter that tracked Beomgyu down dispelled.
“You—!” Beomgyu is back to his awfully rambunctious self in a split second, twisted around in his seat as he sends the man by the entrance a sour look. “I told you not to come here!” 
Taehyun pays no mind to the dirty looks Beomgyu sends him— if anything, he smiles, ever so casual in his demeanor as he goes to sit down; next to Beomgyu, of course. 
“This place any good?” He asks, his voice gruff as he leans into Beomgyu cheekily, “you seem really eager to keep it hidden.” 
“You kidding? You’re at the hottest spot in town,” Beomgyu scoffs, puffing his chest out as he leers at Taehyun “I doubt you’ve never heard of this place.”
Their conversation becomes nothing but a muffled mess to you. Their tension is unending as they converse, their eyes filled with a fire that suggests that they might just forget about the food and fight here and now— which is why you step in, not wanting to clean up after any more messes as you take Taehyun’s order. 
At some point, you find yourself tuning back into their conversation— their rivalry is ridiculous, the tension rolling off in waves as you take a breath; Turning around, you go to place Taehyun’s order in front of him, reluctant to meet his eyes as you go to leave. 
“Hope I didn’t scare you off today,” Beomgyu goads, ever the instigator as he rests his chin in his hand cheekily, “but then again, you did ask for it.” 
Taehyun scoffs— it’s enough for you to turn back around, watching from afar in fear that Beomgyu will try to take things too far. 
“Don’t act like you left the ring all perfect,” Taehyun tilts his head, brows furrowing as he inspects Beomgyu, “Remind me, who was it that won?” 
You bite back a laugh at that, surprised to hear the results of the fight— it’s easy to do when Beomgyu is sitting up, a clear fire lighting in his eyes as he leans closer to Taehyun; his food remains untouched. You’re tense, watching carefully and waiting for a switch to flip inside Beomgyu; the last thing you want is for his mother to come down and find him in the middle of another fight. 
Instead, Beomgyu smiles; it’s a small twitch of his lips at first, his mind clearly telling him to fight it off before it overtakes him, a bewildered laugh escaping him before he’s clapping Taehyun on the shoulder, the action so rough and sudden that Taehyun is flinching from his touch. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts as he continues to laugh— you’re unsure if he’s getting ready to throw a punch or not. 
“You…” Beomgyu grins, letting go of Taehyun with a sigh. He shakes his head, huffing in amusement before he continues, “I like you, you’ve got ambition.”
“The ring’s closed tomorrow, but it’s available for training. I’ve been needing a new sparring partner,” Beomgyu trails off, and Taehyun is quick to catch on as he frowns.
“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu nods in confirmation. It’s silent, and you’re making your way back to them as Taehyun seems to ponder it. 
“You won’t be free tomorrow Beomgyu,” you say, grabbing his attention as you send him a warning smile, “You’re helping with a catering order, remember?”
Beomgyu, shameless like always, only tilts his head in innocence. 
“Really? I don’t recall you telling me about it,” Beomgyu ponders, pouting slightly as you glare at him, “plus, I was told you would be fully staffed tomorrow— if anything, I remember my mother suggesting you give some people a day off.”
You have no patience to deal with his sly ways— your jaw clenches as you suppress the urge to jump at him from across the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow in disbelief. 
“If you need help, you could always keep those people on standby,” you’re unsure of what annoys you more— Beomgyu’s smug look, or Taehyun, who has finally decided to eat his food as he watches the two of you, clearly amused by what’s happening before him as he doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile.
“Good idea,” you grit out, leaning toward the younger man as you smile, “I should let your mother know you’ll be out tomorrow then; I’m sure she’ll be wondering where you went off to.”
“You know, for a mere worker, you sure are involved in our personal lives.” Beomgyu’s words are hissed out and sting like acid as your eyes widen, gritting your teeth together as you watch Beomgyu sit back in realization— as though he didn’t know what he said until now. 
“You’re right. Sorry,” you say, a gritted smile on your face as you go to fetch a takeout container; returning, you place it in front of Taehyun, ignoring his curious gaze as you send him a patient smile. 
“We closed fifteen minutes ago; sorry, but you can take the food with you if you’d like— on me. I’ll be back, if you need anything let him know,” jerking your head to Beomgyu, you ignore his attempts to call your attention back to him as you bow politely, quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom in a weak attempt to soothe your hurt and anger. 
The restaurant is quiet save for the soft ticking of a clock that hangs above them; a sound of warning as Taehyun glances subtly at the man next to him— whether Beomgyu picks up on it or not is beyond him. He’s frowning, bottom lip chewed and tugged at as he stares at the doorway which you disappeared through, a hand running repeatedly through his hair as he lets out a soft curse. 
“What was that about?” Taehyun asks— whether or not he’s crossing a boundary, he’s unsure— but he does know that he truly doesn’t care enough to gauge the older man’s reaction. He’s quick to finish his food, surprised by the quality of it as he peeks at Beomgyu from the corner of his eye; watching the way Beomgyu seems to ponder whether or not to talk, inevitably giving in as he lets out a heavy sigh. 
“I fucked up. Said something I shouldn’t have,” standing up, Beomgyu slides the stool he sat on back in, shaking his head as he goes to turn off the blaring open sign— he’s quiet, lost in thought as he carries out the usual closing duties. 
“My offer is still open, by the way,” Beomgyu calls out, and before Taehyun can say anything, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I doubt she’ll wanna see me tomorrow.” 
Taehyun says nothing. Beomgyu doesn’t bother trying to convince him, muttering out a tired one p.m under his breath, unable to help the way his eyes travel back to the hallway you disappeared to now and then— it isn’t long before Taehyun is bidding goodbye, the offer left out in the open as Beomgyu is forced to sit with his own thoughts, ignoring the way his muscles ache or his wounds throb whenever he performs a certain task. 
It takes a while before you come back out— you refuse to look at Beomgyu as the two of you clean in silence, your face left blank and cold as Beomgyu fails to decipher what you might be thinking; even though he wishes nothing more than to take back what he said, he finds his words stuck in his throat every time he looks at you. 
You don’t bother saying goodbye when you leave.
⊹⊹⊹
“Were you lying when you said you’ve been in the cage before?” 
Taehyun rolls his eyes at the older man's words, a scoff escaping him as he chooses not to answer. Beomgyu watches with amusement as the man before him looks away, neck tilting side to side as he feels it crack with ease. The air is hot and there isn’t much light coming in from the small windows atop the room, cracked open to let the cool wintry air inside. Yet it doesn’t seem to help a lot, the two men in the cage weathered down and sweaty from hours of sparring. 
“You’re quite annoying, you know,” Taehyun grumbles, wiping away his sweat before he begins to stretch, preparing for another round as he looks back to Beomgyu— he seems unfazed by his comment, a smug grin overtaking him as he mimics his stretching.
“So I’ve been told,” Beomgyu pouts, straightening up as he waits for Taehyun to approach, “how long have you been doing this?” 
Beomgyu has his own guesses as Taehyun throws a careless jab— he’s tired, not putting any effort into his movements as he dodges Beomgyu’s own hits with ease. 
“Little over two years. It’s been nothing but a hobby until recently though,” Taehyun admits, stepping back as he puts his arms down, “didn’t know this place was a thing.” 
“It’s been running for four years, actually,” Beomgyu says, sighing as he lowers his guard as well; he takes this time to rest, feeling the way his body is beginning to ache from the activity, “Jin and a couple others started it for fun. It’s only recently that things turned serious.”
Taehyun thinks of the referee— and his clear bias with Beomgyu— and frowns, realizing that the very same man he met yesterday was the owner of the building. Shaking his head, he sighs— then jumps back at the unexpected jab Beomgyu sends to him in warning. 
He has no time to complain; his arms immediately come up for defense as Beomgyu seems to have regained his energy, a mischievous smile plastered on his face as he lands a hook on Taehyun— he groans at the feeling, stumbling back as he attempts to regain his composure. 
Before he can regain stability, he’s pulled into another clinch— Beomgyu’s got him good, unable to keep his balance as Beomgyu pulls him into a tight chokehold; He’s trapped, unable to get away as he’s forced to tap out. 
“You know, I’ve noticed quite a few things about the way you fight,” Beomgyu says, ignoring the way Taehyun gives him a pointed glare, “you give all your energy in the first round— you need to be able to conserve your energy, you know.”
Though all Taehyun does is roll his eyes, he secretly takes note of the older man’s comment; he noticed Beomgyu had been giving him pointers the entire time, and he would be a fool to not take advice from the club’s toughest fighter— Taehyun’s pride could only stretch so far. 
Silently, they decide to take a break; there was no use in practicing if neither of them had the energy to throw a proper punch. Exiting the cage, Taehyun lets out a groan as he immediately takes a seat at one of the benches before him— annoyingly, his water bottle is empty again, and he’s forced to trudge to the only water fountain in the building that’s been placed all the way by the entrance; he grimaces at the thought of having to drink water from such a rusty old thing, but the dehydrated scratch of his throat isn’t giving him much of an option. 
Taehyun isn’t too phased when the doors slam open; there have been a few other fighters that have come in while they were sparring, so he figures this must be another regular as he keeps his eyes on the water fountain— it isn’t until he hears haste footsteps and lows cursing that he looks up in curiosity. 
“Of course he would be here,” you’re as irritated as always as you push past Taehyun without much more of a glance, your brows knitted together in annoyance as you make a beeline to the cage— Taehyun gets the privilege of getting front seats to the scene as he leans back in amusement, taking a sip of his cool water before grimacing at the taste. 
“Hey!” You yell, jumping up on the outskirts of the cage and glaring at Beomgyu, who has the audacity to look up at you with puppy eyes as he lays spread out in the center of the ring, “do you always have to be here? Why don’t you go do normal things for once?” 
Taehyun can hear you grumbling something about the long drive and shady district, but it’s left an unintelligible mess as he watches Beomgyu sit up, wincing slightly in the process. 
“You knew I was gonna be here,” is all he says, ticking his head side to side as loud cracks ring throughout the empty building, “plus you’re acting like you couldn’t have called.”
You can’t seem to control the bewildered laugh that escapes you at his words, eyes widening as you jump back down from your place; crossing your arms, you sit down at a bench, jaw clenched as you shoot Beomgyu a lethal glare. 
“You think I didn’t try?” You ask, crossing your legs as you tap at your bicep in annoyance, “your phone is always in the damn locker room!”
“Alright, whatever!” Beomgyu says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “what do you need now.”
“Two of our workers called off. Your mother wants you to come back and help with the catering order,” you say, your gaze cold as you watch Beomgyu begin to whine at you, giving you excuses that you don’t bother to listen to as you shake your head. 
“Listen to your mother and go. Quick,” you say, not wanting to linger any longer as you stand up, leaving without so much as a goodbye as you’re rushing back out again. 
“Yeah, listen to your mother,” Taehyun teases, raising a brow as you snap your head towards him, delivering a cold glare that only makes Taehyun grin, much to your annoyance; he can hear you muttering curses under your breath as you slam the doors open, the sound of your rambling only amusing Taehyun further as he makes his way back to Beomgyu. 
“Crazy how you let yourself get pushed around like that,” Taehyun knows he’s only instigating, but it’s amusing to watch the older man get worked up as he simply huffs in annoyance, cursing under his breath in the same manner you did— he can see where Beomgyu gets his short temper from. 
“I don’t.” he snaps, but the way he’s already beginning to pack up says otherwise; there’s defeat in all his actions as he becomes sluggish, trudging to the locker room where he reluctantly begins to change, “come back here tomorrow, same time— I need to show you something.” 
Beomgyu leaves shortly afterward— the annoyance in his mood has yet to go away as he glances back at the ring one last time, watching solemnly as Taehyun continues to shadow box without him. For a second, he almost considers dropping his responsibilities and going for another round, but your fiery and threatening voice echoes in his head, allowing him to finally leave as a shiver goes through his body. 
⊹⊹⊹
“Stupid workers… making me clean up after their mess…” Beomgyu thinks he might go insane if he has to pack another to-go tray filled with the same order, his mind fried and his hands on auto-pilot as he watches you busily cook out of the corner of his eye. You’re as stone-cold and intimidating as always, sending Beomgyu a sharp glare every time you catch him slacking off— it’s eerie, the way you can almost sense it, never giving Beomgyu a break as you stress the fact that you need to have the order done by the next thirty minutes. 
He’s almost done, so he doesn’t feel as rushed as you do— then again, you may just be on edge due to the fact that you’ve been pulling the weight of the two workers that called off as well as your regular tasks; the sight is enough to have Beomgyu irritated once more. 
You work way too hard for your own good; it’s a fact that Beomgyu always calls you out on, but you’re always just as quick to dismiss it as you shake your head in denial, telling him that he’s overreacting. Yet, as he watches you now, stressed and irritated, he can practically feel himself biting his tongue to prevent calling you out on it. 
The catering order is finished with ease; Beomgyu can feel a weight lift off him the moment a delivery person takes the order from him— the same can be said for you— and he’s almost ready to leave when his eyes catch sight of a new patron that walks in. 
The place has calmed down a bit, so it’s relatively empty— meaning, there should be no reason for Beomgyu to linger around anymore. Yet, he can’t help but be nosy and stay as he watches Jungkook beeline towards you, confident and handsome as always as he sends you a beaming smile.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you remark sarcastically, leaning against the bar counter as you match Jungkook’s mischievous grin, “the usual?” 
“You know me so well,” Jungkook coos, and the exchange is enough to have Beomgyu straightening up— he’s never seen Jungkook at the restaurant before, let alone the two of you talking so casually to each other. 
Neither of you seem to catch Beomgyu’s analytic stare, much too caught up in your own world to notice anything around you; even the new customer that comes in through the door, trudging over to the bar as he sits a few seats away from Jungkook— Beomgyu is the first to notice as he quickly makes his way over.
“The hell are you doing here?” 
The smile Taehyun sends is pure evil as he leans on the bar, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he raises a brow at Beomgyu’s pointed question. 
“Here to eat, what else?” Beomgyu says nothing in response, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he takes Taehyun’s order, “and if you’re done eavesdropping on their conversations over there, I’d like to know what you were talking about earlier— I’m not exactly free tomorrow.”
The man’s words are enough to have Beomgyu standing straight, sending Taehyun a glare as he grits his teeth at the comment. “Am not.” 
“Come on, be slick about it at least,” Taehyun sighs, eyeing the two of you from the corner of his eye, watching as you continue to converse with the customer— it takes a moment, but Taehyun is able to recognize the patron as he looks back at Beomgyu, pointing their way as he asks, “the hell is the bartender from the club doing here?” 
“That’s Jungkook,” Beomgyu mutters, putting his notepad away as stops to watch the two of you carefully for a second, “and that’s what I’m wondering myself. It’s clearly not to eat.” 
“Yeah, who gives a fuck,” Taehyun grumbles, watching as Beomgyu reaches in his pocket for a piece of paper— pausing, he takes a second to examine Beomgyu, biting his lip as he fights back a smile, “hey, you jealous?” 
“Shut up,” Beomgyu groans, rolling his eyes as he turns his back to you, jaw clenched as he narrows his eyes at Taehyun, who’s only left smiling in return, “she’s basically family, don’t even assume shit.” 
“Not what you said last time I was here,” Taehyun’s words have Beomgyu pausing entirely, forced to take a second to breathe as he takes in the younger man before him. 
“You’re an instigating little bitch, huh?” Is all Beomgyu can utter, watching as Taehyun simply laughs at his words, clearly unaffected by Beomgyu’s anger, “you better keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay in here.” 
“Alright, do your thing,” Taehyun sighs, putting his hands up in defeat. A moment passes, and Taehyun huffs out a laugh, his eyes falling to the piece of paper Beomgyu pushes forward before he continues, “This better be good.” 
Beomgyu watches as Taehyun begins to scan the paper, turning away so he can put the younger’s order in as he does. Once finished, he pauses, leaning against the wall as he waits for Taehyun to finish—Taehyun can practically feel the said man’s stare burn into his skin as he reads the information carefully, eyes widening as takes it all in; looking up, he finds Beomgyu’s eyes effortlessly.
Folding the paper back up carefully, Beomgyu makes his way back over, surprised you haven’t swooped in and asked what’s going on yet; hurriedly, he gets tries to get his point across, leaning in close to Taehyun and sending him an excited smile as he watches Taehyun open his mouth to ask questions immediately.
“How did you find this?” He asks, searching Beomgyu’s eyes as he watches the older man take the flier back, running his fingers over the creases in an absentminded attempt to smooth them out, “who gave you this?” 
“Old friend of mine.” Beomgyu says, leaning back as he watches Taehyun do the same, crossing his arms as he watches Beomgyu with scrutinized eyes, “thought you’d be interested in this.” 
“You’re inviting me? Letting me in on this?” Taehyun asks, frown only deepening as Beomgyu nods innocently, “what makes you think I won’t just win the tournament and take the prize money for myself?” 
“That is a possibility,” Beomgyu hums, “but that’s also what makes it fun.” 
“The hell is this? FightX?” Beomgyu can’t help the way he jumps as you appear behind him, looking over him as you reach to grab the flier from his hands. Beomgyu, in a weak attempt to distract you, attempts to call Jungkook over, trying to snatch the flier back while doing so; his attempts fail miserably as he watches the way your eyes grow wide.
“Are you kidding me?” You say, taking the flier and tucking it away in your own pocket smoothly. Beomgyu only sighs, used to your antics as Taehyun can only watch with an amused look in his eyes, ever as eager to poke the bear as he finds your anger intriguing. 
“Beomgyu, I swear to god that if I see or hear anything about you in that FightX club, I’ll kill you myself.” Your hands are tense as you cross them over your chest, giving Beomgyu a pointed glare as you continue, “I don’t care about you going to Seokjin’s little place— but if you even try to go to that tournament—” 
“Hey, relax, won’t you? You wouldn’t even know what goes on in a place like that,” Taehyun’s words are enough to have your eyes widening, mouth parting in surprise as you slowly turn to the man; beside you, Beomgyu shakes his head in warning, sending Taehyun a warning glare as he mouths the words shut the fuck up. 
“What did you just say to me?” You ask incredually, leaning forward and against the counter as you examine Taehyun carefully; the man is nothing more than amused as he smiles innocently at you, standing his ground as he tilts his head like a puppy, “who are you, anyway?” 
“Someone who knows way more about what goes on in that club than you,” he says softly, a tired tsk leaving him as he takes in the twitch of your brows, watching the way you try to keep your expression neutral, “you don’t need to worry about what Beomgyu does in his personal time.”
You’re left speechless as you press your tongue against your cheek, huffing out a bewildered laugh as you take a step back; glancing at Beomgyu, you narrow your eyes at him, watching as he simply attempts to diffuse the situation with stuttered excuses and a nervous laugh, his behavior changing drastically under your heated gaze.
“I warned you.” is all you say, not bothering to regard Taehyun at all as glare at Beomgyu, turning on your heel as you hear a coworker call your name for your help. 
“What the hell man?” Beomgyu whispers, turning to Taehyun with wide eyes; the man simply shrugs, unphased by the tension as he sighs tiredly. Mind muddled with everything that just happened, he’s quick to find himself untying his apron; he’s done what you’ve asked, and he doubts that you’ll be able to force him to stick around now— especially after the confrontation you just had. 
“FightX? Yo, you’re not planning on going, are you?” Jungkook is slow to the scene as he takes a seat next to Taehyun, recognizing him as the new fighter from a while ago as he nods to him in greeting; turning to Beomgyu, he raises a brow as he waits for him to respond. 
“I don’t know. The prize money’s no joke,” Beomgyu admits, holding onto his apron as he narrows his eyes at Jungkook, who’s only shaking his head in dismay. 
“The prize money is like that for a good reason,” Jungkook warns, nudging Taehyun as he tells him to listen as well, “that place is dangerous. Both the fighters and the patrons are something else, and if you don’t have connections to the right people…” 
The way Jungkook trails off is enough to give the two younger men a gist of what he means, the troubled look in his eyes disappearing as he watches you pass by— his signature smile is back as he pats Taehyun on the back, sending Beomgyu a look before he’s standing up, ready to go to where you’re at now.
“Use your brain for once and think this one through, yeah? And you,” Jungkook says, nudging Taehyun before he leaves, “stop putting our most valuable asset in danger.”
The way Jungkook goes to you is reminiscent of a puppy, the two men watching as he goes back to shamelessly flirt with you— you seem unphased, rolling your eyes as you try to hide your smile of amusement all the while.
“Think this through,” Taehyun chimes in, bringing Beomgyu’s attention back to him, “you seem to have connections— plus, I think it’d be fun.”
The offer becomes more tempting as Beomgyu recalls the prize money that comes along with the win, and Beomgyu is left with more uncertainty than expected as he thinks back to the warnings that came along with it. 
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu hasn’t been home today.
He’s never home, really, so the fact should be no surprise to you. But there’s something about today that leaves you on edge, your leg bouncing under the table as you hide your unease with a shaky smile. 
“You’re such a hard worker,” Beomgyu’s mother sighs, pouring you a cup of coffee as she makes her way back to where you sit at the dinner table, “I can’t thank you enough for what you do.” 
“I should be the one thanking you,” you say, taking the warm mug from her, trying to hide your shaking hands as you cup the dish tightly, “For giving me this opportunity. For giving me a home.” 
The Choi family was the only reason you were still alive and healthy; if it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be on the streets, dependent on the money that came from shady clubs filled with dangerous people.
That was the only reason you met Beomgyu— you had just finished a fight of your own as you stumbled out of the infirmary, barely patched up as they began the men’s lightweight division fights; you only wanted to stay and bet on the fight before you before you left with the rest of your earnings, curious as to how the match before you would end. 
To say the crowd loved it was an understatement; they were sick people, and the moment they realized that one of the most experienced lightweight fighters was currently pitted against a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy, the betting pool practically tripled within seconds. 
You‘ve never seen him before; it was clear to you that he was new within seconds of watching him in the cage, from his unsure missteps, to the way his arms didn’t come down from his head for a second, wide eyes watching carefully for any opening available. 
He got beat and knocked out within minutes; the match had been more of a joke to those watching than an actual fight. His injuries were nothing to laugh at however, the cage floor littered with his blood as nurses rushed out of the infirmary for him, picking him up and carrying him away as the patrons around you remained unphased at the sight— you still remember wincing as you took in the state his opponent left him in. 
It was a general consensus within the ring that those more experienced shouldn’t be too harsh on newbies— simply out of respect for one’s opponent. But respect didn’t exist in such a place— if anything, respect wasn’t even earned after countless grueling matches in a place like FightX; it didn’t matter if you were good, the only thing that mattered was the number of wins under your belt and how much cash you walked out of the place with— which is why the patrons of such a club knew better than to mess with you. 
This was no place for a child, you remembered thinking to yourself, scoffing at the way people continued to berate and talk about the loser of the previous match. Rolling your eyes, you figured it was better to leave now than to stick around and have shady people try to strike up deals with you— wanting to become your manager, to move you further up the ladder, to share profits with you. 
It usually wasn’t a problem for you to leave; if anything, regulars knew better than to get in your way after you’ve had your fill of fights— but it had been different that day, left to push your way through as a commotion began to form at the entrance. 
“Woah, who the hell is this?” The speakers above you were booming with the commentator’s sneering remarks, the current fight before them no longer a priority as the screams of a woman tore through the crowd. 
“Please, please tell me he’s here,” the ruckus was beginning to become more of a headache to you than anything, pushing through the heaps of people in an attempt to get past the dramatic scene and back home— “home” consisting of a random motel that was cheap enough for this week’s earnings— only to pause once you were able to take in the woman’s helpless state. 
This was someone’s mother, you realize, raising a brow as you take in the way her eyes are wide with fear and worry, brimming with tears as she attempts to put on a brave front. The mocking commentary of the men continue to boom over the speakers as those around the older woman ignore her or tell her to get lost, not bothering to listen to her words as they immediately turned their backs to her. 
The boy’s mother. You realize, taking a deep breath before you walk toward the woman, grabbing onto her bicep tightly in order to gain her attention. She seemed more than ready to brush off your grip and fight to stay, but upon taking in your solemn appearance, she paused, her mouth parting as she no-doubt became ready to ask the same question she had been asking everyone else.
“Your son is over here,” you sigh out, tugging her along wordlessly— at your claim, she quickly follows, asking endless questions that you can’t even seem to keep up with. 
“Tall, scrawny, long hair?” You ask, glancing back at her to catch her nodding incredually, “around sixteen?” 
Once again, she nods, her gesture only making you sigh once more as you ignore the pressing stares of those around you. 
“Yeah, he’s this way,” you say, finally arriving at the infirmary as you’re left to scan all the cots around you; his mother seems to spot him first, exclaiming loudly before she leaves your side to run to him. 
The sight is enough to have you clenching your jaw as you lean against the doorway, arms crossed defensively over your chest as you watch the boy’s mother cry and scold the barely conscious boy. It was clear she cared for him, and the sight was foreign to you as you found yourself frozen in one place, forcing yourself to spectate a scene that you knew you’d never experience for yourself. 
You stuck around to help the woman take her son home, listening quietly as she turned to scold the boy, huffing once in a while as she observed the way you effortlessly helped him walk with an arm thrown over your shoulder— the patrons around you were wise enough to keep their comments to themselves as they flinched at the hard glares you gave them. 
“Don’t come back here kid,” you remembered telling him, dropping him in the passenger’s seat of his mothers car, rolling your eyes as he incoherently attempted to argue with you, “this place is too dangerous for someone like you.” 
“And you?” His mother’s words had been enough to snap you out of your dazed state; looking up, you had been surprised to see his mother staring at you with the same concern in her gaze, her head tilting as she scanned your bruised skin and tired face, “will you be alright here?” 
Her concern had been unexpected— so much so that you couldn’t help the way you laughed softly at her words, shaking your head as you ignored the strangely warm feeling that bloomed within you from her concern. 
“I know how to handle myself here,” you told her, jaw clenching as you watched the way she remained unconvinced. Slowly, you watched her reach in her jacket pockets, fishing around for something until she finally found it, a small ah, escaping her mouth before she finally offered you the object with polite hands; you stared at the business card she handed you, unsure of what to do until you finally accepted it after a pause. 
“Thank you so much for your help today,” she says, bowing gratefully as she looks at you with a kind smile, “if you’re ever hungry, you can always stop by. On the house.” 
The laminated card feels smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly accept her offer, unsure of how to react to her kindness as she thanks you again; you try to ignore the way her eyes are coated with concern and pity, the emotions within you nothing but bitter as you watch her drive away. 
Shoving her card into your jacket pocket, you sigh, turning on your heels and walking back to the cheap motel that you knew was too shady to stay at for too long. If you win another match tomorrow, you might be able to stay at the better motel just a few blocks over. 
The thought was promising as you made your way back, your muscles aching and your stomach growling as you inevitably thought back to the free meal that boy’s mother promised you. 
Maybe tomorrow, you thought, pulling the card back out of your pocket to examine it, you should treat yourself after tomorrow’s fight. 
⊹⊹⊹
Your life had taken a surprising turn after that day— now you found yourself here, sitting in the home of the Choi family, welcomed as always and reformed of your ways of fighting— you only wish the same could be said for Beomgyu. 
“So,” you say, clearing your throat as you try to get the nerves out of your tone, “Where’s Beomgyu at?” 
“Oh,” she sighs, slumping down in the chair across from you as she takes a sip from her cup of coffee, “God, I don’t even know— he left really early today, didn’t even bother to let me know— he hasn’t been back since.” 
The news was odd to you; it was late already, but Beomgyu wasn’t the type to be up in the mornings, much less make any plans. You took a second to process her words, nodding absentmindedly as you took another sip from your drink— the flier you took from him seems to be weighing your pocket down now more than ever. 
He wouldn’t, the more forgiving part of you thought, he knows better than to go off to a place like that. 
But the more skeptical part of you knew better; Beomgyu was always one to be swayed easily, and with that new sparring partner of his, your trust in him only seemed to dwindle more and more. 
Taehyun had only proved himself to be a danger to Beomgyu— especially if he was so eager to get himself into a place like FightX. 
Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the sound of a phone ringing echoed throughout the room; blinking wildly, you allow Ms. Choi to excuse herself as she leaves to answer the phone— you take this chance to take the flier out of your pocket, unfolding it carefully as your fingers smooth over the wrinkles. 
Reading it carefully, your eyes widen, biting at your lip as you feel your heart beginning to beat faster.
It was tonight.
And it started two hours ago. 
You don’t give much of an explanation to Ms. Choi as you’re standing abruptly, making your way to where she stands at the kitchen to say goodbye— you can see the confusion and concern swim in her eyes at your suddenness, but you hope that the bright, carefree smile you send her is enough to soothe her as you apologize for leaving early. 
It’s scary how easy it is for you to make your way to that club— despite it being years since you last stepped inside, you can still feel instinct take over as you’re speeding off to the tournament. 
If Beomgyu’s still alive by the time you get there, you’ll kill him yourself. 
Clenching your jaw, you pray that there are no cops around as you speed through the empty streets, your only priority clouding your mind as you run past a few red lights. 
And his little friend too. 
⊹⊹⊹ 
Beomgyu’s body feels like it’s been set alight with anxiety. 
He’s pacing around the locker room, attempting to control his breathing as he focuses on his next opponent; on his fighting style, on how to beat him. 
He’s been in this position many times— it’s like second nature to him, only the new setting seems to be affecting him more than he expected. It’s not like he’s never branched out to other underground fighting tournaments before; he’s been all around the city and even outside of it, trusting Seokjin’s judgment as he made a name for himself through it— in a way, Seokjin had almost been like a manager to him.  
But he hasn’t been here in years; six years, to be exact. He can still feel the danger that looms through these walls, feeling more trapped than anything as memories of his first match come to mind— a primal fear is prominent in every single one. 
Beomgyu is much more different than he was six years ago— both in muscle and mentality, he knows how to handle himself in such a shady place. Yet, he can’t help but remember your warnings, his brows furrowing as he feels his heart pound a little harder against his chest. 
“You overthinking things again?” Beomgyu’s spiraling train of thought is interrupted as he snaps his head over to the doorway, meeting eyes with Taehyun who sports a bright smile, much more relaxed and excited than he is.
“Can’t help it,” Beomgyu admits, sighing heavily as he turns to stretch instead, “new territory.”
“Thought you had connections to this place?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head as he listens to Beomgyu explain that while it is true, he still isn’t experienced with this club. 
“Don’t think about it too much,” Taehyun says, making his way over as he sits at the bench near Beomgyu, “the bracket looks easy today.” 
The plan was simple; make it to the end of the bracket, where Beomgyu and Taehyun would inevitably have to fight each other— the earnings would be split between the two after.
Just makes the odds of earning the prize money higher, Beomgyu had explained once Taehyun began questioning his motives, that way, both of us win, and get experience out of it.  
The prize money was already so grand that even half of it seemed more than enough for Beomgyu— and of course, the thought of returning to such a place and finally winning a grand tournament was thrilling to Beomgyu. 
The things he could do with the prize money were endless— he already had a few ideas in mind, thinking back to his hardworking mother and how much she struggled to raise him on her own while still managing her restaurant. Then he thought about you, of the hard times he gave you, knowing how much you feared him going through the same things you did, of turning to a life dependent on fighting and gambling. 
“Hey hey, focus,” Beomgyu is blinking rapidly as Taehyun claps in front of his face, laughing at the way the older man managed to zone out once more, “you’re up in three minutes, you should prepare yourself.” 
Beomgyu is nodding absentmindedly as he watches Taehyun exit, still feeling nerves creeping up his system as he wonders if this is all such a good idea; then his name is called, and the referee pops in to ask if he’s ready. 
“Yeah,” Beomgyu finds himself saying, feeling as though he’s lost control of his body as he’s walking out of the dimly lit locker room, “lets go.” 
⊹⊹⊹
“Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but— yeah, no need to remind me,” your voice is low and your footsteps are echoing as you walk through puddles, the smell of rain still lingering in the air as you weave your way through dark alley— the feeling is oddly reminiscent as you find yourself laughing along with your old friend on the phone.
“No, it’s serious stuff,” you sigh, turning the corner as you find the place you’ve been dreading to step inside of. A small shop meets you, the lights off and the gates closed around the windows— the unassuming shop makes your stomach churn with dread, approaching it slowly before you’re walking around its perimeter. 
“You’ll never guess where I’m back at right now— yup, the very one,” your friend’s incredulous laugh booms over the line as you let out some bitter chuckles yourself, rounding towards the back as you see a deep, ominous stairwell; faintly, you can hear the brutish screams and commentary leaking through, the sound only beginning to worsen as time passes; the sound has a deep sigh leaving you as you begin the long descend into the basement. 
“Listen, I need you and your men to be here on standby— I’m serious, you think I’d joke about this stuff?” You finally reach the bottom as you pause at the very last step, staring at the metal door that’s left at the end of the corridor. 
“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need you to come in,” you say, bidding your goodbye before you’re finally hanging up, tucking your phone in your back pocket before you’re taking a final, deep breath. 
Hopefully I won’t. You mutter, reaching forward before you’re finally opening the heavy, metal door. 
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu feels dizzy. 
The bracket looks easy today, Taehyun’s voice echoes in his head as he rests against the ring’s ropes, the layout different to what he’s used to as he takes a moment to recollect himself. 
Easy— the fuck was Taehyun talking about? Beomgyu feels left out as he watches his opponent talk with his coach, discussing strategies and glancing back at Beomgyu, who’s left on his own as he takes the opportunity to stretch. 
He just needed to beat the man across from him, then he was officially in the finals. The thought was the only thing that soothed him as he scanned the crowd for Taehyun, finally finding him right at the front; he was just as tired and beat as Beomgyu was, but the encouraging smile he sent Beomgyu managed to keep him on his feet a little longer— the prize money loomed over his head as he watched the referee call the next round, the fighter before Beomgyu gritting his teeth against his mouthpiece as his coach yelled at him to knock Beomgyu out. 
His opponent became predictable fairly quickly— Beomgyu’s arms came up to his head for defense as the man attempted to jab at him, only to slide down to his sides and squeeze as his opponent attempted to land a hook to his side; at his liver, to be exact. 
Chenle, Beomgyu remembers the commentators announce, his name was Chenle. 
He looked to be around his age, if not younger. The man before him was energetic and strong, but seemed to get too excited during the rounds; it seemed as though he only came into the ring with one tactic in mind, and remained persistent to knock his opponent out in one specific way— it seemed he targeted Beomgyu with liver shots. 
His punch was quite lethal— Beomgyu would know, because he fell victim to his attack in the first round. If anything, he still feels as though his mind is all muddled as he shifts away, avoiding the man’s attempt to get him cornered before he’s throwing a few quick punches himself. 
It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu is able to turn the match around, however. Chenle seems to be very poor in adapting to an opponent’s fighting style, and Beomgyu is quickly able to pull him into a chokehold that has him tapping out within seconds— without his hooks, Chenle was practically useless.
All this fighting had taken a toll on Beomgyu— he’s sure it showed as well, panting like a dog as the referee thrust his hand into the air, the commentators announcing him as the winner over the speakers: The Bear wins again. 
Beomgyu could see why you attempted to dissuade him from going to such a place as he takes in everyone’s reactions— the good, the bad, and the dangerous. From the corner of his eye, he can see Chenle stumbling back to his coach, the two clearly bitter and angry as they whisper plans to each other— Beomgyu shivers involuntarily as their glares land on him, his gut telling him that they’re up to no good as the referee finally lets go of his wrist, quick to exit the ring and get as far from them as possible. 
“Hey, we made it,” Taehyun grins, clapping Beomgyu on the shoulder as he laughs with joy— only to apologize as Beomgyu winces, his hand coming off in a second, “Our fight’s in thirty minutes, go rest and clean up— I don’t wanna have to go easy on you now.”
Absentmindedly, Beomgyu nods, ducking his head and making his way back to the locker room as he tries to ignore the stares of those around him— he can practically feel his body become alight with nerves by the time he’s back in the dark locker room, his heart pounding and his hands shaking as he begins to wonder if all your warnings have made him paranoid.  
It must be the adrenaline, he thinks to himself, undoing his hand wraps and wincing as he stretches his cramped muscles, yeah. adrenaline.  
He can’t help the way he groans as he makes his way to the bathroom area— all this fighting has taken a heavy toll on him, and he quickly finds that he’s already begun to sprout plenty of injuries and bruises as he finds his reflection in the mirror; his eyes remain downcast as he goes to wash his hands, sighing as the cool water splashes against his skin.
“I’m telling you, you were great!” Beomgyu can’t help but hear the conversation that begins to leak into the locker room, frowning at the way the second person begins to complain and yell angrily— the sound is enough to have Beomgyu on guard, straightening up slowly as he quickly turns the sink off. 
“No, I wasn’t great— I fucking lost!” He jumps at the sound of something striking hard against the lockers— Beomgyu can feel his stomach sink with dread as he realizes that it must be Chenle that walked in— he’s able to recognize his voice fairly quickly. 
“I know, I know— It’s odd, really, you weren’t supposed to have…” Beomgyu feels like he’s unable to breathe as the manager walks into sight, locking eyes with him through the reflection in an instant as he immediately stops talking; Chenle’s irritated what? Is enough to have Beomgyu snapping out of his daze, turning around as he watches the boy’s manager let out an exasperated laugh. 
“Hey,” Chenle begins, spotting Beomgyu as he quickly makes his way to him— Beomgyu remains silent, his eyes narrowed coldly as he tries to make a point that he’s not intimidated, “what the hell was that about back there?” 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beomgyu mutters, watching as Chenle scoffs, turning away for a second to compose himself. 
“The match,” Chenle clarifies, enunciating each syllable as though Beomgyu were incapable of understanding, “you were supposed to throw it.” 
The words are definitely news to Beomgyu; he’s sure it shows on his face, because Chenle only seems to grow angrier by the second, Beomgyu’s silence only irritating him more as he runs a stressed hand through his hair. 
“Don’t act fuckin stupid,” Chenle spits out, pushing Beomgyu’s chest and taking him by surprise as he stumbles back into the sink, “We had our deal. Give me back the money I gave you.” 
“You have the wrong person,” Beomgyu says slowly, attempting to remain calm as he briefly looks over Chenle’s shoulder, and at the exit behind the two; he had two options: fight— which Chenle seemed more than ready to do— or stay out of trouble and run. The second option seemed very tempting at the moment. 
“I didn’t make any deal with you.” 
This seems enough to set Chenle off, more than ready to throw a punch before he’s interrupted by his manager; the man’s sharp Chenle is enough to have the two men looking back, over to where his manager leans against the wall, arms crossed as he stares at Beomgyu carefully. 
“You,” the man says carefully, nodding at Beomgyu as he raises a brow questioningly, “what’s your name?”
“Beomgyu,” he replies gruffly, watching as the manager only becomes more confused by his response. 
“Who sent you here?”
“Hey man, what’s the hold up, our fight started two minutes ago and people are already calling a forfeit—“ Taehyun pauses at the sight of the scene before him, taking a second to compose himself before he’s sending a cold glare to Chenle’s manager, “what’re you doing here?” 
“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replies, pushing himself off the wall before he’s shoving his hands into his pants pockets, “now that I think about it, you two weren’t on the original roster we agreed to.”  
“The hell are you talking about?” It’s clear that the situation has begun to annoy Taehyun, who remains unphased as the manager begins to walk towards him, “We were invited to the tournament.” 
“Oh yeah? By who?” The man asks quietly, tilting his head as he waits expectantly for Taehyun to answer. 
“Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, the name foreign to Taehyun’s ears as he gauges the men’s reactions, the two of them watching Beomgyu with a scrutinizing gaze— what he sees does nothing to soothe his nerves. 
“Choi Yeonjun?” It seems as though that was not the answer either of them were looking for, the older man beginning to walk towards Taehyun, cornering him against the wall as Beomgyu attempts to step in— the warning glare Chenle sends him has him stilling for a second.
“That little rat sent you two? He still has the courage to try and involve himself here?” Something isn’t right— Beomgyu feels as though his body is on fire, buzzing with adrenaline as he watches the man’s tone drop dangerously— he’s reaching towards his jacket, the sight alarming as Beomgyu decides to divert his attention before it’s too late. 
His attempt to take down Chenle works fairly easy— at least, that’s what Beomgyu thinks initially, able to take Chenle by surprise with a punch to the face before the boy is recovering; he’s more than ready to take back any of Chenle’s hits, only that’s not what the younger man seems to have in mind as he reaches into his jacket pocket instead.
Beomgyu isn’t given much time to react before Chenle is tackling him into the wall, his head banging harshly against it before he feels himself grow paralyzed with shock and pain— the knife Chenle drives into Beomgyu’s stomach is quickly plunged out, the younger man’s manager pulling him back with a scolding tsk and a harsh pull of his collar. 
“Shit,” he can hear Taehyun exclaim, running to Beomgyu’s side in an instant as he attempts to add pressure to the wound; Beomgyu is still in shock as he groans at the feeling, a shuddering breath escaping him as he watches his blood run down his skin and stain his shorts. 
“Chenle, let’s go,” the manager hisses, tugging Chenle along and hiding the weapon before either Beomgyu or Taehyun are able to process it.
Beomgyu feels as though he’s swimming underwater with how disoriented he feels, the quiet apologies Taehyun lets out over and over falling onto deaf ears as the noise outside only grows louder. 
“We need to take you to the hospital man, shit,” Taehyun says, doing his best to carry Beomgyu with him as they make their way out— he knows better than to try and trust anyone in this place to treat him. 
“What’s this?” Taehyun is already rolling his eyes at the sight of a new person blocking their path, more than ready to curse them out and push them out of the way before he realizes who it is; Choi Minho, the club owner, simply smiles down at them, inspecting the two men before him before his cold gaze stops upon Beomgyu. 
“Playing dirty already?” His lack of urgency has Taehyun’s stomach churning with dread, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into as the owner of the club only stops to laugh at his own joke.
Taehyun’s guilt and fear for his friend seems to cloud his reasoning; without another thought, he’s pushing past Minho, trying to find his way over to the exit before he quickly realizes that he’s managed to bring all the attention to him. 
The crowd goes wild at the sight of Beomgyu’s injury; they’re crowding around the three, attempting to instigate a fight and bet money as their eyes light up with bloodlust— the sight has Taehyun shivering as he stumbles forward in uncertainty, avoiding a woman that attempts to grab out to Beomgyu in the process. 
The sight was terrifying; Minho could only watch in satisfaction behind them, crossing his arms in amusement as he watched Taehyun try to push through the packed crowds of people; his hold on Beomgyu was slipping, and he’s sure he’s left a trail of blood by now as his ears begin to ache, trying his best to ignore the catcalls and insults that are thrown at him; both to try and instigate and annoy him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Minho calls after them, following behind as people almost seem to clear a path for him; in turn, the people on the other end seem to grow bolder, blocking his path and eager to witness conflict as Taehyun begins to yell at them to move.
“We still need to discuss your connections to this place,” Minho says, his eyes darkening as he meets Taehyun’s heated gaze, “Choi Yeonjun, was it?”
It’s no use; the crowd is getting handsy, pushing Taehyun back towards Minho in order to see the drama unfold. Beomgyu can only cling tighter to Taehyun, groaning in pain as the adrenaline slowly begins to wear off. 
Choi Yeonjun, what the fuck did you do, Taehyun is practically ready to spit in Minho’s face from the anger that courses through him, but the fear that Beomgyu may bleed out on him keeps his senses on high alert as he tries to formulate a plan to escape. 
His chance to escape comes in the form of five gunshots that boom through the room— each causing more panic than the last, the people around him bigger cowards than they let on as they immediately fall to the floor or scramble for cover. 
Taehyun is startled but remains alert, his head whipping around and meeting the eyes of someone who was more than used to coming to unorthodox places to wrangle Beomgyu out of danger. 
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you angrier as you point a gun towards the ceiling, your jaw clenched and your face confronted into a nasty glare as rubble falls around you. 
“Get down,” you seethe, sweeping your gun through the area as you watch everyone cower at the sight, eyes pointed at those who try to get back up to escape, “I said get the fuck down!” 
The place seems to grow still the moment you put your finger back on the trigger, the startled yelps of those hiding the only thing that you can hear as you begin to walk forward; your gaze only darkens more at the sight of Beomgyu slumped in Taehyun’s arms. 
“___, so nice to see you back here,” Minho smiles, attempting to charm you with an innocent tilt of his head, “What brings you to this place?”
“Let them go, Minho,” you warn, raising your gun towards him as he simply puts his hands up in surrender— yet, the mischievous smile and his unphased body language tell you otherwise.
“And why should I?” He asks carefully, eyes flickering over to where Beomgyu barely remains standing, Taehyun attempting to put all his strength into stopping the blood flow of his wound, “They wronged me, and I simply want answers.” 
“Bullshit,” you spit out, jerking your arm as you bring your gun to aim at his head instead, “I have Agust and his men outside. Let them go if you know what’s good for you.” 
The sudden name seems to be enough for Minho to falter, his smile wavering for a second before he’s letting out a deep sigh; rolling his eyes, he takes a moment to think before he’s looking over to Taehyun and Beomgyu. 
“Go.” 
Taehyun doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s making his way over to you without hesitation, struggling to step over the cowering bodies as Beomgyu clings to him like a ragdoll— you’re immediately pulling the two behind you before you’re jerking your head back to the exit, walking backwards as you keep your gun aimed at Minho in warning. 
“You’ll be back soon,” Minho grins, his eyes alight with something mischievous and dangerous as he lets his arms down slowly, “just you wait.”
Your free hand reaches for the heavy metal door, your eyes narrowing at his words as he waits for you to say something; in response, you spit at him, slamming the door behind you before you’re ushering Taehyun to hurry up.
“I fucking told you, I can’t fucking believe this,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the gun in your back pocket before you’re taking Beomgyu from Taehyun, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you spot Taehyun staggering behind in exhaustion. 
“Hurry up before I leave your ass here!” You yell, now at the top of the stairs as you meet eyes with the one person you now owed your life to. 
“Shit, you really weren’t messing around,” Yoongi says, his eyes widening as he takes sight of the unconscious man you carry with you. With a snap, his men take him from your arms, carrying him over to the backseat of Yoongi’s car before he’s gesturing for you to get in, Taehyun following close behind.
“We need to get him to the hospital, now,” you stress, unsure of how much Beomgyu was bleeding out before you got there; from his pale sweaty skin and slow, shuddering breaths, you know it’s best to act fast and ask questions later. 
“Don’t need to tell me twice,” is all Yoongi says, gesturing towards his men as they all begin to scatter, more than ready to speed off into the streets as he yells at Taehyun to put pressure on Beomgyu’s wound.
Pressed against the seat, you can’t ignore the way your head aches and your eyes sting with the threat of tears, unsure of what you’ll tell Beomgyu’s mother the moment he gets checked in the hospital. 
Silently, you reach over to Yoongi, grabbing his hand as you let out a soft thank you. In turn, he squeezes your hand in reassurance, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he takes in the anxiety that rolls off you in waves. 
⊹⊹⊹
The hospital is cold and unwelcoming. 
You’re in the waiting room, unable to stop yourself from pacing as Yoongi remains by your side; Taehyun lingers nearby, his gaze downcast and glued to the floor from the moment Beomgyu was taken away by paramedics. 
Your fingers dig into your arms as you sigh for the upteenth time; your gaze falls on Taehyun, your jaw clenching as you take him in— his head is downcast and he remains hunched over in his seat, his elbows propped on his knees as he hangs his head. But even from there, your eyes are able to look over the way his clothes are drenched with blood, his knuckles turning white as he clasps his hands together tightly. 
“Excuse me, are you Choi Beomgyu’s guardian?” The three of you are quick to turn at the meek nurse that approaches you, her hands folded politely as you take initiative to step towards her; nodding, you watch as she sighs, her face unreadable under the medical mask she wears. 
“I’m sorry to inform you that Choi Beomgyu’s wound was quite severe, and he lost a significant amount of blood.” You can feel Yoongi grasp at your arm as you exhale slowly, feeling yourself become unstable as your mouth falls open in disbelief, “We were able to stop the bleeding, but we’ve noticed that his wound has shown signs of infection; due to this, his condition is still critical— He is currently in the intensive care unit, and we are doing everything we can to stabilize him; Unfortunately, only immediate family can visit at this time.”
She lingers for a moment as she waits for you to say something, but you’re only able to muster enough energy to nod politely, ripping your arm out of Yoongi’s grasp before you’re stumbling outside— the said man is hot on your trail as he keeps a close eye on you, his quiet presence enough reassurance that he’s there if you need him. 
Your hands are shaking horribly as you shove them in your pockets; your head hurts, and you feel sick to your stomach as you lean against the hospital walls, your head banging softly against the concrete wall as your pockets fish for something to distract you; Yoongi is quick to guess as he reaches into his own jacket, pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between your lips before he’s lighting it for you. 
“He’ll be okay,” Yoongi reassures you, watching with narrowed eyes as you take a slow drag from the cigarette, “he’s a strong kid— in good hands, too.”
“I know he’ll be okay,” you grit out, sighing softly as you watch the smoke escape from your lips and disappear into the night sky, “he has to be.”
Your worries don’t lie entirely on his health; his recovery will be slow and tedious, but you’ll do anything if it ensures Beomgyu’s safety— the problem, however, lies on how much it’ll cost to ensure his recovery. 
With the treatments and antibiotics the doctors were currently giving Beomgyu, you’re sure Ms. Choi would break down at the sight of the bill; running a restaurant on her own can only do so much, and you’re sure as hell not blind to the reasons as to why Beomgyu took up fighting in the first place, witness to the way he would leave his prize money before her in hopes that it would take care of the monthly bills. 
A prize from the tournament at FightX would’ve been enough to have Ms. Choi closing the restaurant for a while and going on vacation— Beomgyu’s motivations slowly start clicking together in your head as you scoff, taking another drag from the cigarette in your hand as you feel the way your head begins to ache; the last thing you’ll do is have Ms. Choi worry about the bills.
“His mother,” Yoongi starts softly, interrupting your thoughts as he practically reads your mind, “are you gonna tell her?”
You take a moment before you answer, watching as Yoongi leans against the wall next to you patiently; flicking the ashes off your cigarette, you bite your lip, frowning in frustration as you sigh slowly. 
“I have to,” you say, your mind already wracking for ways you could deliver the news to his mother, “she’s already worried enough as it is.”
Pulling your phone out, you turn it on to show Yoongi your screen; an onslaught of missed calls and text messages greet you, all from Beomgyu’s mother as you wince at the escalation of the contents— all of them asking if you’re alright, if you know where Beomgyu might have run off to. 
“She’s already onto me,” you laugh softly, though it feels more forced than anything as you watch your screen light up again, her contact name taking over the screen as you take a second to look at it; with one last drag from your cigarette, you exhale, accepting the call as you drop the item and grind it into the ground, wincing slightly as Ms. Choi’s alarmed voice fills your ears. 
“Yes Ms. Choi, I’ve found him.” You look beyond exhausted as Taehyun watches from afar, only able to hear your soft voice as you continue to reassure his mother— the guilt that was plaguing Taehyun’s mind only comes back stronger as he watches you deliver the awaited news tensely, the words awkward in your mouth as you visibly flinch— only to quickly tell Beomgyu’s mother that he’s safe and there’s nothing to worry about. 
“We’re still here. I’ll wait for you, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft and calming as you speak, a stark contrast to what Taehyun saw earlier— he shivers at the thought, eyes widening slightly as they meet yours— stiffening, he can’t help how tense he feels as you gesture for him to come to him. 
It’s silent as Taehyun walks to you; tucking your phone into your back pocket, your eyes narrow at the sight of Taehyun walking towards you, as though his tail were tucked in between his legs as he refuses to meet your gaze. The sight is enough to have you angered again as you cross your arms, pushing yourself off the wall as you dig your fingers into your biceps, teeth gritting as you attempt to keep your voice steady as you speak. 
“What the hell happened back there? How did this all start?” You ask, your gaze intense as Taehyun forces himself to meet it; you look beyond furious as you wait for him to respond, Yoongi surveying carefully over your shoulder, the sight oddly intimidating as Taehyun begins to recount everything that happened. 
“The match was rigged— you weren’t even supposed to be there,” you conclude, looking over your shoulder to see Yoongi agreeing, “who was invited there?” 
“It was me,” Taehyun says, not an ounce of hesitation in his answer as he watches your eyes widen at the news, “It was all my idea, I thought it’d give us a bigger chance to win the prize money— I… I was the one who got the invite.”
Taehyun isn’t entirely sure as to why he just took all the blame for Beomgyu; maybe it was his guilty conscience, or the way that he knew if he told the truth, Beomgyu would be in more trouble than he already was— yet a small part of him seems to regret it as he watches the way your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself as Taehyun’s head jerks to the side— his cheek stings at the impact of your palm, but he doesn’t find himself to be angered by it as he remains silent. 
“This— this is all your fault?” You say, incredulous as you begin to pace again— whether it’s to hold yourself back from hitting Taehyun again or to process everything, he isn’t sure— “Do you have any idea the shit you just got us involved in?”
From the way Taehyun stares at you, his brows furrowed in concern, it’s clear the answer is no.
“Do you know how much it’ll cost for Beomgyu’s treatment? He could’ve fucking died!” The fact that Beomgyu still stepped foot in the underground club despite knowing the dangers of it isn’t lost on you— if anything, it angers you more, feeling as though he took everything you told him and went through as a joke, teeth gritting together at the thought of it, “his mother can’t afford something like this, do you realize how terrified she is to hear her son is in the ICU?”
“The money from the tournament,” Taehyun interrupts, watching the way you pause in your steps before he continues, “we can just use that— it’s more than enough.”
You remain silent— all you can do is stare at Taehyun for a second, eyes narrowing at him before you shake your head; bitterly, you smile, tilting your head as you cross your arms defensively once more. 
“Did you finish the tournament?” You ask, watching as Taehyun slowly shakes his head, “did you win?”
“No— it was just me and Beomgyu left anyway—”
“Did you win?” You repeat, your voice much more stern as you take a step closer to Taehyun; he can feel his heart sinking as he takes in your close proximity, your expression serious as he feels the realization dawn on him as well, “did you stay in the cage, did you hear them announce you as the winner?”
You both know the answer to your question; Taehyun’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks. 
“No.”
“No,” you echo, hands falling to your sides, the burst of emotions from earlier taking a toll on you and leaving your voice quiet and tired as you continue, “They might as well call it a forfeit from your part.”
“The prize money is still their’s, and they’ll even hold another tournament while they’re at it.”
Backing away, you glance at Yoongi before gesturing for him to give you another cigarette; the lighter is the only thing that illuminates your face for a second, your eyes tired and angry as they flicker back up to meet Taehyun’s.
“Unless you want to go back and win it, you’re no use here.”
You refuse to talk to Taehyun any further as you turn your back to him; the smoke that escapes from your figure is oddly soothing as Taehyun lingers by your side, lost in thought as he leans against the wall; feeling a set of eyes searing into his skin, he looks up, meeting Yoongi’s curious gaze, watching as he tilts his head before he finally speaks to the younger man. 
“Who sent you that invitation?” Yoongi asks, burying his hands into his jacket pockets as he watches Taehyun intently— the said man pauses, mind thinking back to the name Beomgyu mentioned before he’s uttering it quietly, unsure of himself as he avoids Yoongi’s gaze. 
“Choi Yeonjun.” Taehyun is surprised to find both of you reacting, watching as your shoulders shake with quiet laughter, head turning to Yoongi who simply sends you a knowing look; the two of you shake your heads in dismay, leaving Taehyun to wonder if he said the wrong name as he watches Yoongi let out a deep sigh. 
“That explains it,” Yoongi mutters, taking the cigarette from your hands before he’s taking a drag of it himself; he’s blowing the smoke out to the side before he finally decides to give Taehyun more context, the sight of the man staring at him bringing him amusement as his lips twinge into a small smile. 
“You and Yeonjun, were you guys close?” Taehyun slowly shakes his head at the question, making Yoongi scoff— he wonders why the older man seems to be making such a big deal about this person, but the heavy feeling in his gut tells him it’s nothing good, “Makes sense— thought you had a death wish or something.” 
“What the hell are you talking about?” Taehyun asks, tired of being left out in the dark from the way Yoongi refuses to give proper context; he can’t help the way he straightens slightly as you turn back around to face him, your gaze still full of anger as you glare at Taehyun. 
“That invitation was a setup,” you begin, brow raising at the way Taehyun’s mouth falls open in surprise, “Choi Yeonjun was exposed as a rat years ago; he was working with police to try and get the club shutdown, greedy for money— didn’t exactly end well for him.” 
It all seems to make sense now; the hostility whenever either boys mentioned the man, the danger it wound them up in— Taehyun tries to keep a straight face at the news, but it’s difficult to do as you grow quiet, surveying Taehyun carefully as you take a step closer to him; then another, and another until you’re eerily close to him, attempting to analyze everything about him before you’re tutting softly. 
“But why he would send an invite to you, I have no idea— let alone how he got a spot in the bracket— what’d he tell you, anyway?” your questions are enough to have Taehyun gulping softly; hell, how was he supposed to know any of this? Yet, as far as you were concerned, Taehyun was the only one who was in contact with the man. 
“Nothing much,” Taehyun replies, hoping you can’t see through his lies as he stares straight into your eyes, “it came in the mail— just told me he secured two spots.” 
“Think about it,” Yoongi says, diverting your attention away from Taehyun for a second— he can feel himself relax slightly, free from your intense gaze as you turn to look at your friend, “Why else would he try to get involved with FightX again? And through other fighters, on top of that.”
“He might be trying to get back in the scene,”  you say, seemingly coming to a conclusion before Taehyun can as your face lightens up; first, with confusion, then with amusement as a smile tugs at your lips. Turning back to Taehyun, you can’t help but laugh slightly in disbelief, “The prize money probably wasn’t going to be yours to begin with.”
Still a rat, hmm, you mutter, the smile on your face contradictory to the way you bite your lip in irritation; the laugh you let out isn’t very convincing either, and Yoongi can only roll his eyes at your antics as he’s leaning against the wall once more, taking a slow drag from the cigarette in his hand before he’s flicking off the ash absentmindedly. 
“How do you know all this?” Taehyun asks, the question hitting him suddenly as he takes a good look at the people before him; a restaurant worker and a man who seemed to be involved in shadier things than he let on— his curiosity laid more on you, taking in the way you seemed unphased by his question, “who are you guys?” 
That’s enough for you and Yoongi to share a bewildered look; it takes a second before you’re both laughing, amused at his words as you allow Yoongi to answer.
“Kid, you’re looking at the two old champions of FightX,” Yoongi smiles, eyes creasing as Taehyun takes notice of the scar that runs through one of them, “We’re the only fucking reason that club survived for so long.” 
Taehyun’s look of bewilderment is the only thing to have you cracking a genuine smile; rolling your eyes, you huff as his eyes land on you, observing you for a moment before he frowns in confusion.
“You’re a fighter?” Taehyun asks, watching as the two of you nod without hesitation, “Makes sense.” 
“Alright you little prick,” you seethe, eye twitching at his witty comment, “I know you have a smart fucking mouth, but I still can’t get used to it.” 
You feel as though you might show Taehyun some of your moves when he simply cracks an innocent smile at you— only to stop, the sound of hurried steps and the loud yell of your name making the three of you turn towards the sound. 
Ah, you hear Yoongi mumble behind you, dropping his cigarette and snuffing it out before Ms. Choi can pick up on it; the tense smiles the two of you sport quickly has Taehyun doing the same, shuffling back until he’s covered behind Yoongi— from the corner of your eye, you see the younger man cross his arms awkwardly, attempting to cover his blood-soaked clothes as he keeps his head ducked down. 
Ms. Choi is a wreck; you’re able to pick up on it easily, the light that leaks out from within highlighting her features that are soaked with worry and stress; her face is pulled into a frown and her eyes threaten to leak with tears as she stumbles to a stop before you. 
Her expression is unreadable; you’re unsure of how she might react or what she might do, but you wouldn’t blame her if she lashed out any of her anger on you— jolting, you’re taken aback by the way she practically leaps on you, arms caging you in a bone crushing hug as she buries her head into your shoulder— the sounds of her sniffles are enough to have you snapping out of your frozen state, arms coming up to hold the woman tightly in return. 
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she mutters, her hands gripping onto your clothes at the reminder, “I’m so glad he’s alive.”
“He’s safe, Ms. Choi. He’s okay, he’ll recover in no time,” your reassurance is soft and endless as you pat her back, allowing her to cry freely into your arms as you give her a moment to recollect herself— sniffing, she pulls away, wiping at her eyes before her gaze falls on Yoongi. 
“Ma’am,” Yoongi nods, his face tense as he awaits for her to say something; his face mirrors your own as he’s pulled into a hug, eyes widening and posture stiffening before he slowly returns the gesture.
“Thank you for bringing my son back to me,” she says, pulling away before she reaches up to cup Yoongi’s face; she takes him in, smiling tenderly as she adds, “I’m happy to see you’ve been well.”
Yoongi smiles at her comment; he’s surprised to see that she still remembers him, times spent visiting you at work and pestering you coming to mind as he lets out a soft laugh. 
“They said only immediate family is allowed to visit at this time,” you mutter softly, taking her attention as she turns to face you, “We’ll wait out here for you.”
Taking your hands, she nods; you can see how apologetic she is as she takes a moment to smile reassuringly, telling you that she’ll let you know how he’s doing before she disappears inside— watching her figure retreat, you can’t help but frown after a moment, wondering if she’ll be alright on her own. 
“Fuck,” you sigh, the reality of it all hitting you again as you tilt your head back defeatedly; staring at the night sky, you bury your hands into your pockets, fighting the emotions that threaten to spill over as you speak, “How the fuck am I supposed to handle all this now.” 
“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as he becomes quick to reassure you, “I can help you out, I know some people.”
“No Yoongi,” you quickly say, shrugging off his shoulder as you send him a stern look, “I don’t want you to get involved in any shady stuff over this— I got this, you don’t need to worry.” 
Your argument continues to go back and forth for a while— Taehyun feels insanely awkward as he’s forced to watch, unsure of what to do as he wonders if it’s just best to sneak away and go back inside— after what seems like ten minutes, he realizes he’s had enough as he goes to butt in. 
“Let’s just win that stupid thing back,” Taehyun blurts out, stopping the both of you in your tracks as you slowly turn to look at him, “you said they’d probably hold another tournament, no? We’ll just win it back through there.”
“Are you—?” you cut yourself off as you place a hand over your mouth, running it down in frustration before you’re starting again, “You were invited to that place by Choi Yeonjun, a fucking rat. You really think they’d just let you waltz back in and join?”
“Minho—” Taehyun says, pausing for a moment as he frowns, thinking back to what the owner of the place said, “You’ll be back soon. That’s what he said, no?”
“He wants us to come back,” Yoongi realizes, glancing at you as he watches the way your jaw clenches in annoyance, “He knew we’d be back for that damn prize.”
“And what better way to draw in gamblers than with a match after tonight’s show,” you continue, your mind racing with ideas before you’re finally looking back at Taehyun, “But what, how are we supposed to arrange something like this? You seriously think we can just walk in and have a civilized conversation?” 
⊹⊹⊹
“Are you fucking insane?” 
Taehyun’s hushed scolding is enough to have you rolling your eyes, unphased by his reaction as you tug your shirt over your jeans more; shrugging your jacket on, you nod back at Yoongi, who only returns the gesture after he’s zipped his own coat up; you can barely feel the gun that’s tucked into your waistband, but Taehyun is determined to not allow you to forget about it as his eyes fall onto it’s hiding spot every three seconds. 
“It’s rude to stare,” you mumble, slapping Taehyun’s shoulder and forcing him to turn back around; you allow Yoongi to lead the way through the busy streets, the bright alleyways and busy shops entirely inconspicuous as you make your way to a familiar store, entirely empty except for the owner that attends it. 
There are no customers when you enter; The store is packed with products and is poorly lit, and it’s oddly quiet as you walk around; making your way around the aisles swiftly, it almost feels like muscle memory before you’re stopping at the checkout— narrowing your eyes, you’re not surprised to find Minho sitting on a stool behind the register, not bothering to look up from the book he reads as he adjusts his thin wired glasses slightly— leaning on the counter, you clear your throat, raising a brow as you tap your fingers rhythmically on the surface. 
“A win is only official after it is announced by the referee; if both fighters fail to present themselves in the ring, the match is invalid.” Minho doesn’t bother to look up from his book as he speaks; carefully, he reaches to fold the page he’s on, pressing his fingers on the dog-ear meticulously before he’s shutting the book gingerly; placing it on the counter, he finally looks up, smiling sweetly as he does so. 
“But you already know that, don’t you?”
“You’re holding another tournament, aren’t you,” you say, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question.
“Perhaps.”
“We want in,” you can see the way Minho processes your words, his eyes scanning from you to Yoongi before his smile is growing a bit wider; catching onto his thought process, you’re quick to shake your head, reaching behind you and pulling Taehyun roughly as you ignore the way he stumbles forward.
“I mean him. Just him.”
Minho’s smile wavers a little— you can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes decrease slightly, but his expression is still amused as he quickly recalls who the fighter in front of him is; narrowing his eyes, Minho hums, oddly docile as he looks back at you.
“Fine,” to say that it’s unnerving to watch Minho agree so easily is an understatement; you’re sharing a confused look with Yoongi as you watch the way Minho stands from his seat, rounding the counter before he begins to walk away— glancing back at you, he nods to the exit, telling you to follow him before he continues walking. 
Before you can think too hard on it, you’re tugging the two men along; anything to make sure he doesn’t disappear from your sight, you think, but you can’t help but pat yourself down slightly in search of your gun the moment you see where you’re headed. 
“Relax, it’s empty right now,” Minho hums, swinging the door wide open and allowing you to see, smiling in amusement as he takes in the way you remain a few steps back, “I’ve decided that a tournament is just too simple.”
“After the glorious show you put on last night, I knew my patrons would love to see more of your people,” Minho continues, a satisfied look flashing through his features as the three of you finally make your way to his level, peeking through the door cautiously, “and what better way than to skip the bracket and give the public what they want?” 
There’s a single person inside; you’re on guard as you watch them, the dull lights of the place barely allowing you to see them as you squint your eyes; He’s practicing, you realize, watching as he uses the punch bag before him diligently, his sounds of effort reaching you as he continues. 
“One v. One match,” Minho smiles, glancing into the door to see what the man inside is up to; the four of you watch as he does a spin kick, the force from it sending the punching bag flying to the side, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the empty area as you wince at the sight.
The man lets out a huff of exhaustion after; he’s backing up, shaking his body as he steps into the light that emits from a window behind him— pushing his hair back, you’re able to take in his features, your eyes widening as you realize who it is that currently stands before you. 
“Your fighter versus mine— The Cobra.”
The Cobra— otherwise known as Park Jongseong— or rather, Minho’s last apprentice before you left.
“The best of the best, no?” Minho continues, his gaze meeting your own as he smiles knowingly, “you win this, you win everything— no questions asked, no… attacks, on my part.”
You can already hear Yoongi’s thoughts behind you; this is dangerous, this is a horrible, insane idea. 
And you agree— you agree wholeheartedly, hesitating to respond as you take another moment to observe The Cobra— yet it seems as though you’ve taken too long, lost deep in your own thoughts as you fail to account for another, stupid variable. 
“Deal,” Taehyun butts in, leaving you speechless as you’re forced to watch the way he shakes Minho’s hand casually; the older man can only laugh at the action, grinning from ear to ear as his eyes meet yours— his smile only widens more as he takes in your baffled expression.
You find yourself speechless— even when you go back up to discuss the rules and terms of the fight, speechless when Yoongi reluctantly agrees, and speechless when you walk out of the inconspicuous store, your hands clutching tightly onto the paper given to you with the specific details of the match. 
You’re only able to muster up the courage to look at Taehyun once you’ve gotten back in the car safely; he meets your gaze after a moment, brows furrowing as he finds himself annoyed with your dumbstruck expression. 
“What the hell do you want?” 
This stupid boy has no idea what he just got himself into.
⊹⊹⊹
“Three weeks,” you say, pacing back and forth as you find yourself in the last place you would ever want to be; Seokjin’s small fight club is no match to the basement of FightX, but it’s enough for you to train in as you choose to look past the dimly lit area, the natural light that leaks in from the small windows above the only thing that allows you to see properly— Taehyun watches you impatiently, stretching his muscles as he stands by the training equipment in attention, wanting nothing more than to get started already. 
“For the next three weeks, you’ll throw away any plans you’ve made— I expect to see you here everyday for training.”
”Wait, you’re training me?” Taehyun interjects, watching the way you narrow your eyes at him in warning— he looks back to where Yoongi sits, slumped over in his chair as he smiles lazily the moment their eyes meet— then he looks back at you, biting his lip before he continues, “Why not him?”
“Because you want to get trained by the best, no?” Yoongi calls out, already able to see the way you bristle at Taehyun’s comment; the said boy nods, lips pressed together as he takes a moment to observe you again, “Then she’ll be training you. Now watch your mouth before you sweet trainer here decides enough is enough.”
“But the restaurant,” Taehyun backtracks, realizing how his comment may have come off as he speaks, “Won’t you be busy?” 
“Winning that tournament is more important,” you say, not missing a beat as you begin to stretch, “Especially since you agreed to fight The Cobra, of all people.”
“Seriously, why is that a big deal?” Taehyun huffs, rolling his eyes as you signal for him to continue stretching, “the dude can’t be that dangerous.”
“That dude has been in the ring for years,” Yoongi says, catching Taehyun’s attention as he pauses in his movements, “Much longer than you, to be sure.”
“Meaning,” you continue, sighing in dismay at the thought of your next words, “He’s been trained by Minho himself.”
“And us.” 
The sudden revelation is enough to have Taehyun tensing; stomach sinking, he seems to realize why you were so hesitant to agree to this arrangement. 
“Anything we teach you, Park Jongseong has already mastered,” you say, putting on focus mitts before you gesture for Taehyun to come closer, “That’s where you come in— I’ve been praying that you’d be a decent fighter, hoping you’d have some skills of your own we could hone in on.”
Taehyun frowns at your words— you aren’t exactly the most encouraging person he’s met, and he can even feel his confidence dwindling as he stands before you, pausing as he watches you put up your mitted hands— a moment passes and you’re rolling your eyes, scoffing at the way Taehyun seems to be hesitant before you. 
“What are you waiting for?” you scold, your tough voice enough for the man to snap out of his daze; his expression is unreadable as you watch a shift in his form, his hesitation quickly being wiped off as he takes a step toward you— his stance is shifting, and you watch with delight as his eyes turn dangerous, honing in on your mitts as he brings his fists up. 
Let’s see what you got. 
⊹⊹⊹ 
“Again.” 
For once, Taehyun begins to realize the consequences of his actions. 
His body is on fire; he feels as though all his strength has escaped him, pushing his hair back for the upteenth time as he winces at the sweat that coats it— you remain unphased, and Taehyun wonders for a second if you have unlimited stamina as you raise your brow at him expectantly. 
His body has yet to become accustomed to this new schedule. He’s gotten used to seeing you every day, reviewing techniques and giving him pointers before you’re giving him a thorough workout; tonight, you’ve decided to focus on his kicks, bringing up many different fighting styles and forcing him to practice on the punching bag that hangs in a nearby corner. 
“Come on, can’t we just take a break? I’ve been at this for—“
“I said again,” you interrupt, glaring at the way Taehyun sends you an irritated look; Taehyun has grown used to your intimidation tactics after spending more time with you than should be considered normal, your once terrifying anger nothing more than something Taehyun has to put up with as he sighs— he still knows better than to go against you, though.
And so, he does exactly what you taught him— though it’s sloppy, and he knows he’ll get an earful as he executes the kick weakly— though, he personally blames your refusal to give him a proper break for his actions.  
“Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve been saying?” you ask, exasperated as you make your way to him; standing next to him, you gesture for him to step aside, getting in front of the punching bag yourself before you’re getting into the proper stance. 
“I need you to remember to swing your hips; like this,” stepping forward with your right foot, you extend your left leg slowly, twisting your hips along with the motion as you freeze, gesturing to your hips, “If you don’t, your kick won’t be as powerful; you need to put your whole body into it, not just your leg.”
Stepping back, you demonstrate again, pushing through the rest of the kick as you listen to the thud that echoes from your move— Taehyun can’t help the way his eyes widen as he watches the punching bag swing back and forth, analyzing your form before another thought is popping into his head. 
“That kick,” Taehyun mumbles, switching spots with you as he begins to envision what you just did, trying to get his body to recreate it before he pauses, “Beomgyu did that— he used that move all the time.” 
“Yeah? Glad he finally got it right,” you sigh, unfazed by his words as you cross your arms, smiling in amusement— Taehyun turns to look at you, frowning in confusion as you practically read his mind, “Hey, if I can’t stop that idiot from sneaking off to this place, I might as well make sure he doesn’t die.”
The laugh you let out after is tense and bittersweet; Beomgyu was doing much better now, but he remained in the hospital due to complications from the infection of his wound— you were given the news that he would most likely need physical therapy as well, the sound of it only motivating you to work harder after you watched the way Ms. Choi paled with the news. 
“He almost knocked you out with it? Holy shit,” you laugh, incredulous as Taehyun tells you the details of his first encounter with the boy— the proud smile that spreads across your face catches Taehyun off guard, your eyes twinkling with delight as you gesture back to the punching bag. “Don’t you wanna get as good as him? Come on, show me you’re not all talk.”
The sudden comparison to Beomgyu has Taehyun bristling with annoyance, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly follows your words— a strange, nagging feeling manifests within his mind, telling him to prove himself and dispel all your worries about him as a fighter— it motivates him, taking a deep breath before he’s getting into the proper stance; closing his eyes, he envisions his body following the same movement path you did, eyes zeroing in on the punching bag before him as he finally executes the kick. 
“There we go,” you hiss, an excited grin spreading on your face as you listen to the impact of Taehyun’s kick— though it’s too early for the said man to celebrate, his eyes lighting up for a second before you’re back to pester him for pointers. 
“You need to stay light on your feet,” you remind him, rolling your eyes at the way he tries to interfere with your comment, telling you that it’s because I’m exhausted, “Do you think Jongseong will care if you’re tired? You think he’s gonna go easy on you if you start bitching at him the way you are now?”
“There’s no need for you to be such a bitch, either,” Taehyun sneers, getting back into stance as he watches the way you remain unfazed by his comment. 
“Maybe I’ll start being nice once you prove to be useful.” you mutter, and Taehyun swears the anger that courses through him fuels his kick as he feels his body twisting with energy— so much energy that he’s losing his footing, the impact that booms from his move much louder than his previous attempts as he stumbles back— from the corner of his eyes, he sees the way your eyes widen slightly at the sight.
“Not bad,” you say, tilting your head as you study Taehyun for a second; he’s exhausted and soaked with sweat, his eyes filled with pure anger and frustration you might just think he’ll fight you instead— the thought is enough to have you stifling a laugh, your lips twitching slightly before you’re snapping back to reality. 
“You need to practice your balance if you’re gonna use your body like that,” humming softly, you think for a second, brows furrowing as you continue, “if anything, you should try some spinning hook kicks— that could improve your balance great—”
“You’re here again?” the voice that yells out from the entrance has you startled for a second, turning around before you’re groaning in frustration; you’re leaving Taehyun’s side immediately as you go to the source of the sound— Seokjin seems to be just as annoyed as you are, turning on the rest of the lights with an irritated look on his face. 
“You know why we’re here, Seokjin,” you say, yet the reminder of your reasoning doesn’t seem to be enough for the man, watching as he shakes his head in disapproval. 
“You know I have a club to run, right?” it’s clear you’ve given up as you mutter a yeah yeah, softly, pouting like a child to the older man, “I can’t have this place running while you’re training that poor kid to death.”
“My regimen has results.” you say defensively, glaring at Seokjin, who simply puts up his hands in defeat, unphased by your attitude as he glances back at Taehyun.
“He looks like he’s about to pass out.” 
Following Seokjin’s line of sight, you find yourself wincing; it seems that you’ve only now gotten a good look at the man, watching the way he’s already slumped down at the bench nearby, his chest heaving with shallow breaths and his eyes fluttering as he holds onto his water bottle tightly— frowning, you listen to the way Seokjin quietly asks you how long have you been in here today? your mind going back to the hours you’ve spent cooped inside this building— not to mention day after day. 
“Go back to opening this place,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the way Seokjin smiles triumphantly— the guilt you feel is odd as you approach Taehyun, standing by awkwardly as you watch the way he doesn’t even acknowledge you, much too tired to even open his eyes. 
“Hey. Don’t pass out on me,” you say, slapping Taehyun’s bicep and watching as he startles awake— his eyes meet yours, wincing at the sudden increase of light as he squints up at you.
“We’re done for today. Let’s go,” you mutter, unsure of what else to do as you give Taehyun a helping hand; he observes it for a moment, oddly skeptical before he finally takes it— his skin is surprisingly soft for having the hands of a fighter, though you try not to let it show on your face as you help him up; the groan of exertion he lets out isn’t lost on you, and you’re surprised to find yourself feeling bad for doing this to him. 
A pitch black night greets you the moment you’re exiting the building, yelling one last goodbye to Seokjin before you’re closing the door behind you— you can hear Taehyun softly grumble about having to climb way too many stairs, and you can only let out a huff in amusement before you’re linking an arm with him for support.
“Come on tiger, don’t let a set of stairs knock you out,” you mock, ignoring his angered rebuttals that he can barely slur out— you’ve really done a number on him today, you realize, the witty man beside you reduced to nothing more than a slumped figure as he continues to complain under his breath, leaving you unfazed the moment he tries to complain about your routines again. 
“Don’t make me regret what I’m about to do for you,” is all you say in response, leading him to your car as you ignore his protests that he just wants to go home, “It’s been hours since you’ve eaten— come on, let’s go see Beomgyu, I bet he’s going insane from the hospital food.”
You’re not sure if it’s the sound of food or the mention of Beomgyu that has Taehyun perking up with interest, but you’re rolling your eyes at him nonetheless as you’re starting your car; driving towards Ms. Choi’s restaurant, you’re guessing it’s the former as Taehyun tells you that all he wants at the moment is some simple ramen. 
The drive is calming— Taehyun doesn’t seem as annoying to you anymore, but a glance at him makes you realize it’s only because he’s knocked out in your passenger’s seat, completely silent save for his occasional shifting to get more comfortable.
Now this is a side of him you like. 
⊹⊹⊹
Seokjin’s words seem to have affected you more than you’d like to admit. 
At least, they definitely have if it’s enough to have Taehyun staring at you as though you’ve gone mad, feeling a strange heat rush to your cheeks as you press your lips together awkwardly. 
“Are you messing with me?” 
“No. Unless you want to go back to the usual,” you snap, and Taehyun can only put his hands up in surrender as he bows his head down; your proposal to have a rest day feels odd to Taehyun, even more so when you’ve already managed to drag the man all the way to the club.
“What’re we even doing here then?”
“There’s less than a week left before the match,” you sigh, feeling your phone buzz in your back pocket as you pause to check the message— you feel your shoulders slump with relief as you’re answering, glancing up at Taehyun, who was already watching you curiously.
“While you have shown improvement in your techniques, there’s still more you could improve on,” your sentence is interrupted as the sound of the door opens, the two of you turning to see who might be coming in— while Taehyun fully expected Jin to burst inside and start complaining, he’s surprised to find something else. 
“I don’t want your body to wear out on me, so I’ll tone down the intensity of your routines as the final day approaches,” you continue, unfazed by the people that begin to approach— Yoongi is casual as he sends the two of you a wave, the woman next to him sending you a cheery nod before her gaze is falling on Taehyun.
“And we’ll work on your fighting IQ instead.” 
One glance at Taehyun is enough to tell you that he has yet to connect the dots; you’re gesturing for the woman next to Yoongi to step forward, bringing her to your side before you’re introducing her— Taehyun notes that the two of you must be good friends, if the way she clings to you happily is enough of a sign. 
“This is Sooyoung,” you say, and the woman next to you— Sooyoung— simply smiles, her eyes creasing and her face lighting up as she sends Taehyun a friendly wave, “Sooyoung, Taehyun.”
“So he’s the reckless boy you were telling me about?” Sooyoung asks, tinted lips pursing as she stares Taehyun down— the nickname is enough to have Taehyun’s gaze hardening, sending the woman a harsh look that only makes her laugh— the woman’s bubbly attitude feels far more patronizing than genuine as she tilts her head like a puppy. 
“I do see potential,” she murmurs, lost in thought for a second before she’s snapping out of it— turning to Yoongi, she practically bounces over to him, and it isn’t until then that Taehyun takes in the duffle bag that the man carried in with him. 
“The locker rooms are back there, right?” Sooyoung asks, looking at you expectantly before you’re sending her a nod of confirmation. Cool. Be right back! she says, skipping away with the duffle bag, her long dark hair swaying behind her as Taehyun’s mouth falls open at his words.
“Is she— am I fighting her?” Taehyun breathes out, a bit skeptical as he looks at you in bewilderment. All he gets in return is the usual roll of your eyes, unable to hold back your laugh at his stupidity. 
“No dumbass,” You say, reaching up for the zipper of your jacket before you’re tugging it down— it isn’t until you’re shedding the layer off that Taehyun takes in your appearance, your hair tied back and your face turning serious as you begin stretching— he takes note of your hands, wrapped tightly in the wraps he always uses as his brows are jumping up in realization— catching his reaction, you smile. 
“I am.” 
Sooyoung is skipping out of the locker room moments later; it’s hard to not notice her, especially with her bright trunks and wraps that match the rest of her outfit— a bright green, the hair tie that keeps her hair up the exact same color as she makes her way to the cage. 
“You’ll be my coach for this. I’ll only follow your instructions, so you better not get me fucked up,” you explain, joining Sooyoung by the cage before you’re turning back— Taehyun has yet to follow you, his brows furrowed as he waits for you to tell him you’re joking; instead, you’re left unamused as you cross your arms, hissing for him to hurry up and get over here. 
“How is this supposed to help?” Taehyun asks, his gaze following you as you make your way inside; he’s never seen you like this, and though he hates to admit it, you’ve definitely piqued his interest.
“Seriously, are you always like this?” Is all you can say, looking down at Taehyun from where you stand within the cage— Taehyun remains silent, choosing to hold his tongue for once as he simply stares at you in response.
“You’ve never seen The Cobra fight. You don’t know what moves he’ll pull or how to counter them,” you begin, glancing back to the opposite corner; Sooyoung is crouched down in it, speaking to Yoongi through the fence as they throw the occasional look back at you, “You need to learn how to analyze your opponent— their tells, fighting style, go-to moves— everything.”
“Yoongi is coaching Joy in this match; the next match, he’ll be coaching me.” Taehyun finally seems to understand as he looks at Sooyoung— or Joy, as you called her, the strange nickname not going unnoticed by him as he furrows his brows at the sound of it. Yoongi coached Jongseong— so did you. 
Through this match, he’ll get to take a peek into his opponents mind, no matter how miniscule. 
After a minute of discussion, you finally decide to start the first round; Taehyun is oddly anxious as he watches you, your footsteps careful and calculated as you watch Joy, eyes narrowed and dark as you keep your guard up— the said man’s advice runs through your head, knowing you warned him you’d mostly be using his tips as you circle Joy carefully. 
Taehyun realizes why Sooyoung is called Joy; he almost feels unnerved looking at her, the carefree smile and relaxed body language entirely enticing, a perfect trap to lure someone into lowering their guard— but Taehyun knows better than to think lowly of anyone you decide to bring in, her light steps and playful jabs enough to tell him that she’s definitely more calculative than she lets on.
Taehyun’s advice gets you a solid punch to the face and a painful kick to the stomach— it hurts like hell and makes you want to fight properly, but the need to allow Taehyun to improve on his own is nagging as you take the injuries and trudge over after the round is over, eyes pointed at him as though to say now what?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Taehyun hisses, annoyed at the way you already seem to be losing— he knows you can fight, yet the results of the round say otherwise as you stare at him expectantly, enough of a reminder that you currently put all strategies into his hands. 
“Okay, okay,” he sighs, glancing back at the corner Joy and Yoongi currently converse in, “It’s clear that she enjoys taunting you. A lot.”
Taehyun seems to be talking more to himself than anything, thinking back to what he saw as he continues rambling, “But she seems to have this tell— every time she’s going to strike, she smiles a bit— which is fucking creepy— it’s barely there but I’ve noticed it, especially in her eyes.”
His comments have you both impressed and amused; it had taken you quite some time to figure out Joy’s tell when you first met her, so to watch as Taehyun thoroughly breaks down her fighting style is enough to have you listening to him intently. 
“I think she’s aware of it too, because her rear hand always comes a little closer to her face when she does it—” the one-minute timer is up as Yoongi calls you back to the center of the ring, and you’re looking at Taehyun expectantly for one last comment— with his train of thought interrupted, he stumbles over his words, giving up after a moment before he’s waving you off. 
“Just watch her tells. Oh, and avoid her kicks, that looked like it hurt.”
The way you scoff mockingly isn’t lost on Taehyun— but before he can call you out on it, you’re off, the next round starting as Taehyun watches you carefully.
Joy’s tell has become much more obvious to him; it only takes a moment, but he’s able to see every small habit and go-to that Joy has, his mind racing with strategies as he quickly realizes you’re doing the same. Joy is a predictable fighter to you— granted, she was your sparring partner for years— and with Taehyun’s new discovery, you allow yourself to exploit what you know of her and use it to your advantage. 
You’re able to turn the match around with ease— Taehyun isn’t able to fight the way his eyes slowly begin to stray, away from Joy and to you, observing the way you remain focused, your moves precise and strong as he even finds himself wincing at times.
After a moment, Taehyun realizes that he’s seeing you in a new light— literally and figuratively, the spotlights suddenly turned on as someone new walks in— it highlights your features perfectly, and Taehyun is able to see your expression crystal clear, watching as your focus is shattered and you’re looking over at the entrance; the small moment of distraction costs you greatly, and Joy is able to land a punch straight to your nose before you’re falling down. 
You’re placed into a tight chokehold seconds after, still disoriented from the punch as you reluctantly tap out— gasping for air, you’re quickly turning back to the entrance, glaring daggers at Jungkook, who simply smiles at you sheepishly.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, cheeks reddening slightly from the sudden attention, “we’re just getting ready to open soon— you looked really cool though, ___.”
A moment passes before you’re laughing softly at his comment— Taehyun can’t help but wonder what might be going on between you two as Joy pulls you up, calling an early end to the match before you’re both exiting the cage. 
“That was super fun,” Sooyoung hums, watching as you can only agree reluctantly; she coos at your disgruntled state, patting your head and laughing cutely as she apologizes for her harsh blows; turning to Taehyun, her smile widens, and Taehyun is impressed to find a bruise forming on her jawline as she speaks. 
“___ told me you figured out my tells,” she pouts, her tone playful as she crosses her arms, “I seriously thought I finally got past those. Well done.” 
Taehyun feels oddly embarrassed as he nods.
“Let’s continue where we left off tomorrow,” you say, glancing over to where Jungkook busies himself at the bar, ignoring the way all of you seem to observe him for a second before you continue, “Looks like you’re not that useless after all.”
“I think he’ll be okay!” Sooyoung says, a bright smile on her face as she looks at Taehyun happily, “I mean, if you keep going the way you are, you’ll definitely survive!”
The way you and Yoongi snicker makes Taehyun’s jaw clench, rolling his eyes at the way they all constantly patronize him— his lack of response is enough to have Sooyoung apologizing softly, saying that she just loves to tease.
“We should go,” you say, throwing your jacket back on and zipping it up all the way, “they’re opening soon, and I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t wanna be in a place like this any longer.”
Yoongi and Sooyoung agree— they mumble something along the lines of “brings back too many memories,” the words making Taehyun raise a brow as he begins to wonder just how many people you knew from that club. 
Taehyun feels awkward as he watches them leave— it’s just you and him, and he’s forced to stand around awkwardly as he watches you gather your things, reluctant to leave you for reasons he can’t seem to think of. 
“___, you’re not staying?” Jungkook’s soft pout is a stark contrast to the rest of him, decked in full black and piercings that shine under the lights— Taehyun wonders if the bartender is secretly a fighter as well, the muscle that bulges from his arm not remotely subtle, even under the sleeves of his shirt. 
“Nah, I’m too tired. I took a good beating ‘cause of you,'' you say, watching as Jungkook only smiles sheepishly. Your body feels sore and you’re more than ready to go home and rest, but the way Jungkook continues to give you puppy eyes suggests that you might have to fight him off too. 
“I can patch you up,” he says, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way he flutters his eyes at you, “I haven’t seen you in so long— you’re never at the restaurant, you know.”
“Well, I am kinda busy,” you say, nodding softly at Taehyun who, to your surprise, is still at your side. 
Jungkook remains silent for a second. His eyes leave yours as they inspect Taehyun, analyzing the man who simply huffs and crosses his arms in annoyance. Meeting his eyes, Taehyun refuses to back down, raising a brow as he waits for Jungkook to say something to him. 
“Aren’t you tired of being around him all the time?” Jungkook finally speaks, clearly set on ignoring Taehyun as he turns back to you— his smile is seemingly innocent as he leans against the counter, ignoring his duties as he continues to try to get you to stay, “I can bet you I’m more fun to be around than him.”
“Noona,” Taehyun says, his voice stern and clear as speaks. This time, you both turn to him; your shock is clear on your face, eyes wide and confused as your brows knit together, wondering where the sudden formality appeared from. 
“We should go. This place is opening soon,” he says, watching as your mouth opens in an attempt to respond— though you can’t seem to figure out what to say, and Taehyun is quick to roll his eyes and go ahead— with one last glance at Jungkook, you bid him goodbye, feeling oddly tense as you follow Taehyun outside. 
“Shit,” he hears you say, though he doesn’t pay any mind to it as he stands outside— the smell of rain lingers in the air, the city alight and busy even after dark hours— from behind him, he can still hear you mumbling to yourself, your words incoherent and irritated to his ears. 
“You know, if you wanted to stay with that guy you could’ve—“ he’s stopped short by the sight of you, brows furrowed together and a sleeve pressed firmly to your nose as you curse under your breath— though the blood that ran out of your nose still clings to your chin, and you have yet to wipe it off as you continue to complain about the issue quietly, digging in your bag as you ignore Taehyun. 
“Hey, you don’t happen to have tissues, do you—?” 
The answer is a definite no. Taehyun can feel himself acting on impulse— maybe it was because the sight made him cringe, or maybe he was looking out for your safety— but next thing he knows, he’s tugging you along, away from the hidden building and straight to the convenience store a block away. 
“Wait, where are we even going?” You ask, unable to put up much of a fight as you focus on keeping the bleeding under control. Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you attempt to tug your arm out of his grip, all you get in response is the feeling of his fingers tightening around you. 
“Tissues,” Taehyun mumbles, tugging you into the store without a second thought. 
You feel oddly awkward around him— you’re not used to seeing him like this— he’s quiet, serious and not the same person that’s always trying to piss you off with some ridiculous comment. Instead, he’s oddly tentative, and you find yourself sitting at the table placed outside as you watch him rummage through the bag, pulling out one thing after another as you sit there, pressing the tissue he gave you a bit firmer to your nose. 
“This wasn’t necessary, you know,” you say quietly, eyes narrowing as you observe him carefully— despite your constant reassurance that you didn’t want him to spend on you, you currently watch him eat his instant noodles in silence, your own still covered up and warm while the two of you wait for your nose bleed to die down— though you pretend otherwise, you notice the way he glances at you every other second to see how you’re doing, offering to pour you a bit of soju that you decline with a soft scoff. 
“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he comments, his words muffled through a mouthful of noodles— he ignores your scolding to not talk with his mouth full, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you only get a roll of his eyes in return. 
“Yeah…. thanks,” you mutter, barely audible as you take the tissue away from your nose slowly— Taehyun is mid-bite as he freezes, eyes darting up to observe you— and you smile slightly, relieved to feel that your nose bleed is finally gone. 
“Ugh, that was so annoying,” you grumble, wiping at your face for any blood that’s still there; you’re fussing quietly to yourself, unable to notice as Taehyun begins to rummage through his plastic bag once more, finally finding his desired item before he throws it at you, the small packet landing right in front of you unceremoniously. 
“Here,” is all he says, avoiding any more eye-contact as he goes back to eating, the ramen disappearing within seconds from how quickly he eats. 
An odd silence falls between you; the ‘thank you’ you let out is barely audible, your demeanor awkward as you open the packet of wet wipes he tossed at you— he simply nods at you in response, and you find yourself feeling tense as you watch him sit back in his seat, shameless in the way he stares you down, clear in thought as he presses his lips together. 
“Back at the club,” you begin awkwardly, folding the wet tissue in your hands as you speak, “you called me “noona”— the hell was that about? You’re not one for formalities.”
“But you’re older, aren’t you?” Taehyun says, oddly unfazed by your sudden line of questioning, “Thought I might as well start, if we’re spending so much time together.”
“Not even Beomgyu calls me that,” you say, bristling at the way he quotes Jungkook— you feel oddly flustered by the sudden title, even more so when Taehyun simply looks up at you after a moment— his eyes are wide and innocent as he observes you, and slowly, he breaks out into a soft smile. 
“I’m just being polite,” he says, straightening in his seat as he tilts his head, “Noona.”
“Enough of that,” you bark out, gritting your teeth at the way he only grins at your response, “We need to talk strategy— your fight’s a few days away.”
“Right, right,” Taehyun says, chopsticks circling the inside of his bowl as pauses, thinking back to the man he only got a glimpse of in FightX, “Jongseong— what’s he like?” 
The sudden question has you sitting back in your chair, deep in thought as you think back to Jongseong— The Cobra, or the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy that stumbled into Minho’s convenience store by what you thought was an accident. 
“Can you teach me how to fight?” He had asked you, eyes wide and innocent as he stared up at you, a mere sixteen-year-old that worked at Minho’s store as a side hustle. You remembered pretending as though you had no idea what he was talking about, laughing off the way his curious gaze drifted over the pain patches on your shoulders and your bruised knuckles.
“Where’s your mother?” You remembered asking, incredulous at the way he refused to leave or buy anything; instead, he insisted that you teach him to fight, gluing his feet to the floor despite the fact that you chose to ignore any questions he had about you and your secret hobbies. 
“Don’t know,” he admitted casually, and it wasn’t until then that you noticed his roughed up appearance, his face dirtied and bruised, and his hair filled with dirt and twigs, “she doesn’t come home until night time. I’m alone right now.”
“What… happened to your face?” You asked him, leaning on the counter to get a closer look; you remember reaching over to rid his hair of the dirt, watching as he scrunched his face and slapped your hand off in reaction— the sight of him was an eerie mirror of your own before you found Minho, your brows furrowing at the tough front this kid seemed to put up. 
“Some stupid kids at my school,” he brushed you off, running a hand through his hair as he felt the dirtiness of it with a wince; looking back at you, he took in your concerned expression, frowning at the sight as he leaned against the counter. 
“You know,” he says, raising a brow at the way you study his injuries, “If you’re that worried, why don’t you teach me how to fight?”
His proposition caught your attention— his words were reminiscent of your own, years ago, when you stumbled upon Minho’s small club by accident, a sad attempt to find asylum— and suddenly, you found yourself thinking it through. 
“Okay. But just for self-defense.”
“So you practically raised him,” Taehyun says, the very thought of it making you shiver as you shake your head no, your eye twitching at his words, “No? Well, you did train him, right?”
“Well, he trained for a good two years. Yoongi and I trained him for a while since everyone was too busy to deal with another newbie, and Minho…” sighing, you go to open your own instant noodles, now cooled and a bit soggy as you wince slightly at the sight, “Minho had the idea to throw him in the ring after he reached fifteen.”
You still remember his first fight— you remember being strictly against it the moment Minho proposed it, sudden and instant as he quickly escorted Jongseong away from you; you, being freshly out of a match, barely had any energy to fight back properly. 
“This isn’t what he wants. This is too dangerous, Minho,” you remembered telling him, trying to reason with him despite the roaring spectators drowning your voice out. You remembered how Jongseong looked under Minho’s arm; small, skittish and tense, his eyes flicking around the cage in attempts to familiarize himself with the layout as Minho’s fingers only dug deeper into his shoulder. 
“Of course it’s what he wants,” Minho responded, always quick to leave you helpless with the way he towered over you, a Cheshire smile on his lips as his eyes twinkled with a dangerous delight, “Don’t you remember how you were in your first fight? Could barely throw a punch.”
Before you could argue, Minho continued. 
“You know he has potential. What, afraid he’ll steal the spotlight from you and Yoongi?” Jongseong’s eyes flickered to you then— and in that moment, you realized just how long Minho seemed to have prepared him for this moment, the deep breath he took stabilizing him momentarily as Minho leaned down to speak quietly in his ear. 
“Do you know how much money you could make from today’s match?” Minho had told Jongseong sweetly, and the two of them looked over to the other side of the cage, where his opponent waited for him, “It’s your first match— but I’ve given you an easy kill, I know you’ll win.”
An easy kill— that was definitely one way to describe Jongseong’s victory. You watched first hand as the fear drained from Jongseong’s face, replaced with a dangerous gaze that you had never seen before; you watched as he threw perfect jabs, calculated and lethal as he landed hook after hook on his opponent. 
Even now, you can’t help but feel surprised at how protective you got over him— especially when he was sent flying with a kick to the stomach, crashing against the ground and leaving you tense as you watched the way he didn’t move. 
At the memory, you laugh softly— your eyes flicker up to Taehyun’s, your tone grim as you speak. 
“That was his winning move.”
His opponent got sloppy— he let his guard down, approaching Jongseong so casually that the punch he got to the jaw was definitely deserved— and though his body crashed to the floor and Jongseong was able to get the higher ground, he didn’t stop. 
“He doesn’t care if you’re down. He doesn’t care if he’s won,” you grit out, your appetite lost as you stare down at your cold food, the memory of Jongseong landing hit after hit to his weakened opponent making you frown. 
You still remember the look in his eyes as the referee tore him off his opponent; wild and hungry, still lusting for blood as he attempted to shake the authority figure off. Even when his eyes met yours, horrified at the person Jongseong transformed into, he didn’t care, his grin only widening as the referee announced his name, the audience going wild at the way his arm was thrust up in victory.
The spectacle of his lethal fighting style earned him his special nickname; Minho’s triumphant smile left a sick feeling in your stomach, forced to listen to the way the announcers paraded around Jongseong like a killer animal. 
After that day, you watched Jongseong grow into the person he is today; cold, calculated, and borderline murderous. 
“Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the kid who came to me looking to learn self-defense,” you chuckle dryly, frowning at the memory, “Then I remember who he’s become, and I can’t help but feel responsible for it.”
“When I met Beomgyu through that god-forsaken club, I was reminded of Jongseong,” the sudden revelation has Taehyun listening intently, leaning in to watch as your eyes drift off to the city around you, foggy and reminiscent as you tell him your story. 
“For some reason, I thought that maybe this time, I could prevent him from becoming a monster,” you mutter, leaning your chin into your palm as you sigh, “Though, I don’t think I like this outcome either.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Taehyun quickly interjects, and he flinches slightly at the way your eyes flicker back to meet his, regarding him for a moment before you smile. 
“I know. It was yours.”
He’s not sure how to respond to that; he’s not sure if he should, unsure of what he should say or do as you stare him down silently— after a second, you’re breaking out into a soft laugh, tired and broken up as you wince from the feeling of your bruised ribs.
“I’m just fuckin with you,” you say, sitting up at you take in the way Taehyun visibly relaxes, “You didn’t force Beomgyu to do anything. It was all out of his free will.”
“And I kinda know that you lied about the whole thing being your idea.”
Your confession has Taehyun looking like a deer in headlights— it’s enough to make you laugh, easing the tense mood as he asks you how you knew.
“I had my suspicions from the very beginning,” you say, pausing for a second before you add cheekily, “And, Beomgyu told me.”
“Ah,” he mumbles, biting his lip as he tries to smile at you, “Sorry I lied.”
“Don’t be. It’s interesting that you chose to cover for him,” you say, returning the awkward smile as you add, “I should be the one sorry. For slapping the shit out of you.”
The two of you laugh— though, it’s a bit tense, and a silence falls between you two after.
“You… met Beomgyu? At that club?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you nod without hesitation. 
“Yeah. He was sixteen, I made sure to kick him out and warn him once I saw how his worried mother came looking for him. And it worked, for like two years. Then…” 
“Then Jin’s club opened.”
You raise a brow at his words, pausing in surprise before you’re nodding slowly. 
“Yeah, then Seokjin’s club opened,” you repeat slowly, frowning at the way he already knew, “Beomgyu found himself involved there, and it wasn’t long before his mother came to FightX looking for him. Jin’s club wasn’t as shady— I mean, compared to FightX, that place was like a church. I knew I didn’t have much to worry about, but I still decided to train him for a while… just to be safe.”
Taehyun sees the way your eyes are filled with nostalgia, a soft smile forming on your face from the memories.
“That’s kinda how I ended up where I am now. I could only drag Beomgyu back to his house so many times before his mother started treating me like family too,” meeting Taehyun’s gaze, you’re surprised to see him listening to you intently— it has you tensing slightly, not realizing how much you’ve revealed about yourself until now. 
“So,” you start, clearing your throat awkwardly from the way Taehyun’s gaze sears into you intensely, “What’s your story? How’d you end up in this scene?” 
“Oh, it’s nothing interesting,” Taehyun waves you off, though you refuse to be the only one delving into their personal life as you press Taehyun for details, “Seriously, it’s pretty normal.”
“Well, tell me anyways,” you say softly, tilting your head as you send Taehyun a challenging look, “Might as well get to know each other, if we’re spending so much time together.”
The way he laughs softly at your mocking comment is slightly contagious— and though you pretend otherwise, you notice the bittersweet look on his face as he reaches for the bottle of soju, pouring himself a shot for the first time in a while before he offers you one; with a slight laugh, you accept it. 
“I got into mma with a friend of mine— gave me lessons, sparred with each other, all that fancy stuff. We were really close, and getting into this hobby together only made us closer,” he laughed softly at his words, his mind filled with memories as he stared down at the table, “And now… Well. He’s not around anymore. Passed away less than a year ago.”
You frown softly at the way he pours himself another shot— the grief on his face is still fresh, you realize, his gaze hardening as he places the shot cup back down. 
“Without him, I felt… lost. I didn’t really know what to do with myself— after a while, I mostly felt angry.” His finger traces around the rim of the cup, slow and steady as he takes a moment to pause, “I hated that feeling. So, I tried finding the next best outlet, and found a few underground clubs. That’s how I met Beomgyu.”
The air is tense from his story; you’ve never been the best at comforting, so you find yourself unsure of what to do. After a moment, Taehyun laughs, taking in your tense expression with amusement, and it’s only then that your eyes fall onto the dimple that digs into his cheeks cutely. 
“God, I’m sure he’d go nuts if he knew the shit I got myself into,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head, “I’m not sure if he’d want to stop the fight or get front row seats— hell, probably the latter.”
Taehyun is quick to pick up on the glint of amusement in your eyes— he’s just as quick to reach for the soju bottle and pour the two of you another shot, the air much lighter than it was a moment ago as you watch him give you a bright smile, the sight unusual for you as you find yourself giving him an unsure one in return. 
“We only have three days left,” Taehyun says, bringing his glass up, watching the way you shake your head in amusement, “Let’s keep up the hard work, noona.”
“Don’t call me that.” You grimace, clinking your glass with his before you’re both downing the liquid—though you can’t help the slight smile that tugs at your lips in amusement, watching as Taehyun slowly becomes more open with you as you let him finish the bottle— I have to drive, idiot, you told him with a sneer, pushing the bottle back to him when he pouted that he shouldn’t be drinking alone. 
Taehyun is oddly light—and lightweight— though, not light enough for you to be tugging along back to your car, grimacing at the way he stumbles and knocks into you drunkenly.
“Noona,” he said to you, his words slow as he smiled at the way you snapped at him to not call you that, “Noona, you think I’ll win?”
“Fuck, I hope so,” you grumble, finding your car in the now-filled abandoned parking lot that was close to Jin’s, “It would be a huge fucking waste of time if you didn’t.”
“Okay then,” Taehyun pouts, pushing you away from him and walking off to his own car, only for you to tug him back to your own as you tell him he shouldn’t drive like this, “Why would I wanna be stuck in the car with someone who acts like such a bitch?”
“I act like a bitch because I care,” you bark, opening the car door and shoving him carelessly, only to watch as he turns back to look at you with that same, stupid, patronizing smile. 
“If you say so,” he says, his cheeks a bit flushed as he leans back towards you, “Nooooo...na.”
Your reaction is immediate— he feels as though the punch you land on his arm is enough to sober him, rubbing the sore area with a drunken pout.
“Get in the damn car.”
⊹⊹⊹
You currently stand outside FightX. There’s an hour left before the match.
You pace around in worry, unable to stand still as you hear the ruckus of the club and it’s awaiting patrons inside. Your brows are knitted in a deep frown and you can’t fight the way you bite your lip anxiously as you walk around in restless circles, over and over as you’re left in deep thought. 
“Stop that, you’re making me dizzy,” a voice calls out, snapping you out of your daze as you watch Taehyun walk up with a leisurely smile on his face— the sight is almost unnerving, his mood a complete opposite from yours as you watch him adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder, taking a moment before he’s standing before you. 
“Aren’t you nervous?” You ask, watching as he simply shakes his head without hesitation, “you’d be stupid not to be— although, that does make sense…”
“Hey,” he says, lips pressed into a line as he frowns at you, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t degrade me before the match. You’re messing up my concentration.” 
“Right. Of course,” you huff out, looking away and missing the way that Taehyun smiles, taking in your jittery figure with amusement— his expression is immediately dropping the moment you look back at him, and he’s mentally cursing at himself for suddenly being so weird. 
“Are you gonna make me workout before the match or something? Why are we here so early?” He asks, tilting his head and taking in your attire slowly; it’s not what you wear when you train him, but it’s still light and athletic as he raises a brow at your apparel, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear my energy out just yet.”
“I’m not making you do anything, I just needed you to be here so you could get into the right mindset.” you say, and your response is enough to leave Taehyun silent as he stares at you; it’s odd, and you find yourself unnerved by his analytic stare. “What? What’s wrong with you now?”
“Are you worried?” He asks, his question sudden as he takes a step toward you— startled, you try your best to remain unfazed, resisting the urge to take a step back as you take in his sudden proximity.
“Worried? About what?” You say, your responses much too curt to seem natural; mentally, you’re cursing at yourself for feeling so odd, unable to hide what you’re thinking as well as you usually are— especially under Taehyun’s scrutinizing gaze. 
“Worried…. That I’ll lose?” He says, leaning in slightly to get a better look at your face; you refuse to pull away, looking into his eyes and keeping your expresion blank despite how close he is— his scent is invading your senses, oddly alluring as you finally get a good look at the man before you, “Or… no.” 
Another pause. You don’t know what Taehyun might say next, but judging by the way his lips twitch with the hint of a smile, you know you won’t like it. 
“Maybe… worried I’ll get hurt?”
Your eye twitches. 
“Hmm. Okay,” he says, quick to catch your small reaction as he backs away, a smug smile on his face— you frown, wondering what he might be insinuating as you send him an incredulous look. 
“Okay? Okay what?” You say, watching as Taehyun chooses to remain silent— his sudden refusal to speak to you has you far more annoyed than you’d like, slapping his arm and telling him to look at you, irked by the way he deliberately ignores your request and looks around in wonder, “Okay what? Of course I’m concerned!” 
Your sudden confession has Taehyun’s gaze snapping back to yours. 
“If The Cobra takes you out, we lose. And if we lose,” you pause, taking in Taehyun’s expression— he’s bewildered, mouth slightly parted as he listens to your irritated words— “If we lose… seriously, will you stop looking at me like that?”
“If we lose…” he repeats slowly, and your frown only deepens in response, “You said we.” 
“Yeah…?”
“You’re… coaching me?” 
“No, I’m getting front row seats and betting against you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and smacking Taehyun’s bicep in annoyance, “Yes, I’m coaching you. Wouldn’t be here wasting my time if I wasn’t.”
The way Taehyun’s eyes are sparkling under the lights is slightly creepy— you don’t think you’ve even seen such a genuine expression on him before, and you can only take a step back in uncertainty as Taehyun smiles at you; a genuine, soft smile. 
“Right, it’s just…” he pauses, clearing his throat before he’s reaching towards you to return the hit you gave him moments ago— though it’s a bit stiff, and you’re raising a brow at the action as you watch Taehyun carefully, “Haven’t had a coach in a while.”
Oh.
You’re sure the thought shows on your face, the reminder of Taehyun’s past life coming back to the forefront of your mind with a slight pang of guilt— though Taehyun doesn’t let you dwell on it, making fun of your face and prodding at you with enough annoying comments that you have to meditating to not slap the shit out of him. 
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll beat you before your match even starts,” you hiss, your threat enough of an incentive to get him off your back, “Yoongi and Sooyoung are coming as well. We’ll wait for them before we go in.”
“Are they really?” Taehyun asks, and you simply nod in response— the thought of Sooyoung watching him fight wasn’t exactly pleasant, and he finds himself thinking back to the nickname you gave her in the ring, “Joy… what an odd name. Did you ever get a title back here? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”
“Because I didn’t have one,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the way he seems surprised by that, “My name was enough intimidation for them.”
Wowww, Taehyun cooed, the patronizing gesture enough to have you reaching to smack him on instinct— though it seems as though your move was too predictable for him, flinching out of the way with ease and continuing to send you that stupid smug smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to try and provoke you. 
“If you two are done with this weird tension, we’d like to go in now,” the look Yoongi sends you is enough to have your face heating up with embarrassment, unsure of what he might mean with his words as you shake your head in annoyance— grabbing Taehyun’s elbow, you lead him down the steps, watching as Yoongi and Sooyoung follow behind with teasing eyes. 
“Yoongi, did you have to bring your men along? It’s already crowded enough in there as it is,” you groan, your head beginning to ache at the sight of the packed club— Yoongi simply scoffs, telling you better safe than sorry as he gestures for the two of you to go inside. 
“Go find Minho,” Yoongi nudges you, and you nod firmly at his words, “Make sure to let him know we are also here.”
If you insist, you mumble, ready to go off before you feel Sooyoung grab onto your elbow, tugging you back to get your attention— the moment your eyes meet, she sends you a bright smile, pairing it with a thumbs up as she squeezes your arm in reassurance.
“You got this!” She says, letting you go and watching as you weave through the crowd with Taehyun in tow. 
“You think we’ll win?” Yoongi mutters in Sooyoung’s ear, watching the way her smile tenses a bit. 
“I prayed a little yesterday.”
⊹⊹⊹
“…from what I remember, he’s very straightforward; very serious— spends a good couple of minutes gauging what kind of fighter you are before he strikes. I need you to be careful during this match, okay? Fight with your brain, not just your fists.”
You’ve been talking Taehyun’s ear off for an impressively long time. Taehyun didn’t think it was possible to see you like this, restless and fidgety as you followed him into the locker to give him a pep talk. There was ten minutes left before the fight.
“Relax, I got this,” Taehyun says, and he’s greeted with an unamused look of yours in return, “I didn’t watch you and Joy beat the hell out of each other for nothing, you know.”
The mention of your matches with Sooyoung is enough to have you cringing; while it was good for Taehyun to get a grasp of what you and Yoongi might’ve taught Jongseong and vice-versa, it wasn’t as good to leave sore after each training day you spent with him.
“Can’t believe I did that,” you mutter to yourself, leaning against the lockers behind you in dismay. Though by the way you can hear Taehyun laugh at you mockingly, you know he picked up on it as well. 
“You care more than you let on, noona,” he smiles, your eye twitching at the name; you have yet to get used to this sudden formality, and Taehyun is clearly taking advantage of it, judging by the way his smile only widens with your every reaction. 
“Noona?” The source of the voice is from someone you’d never forget; both you and Taehyun are looking over at the entrance in an instant, and you can feel your eyes widen as you take in the way Jongseong stands there, much more grown than the last time you saw him. 
“Oh. Hi,” you grit out awkwardly, cringing at how tense you sound.
“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” He asks, walking toward you without hesitation; his hair is black and slicked back neatly, a stark contrast to the messy brown hair he could never bother to style when he was younger, “it’s been three years, you disappeared without a trace!”
You’re not sure what he’s going to do as he approaches you in a hurry— hug you, maybe— because he pauses, taking in the sight of Taehyun sitting in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he takes a moment to take the man in.
“You’re…” he pauses, brows furrowing as he goes deep in thought for a second, “Taehyun.”
Taehyun’s name falls from his lips with pure disdain; Jongseong is looking between you and him, his face dropping with disappointment as everything begins to click together in his mind.
“I was hoping Minho was lying,” Jongseong mutters, taking a step back from you as he meets your eyes; he no longer holds the same, wide and nostalgic gaze that greeted you when you first saw him. Instead, it’s cold and scathing, a reflection of the dangerous man you’re preparing Taehyun to face in the ring. 
“You’re coaching him, then?” He asks, and all you can do is nod as you take in the anger in his eyes, wondering what lies Minho has been feeding him to look at Taehyun with such hatred, “I see.”
He’s backing away from you. You feel as though you’re losing him all over again as you watch his eyes turn to you, filled with nothing but restless anger as he sends you a vicious smile. 
“Try not to lose another one, noona,” he says, feigning a pout as he takes in the way your jaw clenches at his words. His eyes flicker over to Taehyun, pleased to find that his jab seems to have affected him, as well, “Good luck. You’ll definitely need it.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, waving you off before he’s out of sight. It’s quiet, and you’re unsure of what to say now that it’s just the two of you. Sighing, you look back at Taehyun, only to see that his eyes were already on you. 
You gulp. 
Taehyun has never looked this angry; his jaw is clenched and his brows are furrowed as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he jerks his head side to side— the cracks of his neck have you wincing, though you don’t think he cares, his lips pressing together for a moment before he breaks out into a breathy laugh. 
His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a smile spreading across his face, fangs dangerous as he bites his lip in a failed attempt to suppress it. 
“I can’t wait to fuck him up.”
⊹⊹⊹
The place is packed. 
It’s deafening as you make your way to the cage, Taehyun stuck to your side as the patrons make a path for you; you try not to tense at the feeling of Taehyun’s hand on your waist, pulling you in and keeping you away from the men that stare at you with a disgusting hunger. 
Their excitement is deafening. It makes your head pound and your concentration waver, jolting into Taehyun from the way people try to reach out for you— the call of your name by old regulars isn’t lost on you, but you try to grit your teeth and ignore it. 
“They’re here for you,” Taehyun muses quietly, leaning into you so you can hear him. You scoff, shaking your head as you finally reach the cage’s entrance; Jongseong is already inside, waiting.
“They’re here for you,” you say, watching as Taehyun unzips his jacket and hands it to you; he grins at that, and you’re scolding him to put in his mouthpiece so he can’t come up with a stupid comeback. 
“Go get ‘em tiger,” you grin, watching as Taehyun can only shake his head in amusement. Your eyes flicker back to where Jeongseong stands, chatting idly with his own coach— your expression turns grim at the sight of Minho giving him tips with a bright smile. 
Your hands are warm as you reach out to Taehyun; grabbing both sides of his face, cradling his jaw as you’re pulling him in towards you boldly— he’s slightly caught off guard by your action, eyes widening as he’s forced to remain silently and stare at you stupidly. 
“Light on your feet. Be calm. Preserve your energy,” you say to him, repeating all the tips you’ve given him through three curt sentences. He nods, and you nod along with him, slightly amused at the sight of him.
“You got this. I believe in you.”
You’re pushing him into the cage after that. 
The floor is scuffed and old. It’s nothing in comparison to Jin’s pristine cage, and Taehyun is finally beginning to take it all in as he looks out, the club packed and rowdy as he scans through the crowd; he spots Yoongi and Sooyoung, the two giving him a nod and a thumbs up the moment their eyes meet. 
“Tonight’s match looks quite interesting,” a voice booms out, and Taehyun looks over to the commentator’s table, able to recognize the two faces that beam back at him in excitement— Taemin and Kibum, if he remembers right. 
“Not only is it winner-takes-all, but we also seem to have a legend in our midst— if not, two,” Taemin’s smile is ear to ear as the crowd grows louder, and Taehyun is able to spot you shrinking slightly from the sudden attention. 
“The king and queen of FightX— sound familiar?” If the crowd’s reaction is any indication of their answer, then Taehyun would say yes. Kibum’s laugh echoes around the cage, and Taehyun feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.
“Not only that, but apparently she’s coaching this guy too!” Taemin and Kibum are off in their own world as they chatter, and Taehyun can’t help but wonder when the theatrics will end and the match will start. 
“Minho even seems to have stepped up for today— the best of the best, hmm?”
Minho is more than willing to indulge in all the fanfare; in the ring, Jongseong only rolls his eyes, clearly as impatient as Taehyun.
“Oooh, now now, we should probably stop,” Kibum grins, nudging Taemin playfully, “It looks like our fighters are getting restless.”
“Right, we should probably get on with it,” Taemin agrees, though the way they both continue to talk says otherwise, “This is what you all came to see, right?!”
More cheers. 
Taehyun has begun drowning everyone out at this point. Even when the referee steps inside and gestures for the two to come to him, he can’t bring himself to listen. Instead, he focuses, his eyes never straying from the man before him.
The Cobra seems to be just as concentrated as him. His gaze is dangerous and he’s restless as he shifts in front of Taehyun, lips twitching into a smile as the referee asks them to be courteous, to touch gloves. 
Neither of them move. 
Three rounds, he hears the referee remind them— then he’s stepping back, gauging their reactions before the loud bell rings out, signaling that the fight has begun. 
Jongseong moves immediately— but he doesn’t strike, and Taehyun’s eyes narrow at the way he remains in a low stance, swaying slightly as he remains on guard; his constant movement makes it difficult for Taehyun to hit him, and he’s left unamused at the way Jongseong seems to taunt and bluff with a mocking smile. 
He throws out meaningless jabs, not bothering to hit him properly as he continues to grin and mess around. This behavior is a strong contrast to the characteristics you warned him of; He keeps his fists close to his face, a complete opposite of Jongseong, who’s body remains relaxed.
Usually, Taehyun would see this as a weakness; he’s left unguarded, goading the audience that only seems to yell at Taehyun to do something— to take the bait. If anything, the way Jongseong smiles through his mouthpiece is enough to remind him of Sooyoung; confident, skilled, quick and agile enough that he can afford to keep his body open as a bluff. 
Taehyun throws a left hook as a test. Immediately, Jongseong is jumping back, dodging it and putting his hands up with such speed that Taehyun could’ve missed it if he blinked. Jongseong’s eyes narrow, and it seems as though he’s realized that Taehyun has caught on to his show tactics.
There’s no room to play around anymore. Jongseong seems to have thrown out any tactics to bait Taehyun, choosing to throw punch after punch instead, a slight form of bait on its own.
Taehyun could fight back. He could retaliate to the blows on his forearms and sides, could try to land a few kicks on the man before him and try to injure him. But he would also waste all his energy in the first round, potentially leaving him vulnerable to The Cobra’s attacks in later rounds. It’s clear that’s what he wants— Taehyun throws a punch here and there to make it seem as though he’s falling into the trap, but your words to preserve his energy ring out in his head all the while. 
The action to remain on defense makes Taehyun look like a coward. But he doesn’t really mind, especially with the way Jongseong grows cocky, a confident smile broad on his face as he lets his guard down slightly, laughing along to the scathing comments the audience throws at him. 
His rear hand falters for a second. And in that second, Taehyun is able to deliver a right hook, his padded fist colliding with Jongseong’s jaw and sending him stumbling off, the people roaring and drowning out the sound of the commentator’s ramblings. 
One minute on the clock, will he be able to get another hit in?! Taehyun is effortless to drown out Kibum’s cries, stepping back the moment Jeongseong is back on his feet— for a moment, the two circle each other, and Taehyun can see the way his opponent’s eyes scan him, mind rapidly thinking of a way to counter his most recent blow. 
Kibum is audibly disappointed at the sound of the first round ending. How uneventful, he mourns, and Taehyun is happy to see that you’ve made it into the cage, Minho trailing behind you as you both get a minute to talk. 
“Fuck, good job, that was a good hit,” you immediately say, grabbing Taehyun’s wrist and dragging him to your corner. His mouth is sore as he takes his mouthpiece out, taking slow drinks of the water bottle you hand him as he listens to you.
“He’s a lot more different now. Still agile, but it looks like he likes playing with his food now,” you say, wiping off the sweet that’s gathered on Taehyun’s skin gently; he feels oddly tense at the action, your tender gesture making his heart beat a little faster as he wonders instead if he’s finally beginning to get nervous from the match.
“He definitely knows you’re not one to play with now, but it’s still good to feed into it sometimes,” you pause, your hand stilling on his chest, the thin towel the only barrier between you as you look up at him sternly, “I know I said to preserve more energy, but get more hits out. He has really good stamina.”
Taehyun tries to sear your words into his head as the referee calls for them to get ready for the next round, the two of you exchanging a reassuring look before you’re off.
Like last time, Jongseong doesn’t seem too keen on being friendly before the match. 
Taehyun takes your advice quite seriously— though Jongseong is also able to get more hits on him this way, his bottom lip cracking open after a particularly rough punch. Jongseong, Taehyun realizes, mostly fights with his upper body. He’s quick on his feet and dodges hits easily, but Taehyun has yet to be pinned down or hit with a kick— he tries to keep this knowledge to himself, the next five minutes uneventful as the round ends without any memorable hits.
Could it be that The Cobra has met his match? Taemin mused into the mic, grinning at the way the crowd only booed in response. Ignore that, you muttered in his ear, rolling your eyes at the way the two commentators were still just as annoying as you remembered. 
“He only punches,” Taehyun comments, his brows furrowing as he looks over to Jongseong’s corner, “No kicks, clinches, anything. It’s odd.” 
“Because he’s saving it for the last round,” you tell him, reaching up to brush the hair from his forehead— you’re serious, trying your best to hide the worry on your face as you warn him, “I’m telling you— he likes to play with his food. Be extra careful, I’m sure he’ll try pulling something new on you.”
The referee calls the break to an end. Pressing your lips together, and you’re nodding as you step back to leave. 
“Go all in now. Everything you got, now’s the time to use it.”
The way Minho laughs as you meet him at the cage entrance has you scoffing; Taehyun can see the older man talking to you, though he’s unable to try and see what he’s saying as the referee calls the fighters to the center.
“Last round,” he reminds, placing a hand on both their shoulders, “Clean, fair fight, okay?”
Jongseong nods— then, he reaches forward, offering his gloves to Taehyun. 
The slight twitch of his lips is mischievous. Slowly, Taehyun does the same; their gloves touch softly, the commentators quick to point it out as the match begins. 
Jeongseong throws a punch instantly. 
It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. His eyes are filled with eager bloodlust and alight with adrenaline, throwing hit after hit at Taehyun with no signs of stopping. All Taehyun can do is defend himself, unable to get an opening as he’s forced to take the blows Jongseong delivers.
Taehyun thinks he might have an opening the moment the man backs up, hands going down and leaving him unguarded for a second— but as Taehyun throws out a punch, he’s met with a harsh kick to his side, shocking him and knocking him off balance as Jongseong quickly uses it to his advantage. 
He’s disoriented with how quickly Jongseong wraps around him; limbs tangled, arms around his neck in such a strong chokehold that Taehyun can already feel his head pounding. Is he gonna tap out? He can hear the commentators asking, forcing him to grit his teeth and throw punches at Jeongseong’s head and sides in an attempt to throw him off. 
It seems to work; he’s somehow landed a punch directly to his nose, and the man behind him is stunted by the blow, his hold faltering and giving Taehyun the opening he needed to escape. 
Quick to get up, Taehyun slowly catches his breath. Two minutes on the clock! He hears them yell. Jongseong has yet to get up, the blood dripping from his nose making his eyes widen in shock, watching as he struggles to stumble to his feet, still disoriented from the blow. 
Jongseong’s eyes meet Taehyun’s; he’s tired, a panting mess and reflection of him as he slowly makes his way to Taehyun, stumbling slightly and heavy on his feet as he winces— an easy finish. For a second, Taehyun can feel himself relax, the tension in his body releasing as he watches Jongseong carefully. 
Jongseong takes in Taehyun’s shift instantly— Taehyun is jumping back before he can process it, eyes widening at the way Jongseong aimed a right hook for him, the swing of his arm ripping through the air as he stumbles slightly from the lack of impact. 
Then, he’s knocked back.
Taehyun can barely process the way his body moved with such acute precision, spinning and twisting just as you taught him as he lands with no problem, the feeling of him colliding right into Jongseong oddly instinctual; he watches as the man jolts from the impact, his body stiffening and his eyes rolling back as he can only fall from the impact to his body— to his head. 
The sound of his body colliding against the floor is loud, Jongseong’s face blank as he simply lays there, eyelids flickering and mind swimming in and out of consciousness as the referee runs to him. 
After a moment, the winner is declared. 
Taehyun is unable to process anything— the sounds of the audience roaring, the feeling of his arm being thrust into the air, the sight of Jongseong lying on the ground still— he doesn’t process anything, eyes drifting around and looking for one thing like habit. 
There you are, face alight with joy as you cheer furiously. 
Taehyun laughs slightly— it’s a bit pained, and he winces at the feeling of his sore body, the referee finally letting go of his hand as he stumbles out towards the exit, and straight towards you, pulling his mouth guard out with a wince.
“You did it!” You grin, your voice clear as day, even through the bewildered chatter of the rest as you wave him over. “Fuck, you really did it!”
Taehyun thinks you might hit him again, like you always do; instead, he feels you grab his face, your own alight with euphoria as you tug him into you and crash your lips against his— he barely has enough time to process things before you’re pulling away, your expression sobering as you take in what you just did. 
“Hey!” Yoongi calls out, attempting to weave through the crowd as you turn around to the source of the distraction, “Find Minho, make sure he doesn’t try to slip away!” 
“Right,” you respond, turning back to look at Taehyun— he’s left frozen and bewildered as he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as you feel a heat rush to your face. 
He attempts to call after you, but you’re slipping away before he can get you to stay.
He can still feel the ghost of your lips against his.
⊹⊹⊹
“You guys are insane,” Beomgyu huffs, laying back in his bed with a slight wince, “My mother would be mortified if she found out what you did to get this money.”
“It’s a shame we had to get it at all,” you say, glaring at Beomgyu and watching as he shrinks under your gaze, muttering a quiet sorry, sorry in response. Sighing, you shake your head, taking in Beomgyu’s condition with a smile, “you know, after all these expenses, I think we might just have a bit left over.”
“We could go on a trip,” Beomgyu says without hesitation, and you shake your head in amusement. 
“Focus on getting better first,” you scold, smiling at the way Beomgyu lets out a yes ma’am! In response, “I need to go. Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m supposed to get discharged in two days, don’t forget me!” He calls out, and you choose to ignore it as you exit, stopping in your tracks as you close the door behind you softly.
The last thing you expected was to see Taehyun waiting for you, patched up and changed as he leaned against the wall.
“Hey,” you smile, albeit a bit awkward— he says nothing, and you clear your throat, nodding back to the room behind you nervously, “Visiting hours are over. Uhm, maybe come back tomorrow?”
“I’m not here to see him,” he says, raising a brow at the way you only send him a confused look, “I’m here to see you.”
“And what could you possibly want from me?” Your steps are brisk as you begin to walk back to the exit; Taehyun is just as quick behind you, trying to get your attention to no avail.
“What do you mean what could I possibly want? You’re not one to act stupid, noona,” he says, hot on your trail as you finally make it outside. 
You know he’s right— and yet, you feel terribly awkward about it, refusing to look back at him as you begin to wonder where you could have parked, wandering around the quiet lot— you’re a few feet away from your car when Taehyun grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks and turning you around harshly, his eyes angry as he looks at you.
“You kissed me.”
“What?” You say, trying to shake his hold off as you look up at him with shining, innocent eyes, your right one twitching for a second, “What is this, some kind of adrenaline-induced hallucination? Don’t be weird.”
“Hallucination—” he’s in disbelief as he begins cornering you, your back pressing flat against the driver’s door as he practically towers over you, his free hand planted by your head and caging you in, “The way you felt against me felt very real.”
You gulp. This was weird— this was new, something that you definitely had not accounted for, because as you stare at Taehyun, his gaze intense and his face inches away from yours, you can’t help but feel your face heat up. 
“It’s— it meant nothing,” you stutter out, heart pounding at the way he very clearly doesn’t believe you, “I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
“It meant nothing?” He whispers, his voice low and breathy as he leans in even closer; your eyes are shutting from how close he is, able to feel his breath fan across your cheeks as he lets out a soft laugh, “If it meant nothing, then why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been—”
“I don’t appreciate you lying to me, noona.”
You’re silent. Your breaths are shaky, lips parted as you wait for him to say something. 
After a second, his lips press against yours. 
For a second, it’s gentle; unsure, waiting for you to pull away and tell him to leave you alone— instead, you let out a breathy sigh, your lips beginning to move against his.
The moment you reciprocate is the moment he loses control. His hands are coming up to your face, cupping your jaw tenderly and tilting your head up to him, his lips needy and messy as he pries your mouth open, tongue prodding at your mouth before he’s pulling away to sink his teeth into your soft lips— the pained whine you let out has his mind reeling. 
You’re breathless and dazed by the time he finally pulls away— you think you can feel your knees go weak at the sight of a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, watching as he smiles at you cruelly, his gaze dark and hazed as his thumb runs across your bottom lip fondly.
“I won just for you,” he breathes out, eyes darkening from the way your tongue runs across the pad of his finger mindlessly.
“Don’t you think I deserve a reward for working so hard?”
⊹⊹⊹
Taehyun’s apartment is nice— well, at least you think. You didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at it. 
However, you can confidently say that his bed is nice— you practically sink into the soft mattress, the once neatly done sheets beneath you now a mess from the way you’re squirming under Taehyun.
All he’s done is kiss you— yet, you feel so terribly fucked out and needy, unable to keep your hands off him for even a second, your fingers weaved into his hair and tugging as you feel him moan into your mouth. 
“Even now you’re so fucking mean,” he hisses, feeling the way your nails rake down his back; leaving a red trail against his skin, his shirt discarded long ago as he currently worked to get you to do the same. “Shit, I just got out of a match, noona.”
“Shit, you’re right,” you pant, and Taehyun frowns above you as you begin to pull away, “poor baby is too hurt to fuck—”
“I didn’t say that,” he groans, and you’re surprised by the way he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you back down into the mattress firmly. He takes this moment to tug your shirt up, throwing it in some random direction before he’s smiling at the sight of you, “Fuck, you have such a smart mouth.”
“Guess it rubbed off,” you say, your words wavering pathetically mid-way, all from the feeling of Taehyun biting and sucking at your neck ruthlessly while his hands came up to feel your breasts, slipping under the fabric and circling your nipples teasingly. 
“Yeah? I taught you that?” He asks, nipping at your skin and taking off your bra with swift hands, “Maybe I should teach you how to be good for me then.”
You’re unable to gather your thoughts and bite back— his mouth is sucking at your nipples messily, tongue making a show of it as he groans at the feeling and traces shapes on your skin, too focused on the messy teasing to notice the moment his hand slips past your waistband and cups your pussy.
“Fuck, you’re so sweet for me noona,” he sighs, middle finger running up and down your slit teasingly, feeling the way you practically soak through your panties, “This wet for me already?” 
“Don’t let it get to your head,” you grumble, mouth falling open at the way he begins prodding your entrance teasingly, pushing into your hole then going to circle your clit slowly over the fabric. 
Taehyun laughs. The way you refuse to submit to him isn’t surprising in the slightest, watching as you refuse to give him reactions with dark eyes, trained carefully onto your face as he feels you get wetter from his motions, taking in what works and what doesn’t simply from the way your face reacts— even if you try to hide it, much to his annoyance. 
“What’s wrong noona? Don’t you feel good?” He asks you quietly, his hands already dragging your pants off agonizingly slowly, biting his lip to suppress the smile that threatens to break through, far too amused by this strong front you seem to put up, “I’ll do better then, don’t worry.”
Taehyun is sinking down to his stomach before you can process anything, hands running along your thighs teasingly before they’re hooking under your knees— lifting them up, pressing them against your stomach, able to look down at your glistening pussy with ease. 
You’re scrambling to hold on to something the moment he gets his mouth on you— he’s pressing you into the mattress, willing to control the way your hips jump as he presses his tongue flat against your slit, drinking up your wetness and teasing the tip of his tongue along your fluttering hole. The moans you let out are pathetic and embarrassing, your face heating up as you begin to squirm the moment Taehyun wraps his lips around your clit, face buried in your pussy and hair soft tickling against your thighs as he eats you out. 
The sounds are enough to make you cover your face— Taehyun is shameless as he eats you out, slurping and sucking and moaning against your cunt loudly— it’s almost as though he were doing it on purpose. 
“Taehyun, Taehyun, fuuuck…!” You can’t control your mouth— the sound of his name coming from your lips is enough to make Taehyun moan more against your pussy, cock rutting into the mattress below him as he listens to the sounds you make intently, smiling against your cunt at the sight of you finally breaking under him.
You feel dizzy— the way Taehyun fucks you with his tongue has you whining stupidly, his hand leaving your leg and coming to circle your clit as he continues to fuck you— after a moment, he decides he’s had enough of your squirming under him, his hands reaching to cup your ass before he’s pulling you back into him; your legs are falling over his shoulders, and his face is pressed against your pussy as he grants you no escape.
His grip is bruising on your skin; your thighs close around his head, but he pays no mind to it as he continues to lick at your pussy, gathering your arousal on his tongue before he’s looking back up at you with innocent round eyes, showing it off to you and forcing you to watch as he lets it drip back onto your cunt. 
It’s all so messy and overwhelming; you don’t even register the moment you cum on his tongue, your mind going blank and your body relaxing under his hold as he lets you ride out your orgasm, his tongue eager to lick up your release as he lets out soft hums against your cunt. 
“Taehyun,” you whimper out weakly, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging at it in order to get him to stop his ministrations— you can hear him complaining to you softly as he refuses to give in, the soft whine of his name only making him want to give you another orgasm— you have to tug harder on his hair to pull him from you, his lips and chin shining with your arousal as he smiles coyly at your reaction; his tongue darts out to lick his lips, wiping at his chin before he’s coming back up to hover over you. 
“What happened baby? Just wanted to make you feel good,” He tuts softly, grinning at the way you struggle to come down from your bliss. You don’t seem to realize the moment he’s become completely bare, the feeling of his cock poking at your inner thighs making your snap back to reality, feeling the tip smudge his precum all over your skin as he leans down to kiss you; it’s slow and messy, and he’s eager to push you lips apart and allow you to taste yourself, cradling your jaw as you feel him smile against your lips.  
“Why don’t you be quiet for a second? I like you more that way.” the way he frowns at your words has you breaking out into a teasing smile, running your fingers through his hair as you laugh softly— though it quickly falters the moment you feel him rubbing against your slit, his tip running up and down and catching on your clit as your body jolts from the sensation.
“Noona, do you hate me?” He pouts at you, watching as you fail to formulate proper words from the way his tip prods at your entrance, teasingly beginning to stretch you before he pulls out. This continues for a moment, and it’s clear he’s waiting for a response you clearly refuse to give him; frowning, he continues his motions, slowly rutting against your pussy as he looks down at you with sharp eyes, watching as you whine at him to stop teasing— he shakes his head, telling you to answer him, his voice sharp and low as he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that has you stuttering your response out weakly.
“N—no.”
“Then why are you so mean to me?” He continues, tilting his head as he finally pushes the tip in; he watches your expression carefully, drinking up the way your brows furrow and your eyes become glossy. 
“I… your reactions are cute,” you admit, clenching around Taehyun tightly and watching the way he hisses at the feeling. 
“Yeah? They’re cute?” He repeats, straightening up and kneeling as he looks down at you. Your fucked out expression could make Taehyun come on the spot, but instead he grabs a hold of your waist, settling in between your legs and pulling you in close to him. 
He’s inside you with one swift push; the yelp you let out is embarrassing and you’re quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes fluttering at the sensation of Taehyun fully inside you, thick and twitching wildly. Taehyun takes your hand away immediately; his fingers are lacing with yours, and he’s smiling sweetly as he looks down at you. 
“I think your reactions are cute too,” he’s moving after that, his thrusts slow and deep as he waits for you to adjust to his size. You’re holding tightly onto him as moans and whines fall from you, the sounds only fueling Taehyun further as he slowly begins to fuck you faster. 
“Feels nice, noona?” He groans, eyes trained on the way your tits bounce with his every thrust. The way you refuse to admit to him how good he’s making you feel has him rolling his eyes, letting go of your hand and gripping your hips before he’s bringing you back into him, bottoming out and rolling his hips slowly into your cunt as he feels the way you tighten around him, his cock taking in every flutter of your walls around him as he lets out pleased sighs. 
“What, too embarrassed to admit that it’s me making you feel good?” He asks, biting his lip as he concentrates on not coming too soon from the way you squeeze him, “You didn’t seem embarrassed when you kissed me in front of all those people earlier.”
“It was in the heat of the moment…” you answer back pitifully, unable to hide the way you can barely speak from the way he fucks you. 
“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” he hums, and you’re not given room to fight back as he goes back to fucking you— careless, pulling you back into him, enjoying your sounds with a wicked smile, unable to take his eyes off you for a moment. 
The moment his hand slips to rub circles on your clit, you feel your mind go blank— the sounds you make has Taehyun cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls clenching around him and sucking him in driving him mad as he gets a hold of your thighs, pressing them against your body and putting you into a mating press as he continues to fuck you.
“Tae— Taehyun, ah, please,” you whine out, left defenseless to the way his hips slam against yours, losing his pace and letting out soft groans as he feels himself coming at the sound of your whines of his name— his cum is barely able to stay inside with the way he continues fucking you, cock rutting into your sensitive pussy as you whine at him to slow down. 
“Wanna see you do that again,” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to gauge your expression, “Like, a few more times.”
Your pussy tightens around him in response, and he has to bite his lip to suppress the moan that bubbled up his throat. After a second, he’s slowly fucking you again, feeling his cock harden inside you from the sight of his cum escaping you with every thrust.
You don’t know how many times he makes you cum after that— you might’ve blacked out halfway through, Taehyun’s obsession with making you come undone leaving you filled with cum and undeniably sore— he’s insatiable, leaving you a mess under him as you let him use you how he’d like, manhandling you into all sorts of positions as he continues to groan about how good you feel, reassuring you just one more, with your every whine, yet lying each time. 
You’re only able to think straight once you’ve found yourself pulled into Taehyun’s chest— the rise and fall of your bodies is relaxing, and you don’t even remember Taehyun cleaning the both of you up as you lie under his covers, the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you very much welcomed. 
“So, did this also mean nothing to you?” Taehyun mumbles into the crown of your head, nuzzling into your scent as he struggles to stay awake. 
“No. This definitely meant something,” you say, equally as tired as you burrow further into the warmth of his chest. You can hear the deep rumble of his chuckles above you, his hands running across your back soothingly as he speaks. 
“And what did it mean?”
A pause. You think you both know what it means, but you won’t give him the satisfaction as you nip at his skin teasingly. 
“Means you’re okay, I guess.”
You refuse to admit that Taehyun has you wrapped around his finger— though it’s definitely reciprocated by the way Taehyun laughs at your comment, pulling you in even closer still and cooing jokingly that you looove me, hmm?
God, even now, he was insufferable.
But you kinda liked that about him. 
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princessbrunette · 3 months
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imagine it’s like a week to valentine’s day and reader is pouty rafe hasn’t asked her but he just assumed they’re automatically each other’s valentines but reader doesn’t think that so shes just like :(((
maybe i can do angst cos omg ……..
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
you waited n waited all of february for him to ask, even up until the night before. you knew grand gestures in a relationship wasn’t exactly his vibe, unless of course he’s threatening to kill someone for you— but you thought he’d atleast ask. you’ve spent the day with him, waiting for him to pop the question and now he’s dropping you home, pulling up outside your house.
you stare out the window, before turning to look at him.
“see you tomorrow, yeah?” he eyes you, a little confused by your unusual quietness. you stare at him for another moment before bursting into tears. “hey— hey? woah? the fuck just happened?” his eyes widen, tilting his head to get a better look at you.
“why—” you hiccup. “why don’t you want me t’be your valentine?”
“wh—” he has the audacity to laugh, closing his eyes for a moment in disbelief before squinting at you. “so— so, lemme get this straight— we’ve been dating for, how long now? you got me talkin’ your ear off about how i’m gonna put a ring on your finger one day, fuckin’… fill you up with babies, but you think i’m not your valentine?”
“you’re supposed to ask me.” you mewl and he closes his mouth, looking around as he collects himself, running a hand over his jaw.
“i-i didn’t know i was supposed to. alright— i’m-i’m kinda new to all this shit, baby you’re the first fuckin’ girl i’ve taken seriously in forever n’i’m expected to know this shit straight off the bat without you tellin’ me? ‘n i’m the bad guy?” he rants, pointing to himself with both hands which prompts you to swiftly open your door and get out the car, shoulders wracking with sobs as you walk toward you car. “shit.” he whispers between grit teeth before punching his steering wheel and yanking his door open, walking around the car to follow you.
“okay— hey, look at me. stop, stop.” he jogs to catch up, appearing infront of you, holding you by the arms to stop you from walking. you look down, sniffling and he sighs, wiping the tears away. “look i… i shouldn’t have said that, okay? i just— i lost my temper ‘cus… i feel like i’m not doin’ right by you when i’m really trying i mean i got the reservations and the flowers and everything for tomorrow…i just…” he explains helplessly, brows furrowed. you look up at him, and he can tell you’re feeling swayed by his explanation.
he clears his throat. “so, uh… will you be my valentine please?”
you can’t help it, a smile breaks out on your face even despite the sassy way he said it, nodding your head. you sniff, batting your wet eyelashes at him.
“yeah.”
“yeah? not gonna freak out on me again?” his own smile starts to build and you shake your head happily. “alright. good.” he pinches your cheeks and presses a long kiss to your forehead before pulling back, pointing a finger at you. “so i’ll pick you up tomorrow, yeah? wear something pretty for me alright?”
you seem satisfied enough and he watches you skip off happily before he saunters back to his car, climbing in and sighing, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “you are so fucking whipped, man.” he drawls to himself.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
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jokin-around · 9 months
Text
I made a Twitter thread about this, but I've been reading early issues of Batman lately and something I've noticed is how differently the contrast between Batman and "Bruce Wayne" is depicted
obviously, in many things today, "Bruce" (ESPECIALLY in fandom) is often depicted as a happy-go-lucky himbo in order to draw contrast with a grim and "tortured" batman
so how does this hold up when you look at older depictions? the answer: it doesn't. in fact it was almost the opposite.
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way back in the very first issues of the official Batman title, Bruce Wayne, no matter WHAT he's doing, isn't the one who laughs and smiles, Batman is.
and these are comics that were published BEFORE the comics code authority caused a dramatic shift in tone
Bruce Wayne (or least the cardboard cutout refered to as Bruce Wayne) isn't nessecarily described as grim, but he isn't a very happy person either, he's still a rich airhead, but not so much a "himbo" or even a dedicated businessman, he's depicted as a BORED, uninterested, aristocrat:
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this Bruce seems to spend of his time smoking a pipe at home or mingling with other upperclass individuals, that in-between we tend to see MUCH more often in modern comics doesn't seem to exist yet (in part because the batcave Is non-existent which I suspect has given him a bit more privacy as a character)
MEANWHILE Batman, who's investigates murders every other night almost seems to be having the time of his life:
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the early comics seem to routinely depict the burgoise as cold, snobbish & bored, in contrast to batman who seems particularly expressive and joyful, for all we know Batman may partially exist as some millionaires weird passtime, but of course Bruce Wayne (the real guy, not the facade) is written as someone who genuinely seems to care due to his own past experiences:
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but , with all of that layed out, one can conclude that when ppl say Batman is the "true persona" ect. originally, it wasn't (just) because of his coping or whatever it was because when he wasn't Batman he was forced to live life as a cold, "useless" millionaire:
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"what if a rich a guy gave a fuck?" is still very much the base concept here, but what's surprising is how much BITE there is to it
the concept wasn't being proposed because it's like… a plausible thing to happen or attainable on a personal level, but because the rich reliably and consitently do not care
the rich ppl in this book, "Bruce Wayne" included, are not written to be envied as people. they're written to be insufferable. ppl with endless resources who are still somehow unsatisfied with life and choose to do nothing useful or direct with the amount wealth they've accumulated
but ofc it shouldn't be ALL THAT surprising, Batman debuted in Detective Comics in 1939…. ONE year after the great depression, Bob and Bill had more than a good reason to feel a bit bitter
but rolling back to the point of this analysis, whenever I say "let batman be happy" I mean "let Batman enjoy his job" despite the pain, despite the death, despite the murder, despite the hypocritical nature of it all and how problematic it may be because it's a life he also chooses, not just out of compulsion, but because it's hands on, direct & purposeful. it gives him something to do & it gives him a chance to punch a problem in the face (which may be good or bad depending on what that problem is, but still)
that kind of depiction is what set up the groundwork for nearly every deconstruction that's come since but it's so buried in time at this point that lines from characters claiming bruce "loves being batman" seem to ring completely hollow
tbh, I think the old way of depicting Batman can be ( and as been in some media) woven into the way he's depicted today, in the past Batman was an outlet for every emotion Bruce Wayne had to hide elsewhere, a symbol of empathy, fury and passion, for modern Batman, I imagine those three things still hold true, layered on top of an alter ego that allows a modern Bruce Wayne to be weird and damaged and dark.
so uh, ln conclusion, I think batman enjoying what he does to a certain extent is a crucial aspect of his character that's been lost and withered and forgotten about, let him a have a little fun, we can discuss the ramifications of all that when discussion seems necessary
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shankschewtoy · 8 months
Text
Meeting his parents
a/n - can we please take time to imagine what meeting corazon would be like 😭
Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, modern au, (dragon is out getting the milk so garp is here instead)
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- garp told him to wait until he was 30 to start dating
- he didn’t listen
- “Luffy I don’t know if I should meet your grandpa if he was against you dating..”
- “Oh trust me! He’s gonna like you! Hehe :)”
- you were nervous- all Luffy’s told you about him was that Garp used to beat him up ALL the time (and he still does)
- as you guys walked up towards his house, you could see two people scurrying away from the window, a blonde guy, and a black haired one
- you were concerned- but didn’t pay much attention, maybe those two were Luffy’s older brothers
- as Luffy unlocked the door, the two boys were waiting there with crossed arms, “Luffy?? Who’s that??” The black haired one asked with an eyebrow raised
- “don’t be mean ace.” The blonde one pushed him away before outstretching his hand with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you! I’m sabo, that’s ace, and we’re Luffy’s older brothers.”
- Aw, sabo seemed like such a polite guy! Very different from Luffy.. Someone cleared their throat, a large figure looking down at you, a shadow covering you. Oh god. Your fate was sealed. Luffy’s grandpa was going to punch the shit out of you, and you weren’t even 18 yet!
- Sabo and Ace looked fearful as they stood off to the side, staring up at their grandpa. The atmosphere was dark, so heavy and intimidating.
- even Luffy wasn’t talking… It seemed as though their grandpa was quite the scary guy-
- you contemplated running away, but from the looks of it, you knew that the man would probably be able to catch you within two seconds
- “Uh… Hi? I’m- y/n… The one that’s dating luffy… Nice to m-meet you.”
- you were stuttering, your hands shaking as your eyes begged his grandpa not to kick your ass to the moon
- “LUFFY.” His voice echoed throughout the neighborhood, you turned around to see the neighbors running into their homes, shutting all the doors and windows
- WHAT THE FUCK? WERE YOU GOING TO DIE??
- Sweat beads formed on your nose and forehead as you clenched your hands into tight fists, praying to god that you wouldn’t get to meet Jesus today
- “Why didn’t you introduce me sooner?! Y/n seems like a very polite person! UNLIKE YOU!” Garp smacked the shit out of your boyfriend angrily before smiling at you, holding his hand out for a handshake
- You were going to faint, you hadn’t been breathing throughout this entire interaction out of pure fear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you y/n! You’re welcome to come inside!” Garp said with a grin, beckoning for you to come inside
- omfg you swore you almost shit your pants. But as the night went on, Garp was actually a very friendly grandpa! (But he beat up ace, sabo, and mostly Luffy the entire night)
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- Law was hesitant to bring you over to his house, but you weren’t sure why..
- Was his house messy? Were his parents mean? Or maybe he was embarrassed of bringing you over??
- the thoughts circled your mind, and soon enough, you heard the doorbell ring. You were surprised Law didn’t just open the door himself, but maybe he just forgot his keys
- you swore you heard something breaking apart inside, as well as a thump against the floor that shook the entire house
- um… that wasn’t normal, right?
- law looked annoyed, sighing as he rested his disappointed face in his hands. The door opened, revealing a literal GIANT??
- you had to crane your neck up just to see this man’s face! He bent down to the doorway, and his smile almost blinded you with kindness
- “Ahh! You must be y/n!!! Oh my gosh! I’ve heard so much about you!!” He said, almost bouncing up and down in the air
- oh my gosh- this guy was SO excited. It made you so happy to see that Law’s dad was this happy to see you :)
- “Cora-san, did you break the oven again?”
- “Uh. No.. It was already broken! I swear.”
- poor law, maybe this was why your poor boyfriend was always so stressed. You smiled awkwardly at the tall guy, introducing yourself even though he already knew who you were
- “Law’s been telling me ALLL about you. He talks about you a lot.”
- “SHH! No I don’t!”
- “Oh come on! You said y/n is the most amazing person you’ve met!”
- “CORA-SAN SHUT UP!”
- Aw, Law talked about you?? That was enough to make you blush, “Awww you talk about me???”
- You and corazon were going to be the death of this man, and throughout the night, Corazon asked all about your hobbies and stuff. He wanted to know EVERYTHING. And I mean, literally everything about you
- “Oh my god. So- law still sleeps with his germa figures, you didn’t hear it from me!”
- “OMG REALLY?”
- law will chase Corazon around with a pan to get him to shut the fuck up. But it never worked, you learned many secrets about law that night
- “ALSO HE REALLY LIKES IT WHEN YOU SEND HIM THOSE MUSIC PLAYLISTSSS!! LAW DONT KILL ME!”
- “THEN SHUT UP IF YOU DONT WANT ME TO KILL YOU!”
- “YOU LIKE MY PLAYLISTS?!”
- also quick reminder that Doffy was there and remained quiet the whole time, watching chaos unfold while he sipped his wine 💀
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- Ace was so excited to bring you over, he ALWAYS talked about how cool his mom was. He never talked about his dad, but referred to someone as “pops”. Maybe that was his dad?
- “My mom’s going to love you y/n, don’t be nervous!”
- how could you not be nervous??? Ace told you he had 1666 brothers?! Wtf??
- as you two walked up the pathway to his house, you noticed a beat up white van in the driveway… It looked especially good for kidnapping kids- and giving away free candy..
- Ace opened the door, and literally a MOB. I mean a MOB of people crowded around you two with giddy smiles. They were definitely expecting your arrival..
- “Hi y/n! We’re Ace’s brothers :))” -all of them
- ….wtf
- Ace could tell you were overwhelmed, you looked like you were about to faint! “Ok guys- maybe some space would be nice??” They listened to Ace, and backed off, a woman stepped forward, and she had the same freckles as ace! Must be his mom :)
- “Ah! Y/n! It’s so lovely to meet you.” His mom was so pretty!! She had long pink hair, brown eyes, and the same freckles around her nose and cheeks like ace
- You smiled politely and introduced yourself to Ace’s enormous family. You didn’t see Ace’s pops, but maybe he was just busy
- “I never thought- that someone would fall in love with ace.” *dramatic sniffle* -Marco
- “Huh?! What’s that supposed to mean Marco?!” -Ace
- Ace’s mom took you aside as the two kept fighting, and had a nice little chat. She asked about how you were doing, and what you liked to do in your free time.
- “I’m so glad Ace found you! He really cares about you- and he talks about you all the time! He kept telling me how amazing, kind, and talented you were :) also I’m super grateful for you helping him to stay awake in class… I’ve gotten many parent teacher conferences because of it..” Rouge was such a kind person, and you were so happy that Ace thought you were that amazing
- and yes, Ace did fall asleep a lot in class, so it became your job to wake him up before the teacher did.. It’s helped his grades a lot 👌
- overall, you mostly just chatted with Rouge while Ace’s brothers bombarded him with questions about you
- roger is out getting the milk with dragon btw
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a/n - Corazon is totally your law gossip bestie now
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gatorbites-imagines · 6 months
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Kinktober day 7
Mickey Milkovich + Wrestling or sparring
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Still been studying, thanks to my teacher giving us twice as much work than usual, so this isn’t as long as I would have wanted.
I have no idea what warning to put for Mickey talking and thinking the way he does, but mickey warning I guess??
kinktober 2023 masterlist
Mickey Milkovich wasn’t the type to go down without a fight, it laid deep in his blood to never go down, and if he did, to go down swinging. Even just playfighting always lead to real scuffling or outright fighting resulting in bloody noses or knocked out teeth. Apparently, he had anger issues, and they always seemed to flare right up when someone got him swinging. It was why he found himself in some less than stellar gym in the south side, run by some gay guy and his friends.
Everyone knew about the gym’s main owner, (Y/N), his family had lived in the south side as long as anyone else’s, were mixed up in the same stuff as everyone else, and got into trouble like everyone else. Only difference about this guy was that he was openly gay, and would knock anyone out cold if they tried to target him for it. Mickey had found him at the ends of his fists a couple of times, and had always woken up with the sickest migraines, maybe even concussions, though he had never gone to the hospital about it.
(Y/N) had left the south side for a while, apparently he was off to get an education on a scholarship, but strangely enough he had returned to the shithole that was the south side. No one had recognized him as first. He left as a skinny guy who packed an insanely mean left and right hook, and came back packed in muscle and taller, with a confidence that few saw in gay guys in the south side. His muscles weren’t for show either, as rumors quickly spread that his hits were not only harder but quicker than ever.
Then he had opened up a gym for anyone who wasn’t gonna start trouble, and if you did start trouble, he took care of you real quick and efficiently. He had quirked a brow as Mickey stepped into the gym, but like he never questioned the local gun dealer being there, he wasn’t gonna question a milkovich being there as long as he paid. Mickey went about his business, taking out some of his burning anger on the punching bags, trying to put all the hatred and anger in his soul into those punches.
Mickey almost swung around and knocked (Y/N)s teeth out when the taller guy had placed his hand on Mickeys shoulder. “You’re standing all wrong, you’ll mess up your shoulders” he explained, his strong hands grabbing Mickeys arms and pulling him into the better pose.
Mickey wasn’t gonna ever admit that he felt warmth rise to his cheeks as (Y/N) grabbed him and moved him around, it was just cuz the guy was eyecandy around the south side. Few guys cared about their appearance around this part, so seeing a guy who actually bathed on the regular and walked around in tight tank tops always caught Mickeys attention. If Mickey wasn’t the type to deny himself so much, he might have seen how his appreciating stares were returned.
One night when Mickey showed up to the gym, a time where there were never anyone around but the owner, he had been stewing in anger. The punching bags just didn’t seem to be enough, even as Mickey cursed and made his knuckles bleed. (Y/N) had sauntered up in that tight tank top and a pair of sweats that left little to the imagination and goaded Mickey into a spar in the wrestling part of the gym.
In reality it was just some mats laid on the floor and against the walls, no way a place like this could afford an actually wresting ring, but it was good enough. Good enough for Mickey to charge at the guy, his normal south side approach foiled by (Y/N)s actual talent for fighting. Mickey only grew more and more angry the more he kept losing, even as his muscles ached and burned, even as he found himself pinned over and over against the mats.
Mickey growled at the smile on (Y/N)s lips, the guy had been smiling the entire time, and though he was sweating and breathing harder, it was in no way as much as Mickey himself. Even as Mickeys moves grew sloppy as he felt exhaustion creep up on him, his pride wouldn’t let him just give up or call quits.
(Y/N) must have felt some pity, as he finally let Mickey pin him, Mickey crouched above his head, pinning his shoulders with his legs and holding the taller man’s arms above his head. “Good job Mick, you finally got it” he laughed, looking almost too pleased as Mickey panted above him. “That deserves a reward, right?” he almost purred, and before Mickey could question it, (Y/N) had freed his hands and reached up towards the waistband on Mickeys pants.
Mickey choked on his breath as (Y/N) dragged his pants down, freeing Mickeys half hard length to the heated air of the gym. The sparring must have gotten the blood pumping in Mickeys system, and he shivered. On instinct alone Mickey almost jumped to his feet and spat some homophobic comment, but before he could warm lips wrapped around his tip and sucked him down, a broken gasp slipping from Mickeys lips at the action.
(Y/N)s hands gripped Mickeys hips as he lifted his torso to keep bopping his head, taking Mickey down his throat with skill one only got from repeating an action many times. Mickey gripped onto (Y/N)s hair as he thrust his hips with little to no rhythm, panting from the strain in his muscles and the pleasurable feeling as he grew fully hard, his toes curling in his shoes as he shivered.
Mickey groaned as he spilled down (Y/N)s throat, his muscles finally giving out, and if it wasn’t for (Y/N) catching him, he would have tumbled down onto the mats beneath them. Mickey didn’t even notice the murmured praise leaving the taller man, even as he tucked Mickeys spent length back into his pants or rubbed his sore muscles. Mickey didn’t even fully comprehend that he was pulled into what looked like a back room, or that he was placed on a comfortable sofa, or even that he dozed off.
It seemed that the energy that hadn’t been wrung out of him from the wrestling, had been sucked right out of him by the very man that had goaded him into said fight. (Y/N) gave a snort as he watched Mickey become dead to the world, leaving a water bottle beside him before leaving the office to go disinfect the mats. This might be the south side, but he was at least semi professional and serious about his business’s hygiene.
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signedkoko · 4 months
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I loved the mammon headcannons you did! Could I possibly have mammon x fem reader where she’s in the crowd at one of his gigs and he sees her getting flirted with so he pulls her up on stage and just starts making out with her and maybe telling everyone that she’s his?
Sorry for all the info
Mammon X Reader [Romantic]
In which you are supporting him at one of his new shows, and some of his fans get a little too comfortable with you.
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In the same way you both met after one of his shows, you now went to practically every major or new performance he did to support him
I mean, it was free for you and you always got in the front row, so why not !
He always thought it was a bit cheesy seeing you in some old merch from your first show, cheering him on like some rando, but it also made him far more excited to get on and show off
Make the misses proud
Oh, and hes also an attention whore when it comes to you but that's besides the point
Usually you were more than safe, because most people could recognize you and connect the dots of how dangerous it'd be to even smile in your direction
But the lust ring performances always came up with some kind of issue
Mammon is a professional, he knows nothing in the crowd should catch him off guard or alter his performance
But god, seeing some good for nothing imp pushing up against you made him want to jump off stage then and there
You handled it with a swift punch and some security, and he figured that'd be it, but tonight it seems you were a freak magnet
Moments later, some girl was holding onto your face and trying to grab your waist
No fucking shot
In moments, you were lifted by a giant black spider leg, which had jutted from his back in your direction
Everyone was in awe, some still speculating it was performance, some wondering if you'd somehow pissed the performer off, others taking pictures of hell's most unexpected couple
" For those lousy fucks out there who think that have a chance with this lady, raise your hands so I can come fuck your shit! "
He was dead serious, but you were laughing at the stupidest threat known to man
Unfortunately you quickly became apart of the act, dipped in his arms and lips locked together
Most the crowd went absolutely wild at the display, while you were turning red with a blush
With a pop! his purple and orange tongue slithered its way out of your mouth, several strands of saliva falling onto your shirt while he licked his lips
" See you in the changing room after this, babe. "
Not even the courtesy to turn of his mic, he made sure everyone knew just how serious you were
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Author's Note - I felt that making reader his s/o would make this make a bit more sense so I added that detail! I hope you still enjoy it and thank you for requesting!
I also imagine when he lifts her up from the crowd that its like one of those images of someone holding up a cat by the scruff
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sky-is-the-limit · 6 months
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It's pretty simple, really. Don't get romantically involved with a fellow soldier. The task force is a unit, a second family. Any other relationship developing could create unnecessary, dangerous complications and you know damn well you cannot afford that. You worked hard to fit in, you worked hard to prove that you, a woman, can do as much as the next man in line for the job. Hell, in your case, even better.
"Weakness."
CW: F!reader x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick +18/NSFW/F!Masturbation
P.s I'm not a writer!
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Rules, rules, rules.
Your Captain's words ring in your head every time one of these unwanted thoughts creep into your mind. "One of the best sniper shooters I've ever got to work with." You're proud of your accomplishments, of your resilience and brain when it comes to work, always giving your best self to get the task done, to make sure you have your team's back, to never let anyone down and above all, yourself.
No one can be perfect though, right? Everyone has an Achilles' heel, a weakness strong enough to take the bravest man down, to make someone forget all the important attributes that make an obedient soldier and that's exactly what he was to you. A weakness. The name that answers to all your desires, a thought engraved permantently in your brain, never disappearing no matter how hard you've tried. And you have.
Countless nights when you had given in the advances of a drunken stranger, hoping that it will be enough to forget him, to get lost in the moment with someone whose name or face don't even matter. The only reason you let another man kiss you, taste you, touch body.. is so you can feel something real. Something that isn't your imagination where he's the only one always present.
The worst part of this? It's not just you indulging into this madness. Perhaps if it was one-sided, it'd be easier for you to bury it in the depths of your mind. Only allowing yourself to feel it late at night when you're alone in your bed, the only witness to your secret being your fingertips and his name leaving your mouth softly, like a desperate prayer for salvation. It's not just you though.
/ / /
"That blondie over there is practically undressing you with her eyes, Garrick."
There it is. That uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that makes you want to disappear from the surface of the earth. It happens every damn Friday when you and the boys hang out at the nearest pub. Always the same scenario, always a different girl, never you.
You should be used to it by now, and yet the way Soap nudges him to go over and leave with someone else tonight still stings. You want to punch that smirk off of Johnny's face but it's not his fault. You wish for that woman to fall on her ass, embarass herself but it's not her fault. You crave for him to finally snap, forget about the rules and drag you back to his car so he can fuck you with all that desperation that has been building up inside both of you. He won't though and it's not his fault.
"Nah, not my type mate." Any other woman would feel relieved to hear this. Hear the man she wants so badly turn down the chance to leave with a pretty girl for the night but not you. Maybe it'd be easier if you got to see him flirting with a stranger, his hand finding it's way to her waist, flirty whispers foreseeing a promising night between them.. Maybe something would crack, maybe jealousy would work it's trick and get you to stop thinking about him. Not Kyle though.
He spits out that sentence like it's no big deal, his piercing brown eyes staring into yours, never breaking eye contact as the words leave his mouth. If Soap wasn't so distracted, mumbling with frustrated jealousy that Gaz always gets the attention of the prettiest girls, he'd be able to see why he always turns them down.
He knows damn well what he's doing. Like there's an unspoken bet between the two of you, of who's gonna break first and he has to win it. The look in his eyes, confirming your suspicions that he also thinks of you when he's alone, the way his lips part slightly every time you stand up to go get another drink, the sight of your barely covered thighs right in front of him.
He wants you and that's the worst part. Just like every night, this one ends the same. With you two parting ways in the cold corridor, your only company his presence in your thoughts. At least his room being next to yours could mean that you fall asleep facing each other and that's adds some sense of comfort to your loneliness.
/ / /
Another sleepless night finds you alone in your sheets, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating your room as the soft sound of the rain pours down outside, reminding you that Autumn is finally here. It has become your habit, a lonely, desperate routine where you just lay there, thinking of him. Quite frankly, you don't even care that his room is right next to yours, that if the walls are thin enough maybe he can hear you touching yourself to the thought of him.
It's a deluded way to cope with all the desire filling up your body, feeling your core pulse and twitch as your fingertips find their way down to your clit and you wonder. How would his touch feel, how would he do it..
"Fuck, Gaz" a soft whine escapes your lips, your movements picking up the pace, making your hips back up and down against the bed, craving friction, craving him.
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick is a passionate man. Whether it's a mission, a workout, hanging out with his friends.. He always lives in the moment, full of energy and a tremendous thirst for adrenaline. Always so eager for action. There's no doubt in your mind that that's exactly how he'd do you.
"I need you, fuck-" You admit to yourself breathlessly, sucking on your own finger before slowly bringing it down to wet your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine as you drag your fingertips through your own slick arousal.
You're a mess. Suddenly the cool temperature of the room turns into unbearable heat, sweat dripping down from your forehead, hair messy against your pillow as you buck up your hips against your palm, biting down on your bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to be quiet but as you get closer to your climax, you can't control it.
"Gaz-" Your mind travels back to earlier in the afternoon when you walked in on him working out at the gym, a pair of black shorts hanging low from his hips with a matching bandana on his forehead to keep the sweat from dripping down on his face. He caught you watching, your eyes were glued on his defined arms, occasionally wondering off to his chest then down to his abdomen. How can you not when he looks like that?
"Alright there, Y/L/N?" God, that smile will be the death of you, the sight of his fangs driving you insane that you can't help but wonder what they'd feel like sucking down on your neck. It'd be funny to think that you could ever scarcely deal with the attraction you feel towards him.
Suddenly it's hard to breathe, your thighs start to tremble whilst your fingers stroke your clit faster, you can feel it coming. God, his hands, his fingers.. The thought gets you to bring one finger back to your mouth, wetting it with the tip of your tongue. Would he do that? Stuff his fingers in your mouth while he's buried deep inside of you? A soft moan fell from your lips at the thought of it, pinching your nipple as your eyelids flutter to the sensation.
You're so lost in pleasure that you can barely hear the first knock on the door, thinking that it's your imagination playing tricks on you. The second one is louder making your hand jolt away from your thighs, a swell of embarrassment rising inside you.
"Shit." You mumble quietly before throwing on the oversized t-shirt that you normally sleep in before checking the clock on the wall. It's way too late for social calls unless it's an emergency. Another knock on the door snaps you out of it and without making sure that you're presentable, you open it.
"Gaz?" He doesn't look distressed, quite the opposite with his arms crossed over his chest, head titled to the side as he takes in the sight in front of him with the same smirk that makes your knees want to give in every time. So, no emergency then.
"It's late, what are you doing here?" You try your best to appear as if you were asleep, that would justify the-
"God, you're a mess Y/N." He may have his usual playful look on his face but his tone suggest something different. He's not teasing you for your state, not this time. It's like he's trying to catch his breath, eyes travelling down to your bare thighs and back to meet yours before he takes a step forward, leading to you taking one back.
"You're not as quiet as you think you are." Oh.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You mumble quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. Though your alone time was cut short before you could finish what you've started, the anticipation and thrill fill your body once again, like you never stopped touching yourself. This is what he does to you.
"Thing is, Y/N.." Kyle takes another step towards you, closing the door behind him without breaking eye contact like his life dependent on it.
"When you start a game.." His hand reaches out to caress your wrist softly before taking it into his hand, lips parted as his suggestive voice spreading a warm heat on your cheeks.
"Be brave enough to finish it."
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selfishdoll · 6 months
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NOW PLAYING…. SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
You're the queen of the superficial, And how long before you tell the truth?
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sum: being a physical therapist assistant wasn’t easy work at all, and it didn’t help that one of your patients was beginning to plague your thoughts, in more ways than one.
PURE COINCIDENCE . camboy & martial artist! kashimo hajime x physical therapist assistant! reader
cw: strangers to lovers (lowkey), kashimo & reader are 19-21, kashimo is ooc of course, modern au (no cursed techniques but he’s still strong asf), sex work, pet names, teasing, degradation & praise, shy!reader, curvy reader, kashimo is an ass man, lowkey corruption kink, slightly public sex, kashimo is reckless & dumb, dumbification, manhandling, rough sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, choking, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, etc.
i spent so much time on this & was winging it fr so it didn’t come out how i liked 😭😭. & it got much longer then i wanted it to be. also please excuse any typos or errors, it’s late 🙏🏾
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You always thought boxing, wrestling, and martial arts were such violent sports. You didn’t see the appeal of beating someone black and blue— or forcing them into submission. You weren’t a pacifist by any means but fighting was just something you didn’t get it. Especially, when it came to making money off it.
Truthfully, however— you didn’t need to see the point. Your only concern was massaging your patients and assuring they didn’t overextend themselves.
Which happened often.
Today would be a good day for you, a starting point actually. After two years of grueling work, several months of training, and being placed in a hospital you hated; you were finally sought out by a private practice— a gym for martial artists. From what you’ve heard they were good; winning tournaments back to back and putting on quite a show for the audience.
A name that frequently showed up was Kashimo Hajime, the proclaimed God of Lightning. A title earned given how fast he was, no one able to keep up with the amount of punches that he landed on his opponent. You were sure that was impressive in its own right, but you simply couldn’t get past the name.
It made you giggle each time you heard it.
Your eyes trailed away from the building infront of you and over to your phone hooked up to the stand in your car. You pressed your lips together, “Looks like I’m here..” You mumbled to yourself, feeling anxiety gather at the pit of your stomach. A new job always did that to you, imagining just about everything going wrong. From possibly falling or messing up a chart.
First day jitters always killed your motivation.
But, you took a small breath; eyes closed briefly as you sinked into your seat for a moment. It would be fine, this would be fine. You’re gonna do great. Such affirmations swarmed in your mind, pushing you away from delving down a deep hole of anxiety and insecurity. Once you felt your heart relax just a bit you grabbed your phone and tote bag, turning the car off and soon exiting it. Shutting the door behind you, you assured the doors were locked before approaching the large metal doors of the building. Pulling them open, your eyes scanned the large area. It looked like a relatively regular gym; punching bags hanging from the ceiling in a few places, weights, and treadmills. The most interesting thing was the boxing ring in the middle of the room.
“Hello, miss? Can I help you?” You jumped a little as the voice interrupted your train of thought, turning to face a woman who was seated behind the front desk. You flashed a false confident smile, approaching her while shifting through your bag. “H—hi, I’m [Full Name]. I’m here to start as a PTA.” Your hand finally clasped around what you needed, lifting a packet of papers from the confinements of your bag and passing them over to her awaiting hand.
Her eyes scanned the pages rather quickly, “Oh, you’ll be working with Ms. Makoto.” She mused, flashing you a small smile as she passed the papers back. “She always comes late, so for now; I’d suggest walking around to get a feel for your surroundings. Maybe even talk to your future patients.” She shrugged to which you nodded, a small thank you, escaping you.
You wish she hadn’t suggested the thing at all, given how nerve-racking it felt to you. However, you now felt obligated to do it, especially with the way she was smiling at you so sweetly. Damn her.
Situating the strap of your bag onto your shoulder correctly, you headed over towards the actual gym area; eyes on the swivel to assure you didn’t end up in anyone’s way. Like you hoped, however, the martial artists were far too focused on their training, paying you no mind as their fists slammed against some punch bag or they pumped their legs on the treadmill.
The atmosphere itself was nice, really. You didn’t mind it, maybe you would get used to it.
Once you were finished walking around the people lifting weights, your eyes traveled over to the boxing ring in the middle, noticing two forms entering it and several people surrounding it. Interest quickly invaded your mind, moving towards the crowd to get a better look. You luckily found your way to the front, staring up at the two men that were currently stretching.
One was unimpressionable; hair shaved short with tanned skin. He was shirtless showcasing his simple build. He wasn’t small but wasn’t big either, sculpted but not bulky? It was clear he wasn’t a seasoned fighter. But, as your eyes turned over to his opponent; the difference was all too clear.
Standing at an impressive six feet, cloaked in a tight black shirt and baggy white pants, bandages wrapped around his forearms. You watched as he cupped his hands together behind his back, stretching his arms and fuck, were they big. Or rather the man was big in general, enough so you pitied his opponent.
You watched as he rose his arms above his head this time, eyes zoning in on the way his shirt followed— revealing his toned stomach and the pretty blue trail that traveled down. Oh, how you wanted to see where it lead to.
“[Name]?”
“Huh!?” You gasped out of your daze, head snapping over to a woman that stood beside you. She had short black hair that illuminated her pale features perfectly, sharp dark eyes already staring at you. Her gloss stained lips curled once she had your attention, “I’m Makoto. I’m sorry for being late.”
You gave a nervous smile, “I—I don’t mind. I was just uh.. getting to know my surroundings.” The physical therapist nodded at you with a smile, eyes turning over to the ring as a small sigh escaped her.
“I’ve told Kashimo to stop entertaining these rookies.”
“Entertaining?”
Makoto nodded with a soft hum, crossing her arms over her chest. “They always want to fight him for some reason, riling him up until he finally agrees to a spar. It’s ridiculous,” She mused, tapping a finger against her skin. “It’s clear whose going to win.”
You pressed your lips together, eyes turning back to the ring. To your surprise, Kashimo was standing upright while his opponent was in a fighting stance. Cocky.. Was what ran through your mind, eyes darting between the two men.
The man with a shaved head blew air from his mouth, springing towards Kashimo in a single step. Your eyes widened as you watched the cyan-haired man step out of the other’s way, bawling his fists. The sound of skin to skin contact was the only thing you could register, astonished by the pure speed of his fists, opponent trapped under the flurry of his hits. Makoto was right, he didn’t stand a chance; falling to the ring the moment the god of lightning was finished with him. The match couldn’t have been longer than five seconds.
“Kashimo, It was only supposed to be a spar— not a knockout!” Makoto called, softly complaining about unnecessary concussions. You watched as Kashimo’s bored expression fixed onto the physical therapist, a small snarl on his face. Makoto hissed at this, fussing at him not to glare at her.
He didn’t entertain her yelling long, eyes traveling away from her and fixing onto you. You didn’t hold his gaze long, or rather— you couldn’t, given its intensity. You simply turned to face Makoto waiting for her to get over her yelling so you could get started.
. . .
A few hours of work passed, the only major concern being Kashimo’s opponent and assuring he had no fractures or concussions from the match. Much to Makoto’s relief, he didn’t. Other than that you were observing and looking over charts, noticing the inconsistencies in Kashimo’s. Makoto then explained to you the man ignored injuries and she quite literally has to corner him to get him into her office. The mental image made you laugh softly.
Soon enough your shift was over, being informed you did well and to come at the same time tomorrow. It delighted you to hear such a thing. Exiting the building, you approached your car while searching for your keys in your bag, humming softly to yourself. Finally finding them, you pull them out; attention however, shifting over to the gym doors when they opened.
To your surprise Kashimo stepped out, holding a large duffel bag in his left hand while his right? Reached for the end of his shirt, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face. All under your gaze.
You felt ashamed staring at him in such a way, especially since he was technically your patient.
“You need somethin’, Miss [Name]?” His voice was muffled against the damp fabric, pulling his shirt down to reveal his sharp eyes starting at you. You jumped in surprise, nearly dropping your keys. “Oh, oh, no! No..” You breathed out, shakily pressing the button on them to unlock your car. To your horror the man gave you a small smirk;
“Safe travels then.”
“Mhm! You too!” The words escaped you meekly and far louder then you wished. Snatching the driver’s side door open, you entered the vehicle, barely even slamming the door closed before you turned the engine over. You quickly pulled out of that parking lot, attempting to forget the scene that just happened.
. . .
A soft sigh escaped you as you sat on your bed, leaning back to lay down, arms laying across your stomach. The sky was painted black, stars twinkling overhead with the moon rested aimlessly. It was getting late and you needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. You weren’t sure how work would be but you wanted to mentally prepare for the worst. However, you just.. didn’t want to sleep yet?
It was weird, really. You didn’t feel tired despite how nervous you were today. You almost felt proud of yourself.
“Still need to get some sleep though..” You mumbled to yourself, rolling over to your stomach. Pressing your face into your plush blankets for a moment, you mulled over how to force yourself to sleep. Milk, melatonin maybe? You don’t know if you had either. You spared two more minutes of thought before an idea entered your mind.
Masturbation. You were a genius.
You reached blindly for your phone while turning onto your back again, scooting up farther onto your bed as you opened the dreaded X app. Ignoring tweets from friends and celebrities you went straight to the search bar typing in something random. You just needed to get off once, it normally worked for you.
Using one hand to scroll, the other went down to your lower half, happy you previously discarded your pants as your fingers brushed across your thinly covered pussy. Warming yourself up, your fingers pressed against your covered clit, slowly rubbing it; feeling the gentle pleasure travel up your spine.
Fifteen minutes passed of this and your agitated scrolling, frustration building as nothing in particular caught your eye. Each video was either too short or too boring for something to use, or even some too much. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult anyhow. Just a quick session and then sleep. Yet, here you were; boredly scrolling.
You nearly settled for your imagination rather then a video until something caught your eye. Your thumb hovered over the video, eyes zoning in on it. It was simple, a male by himself, showcasing his lower half but nothing else. You saw the imprint of his dick through his sweats, strong hand gliding across it; teasing himself.
Pursing your lips, you clicked on the video, getting into a comfortable position. You watched as he delicately pulled the strings on his pants, watching the band loosen. His hips rose, hooking a thumb under the waistband to slowly tug down— not far, but far enough his length slowly came into view; popping out when his sweats rested on his thighs.
You sucked in a breath, watching his veined hand clasp around his pretty cock. He was pale, tip a soft red with precum spilling from the slit. He was also.. well, big; lengthy and thick— particularly around the base. You attempted to imagine it inside you, pussy pulsing at the thought of it splitting you open.
His thumb rolled on the crown of his length, collecting some precum before smoothing it down his shaft. To your surprise you heard a soft groan, feeling your stomach tighten from the sound. Most men on this annoying app were quiet in their videos, something you couldn’t stand. And while he wasn’t loud, it was loud enough your hand went straight under your panties, beginning to roll tight circles on your clit.
You moved in sync to how he fisted himself, his soft sighs and grunts escaping your phone’s speaker; envious you couldn’t hear such things right into your ear. You bit your lip as your legs shook, two fingers traveling down your slick slit to plunge inside you. Your hips rose, grinding your clit into your palm as your eyes focused on the man. You gasped out, watching as his pace quickened, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his hands.
His voice became ragged, pants desperate as he chased his release. And you, your own. You were so close, watching this stranger fuck himself. A pretty sight you couldn’t look away from.
“Oh, fuck..” Was what he hissed, nearly making your eyes roll back. You were there, right there, so close, until— you noticed something. Your eyes had unfortunately wandered from his cock to his stomach peeking out under his shirt, spotting something.
A soft tuft of cyan colored hair.
Your eyes widened for a moment, feeling your pleasure come crashing down as flashes of Kashimo in the ring and outside the building entered your mound. The way it lined below his navel so perfectly, it was all too familiar. “There’s no way..” You thought to yourself, attempting to rationalize it in your head. Kashimo Hajime, martial artist known as the god of lightning just didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing.
But then again, you knew nothing about him, so who were you to declare it wasn’t like him?
Such thoughts killed your lust filled high, pulling your hand out of your panties and quickly clicking out of the app. You turned on your side, phone rested face down on your blankets. Your eyes pinched close, attempting to calm your racing thoughts and think of solutions to this.
It was all pure coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe dying happy trails that particular color was some trend you didn’t hear about?
You seriously hoped it was.
. . .
Despite your many thoughts last night, you fell asleep shortly after that event. Though you did wake up and feel miserable, just imagining how nervous you’ll be facing Kashimo.
It’s probably not him.. right? You continued to try and convince yourself, closing your car door shut and beginning your trek over to the gym. Opening the doors and entering, you gave a brief smile to the receptionist that greeted you and made a beeline to Makoto’s office, reaching for the door.
Only for it to open, right in your face.
“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there!” The physical therapist hissed softly, watching as you soothed the pain on your forehead. You only gave a small smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.” The brief pain knocked Kashimo right from your thoughts, something you deeply appreciated and nearly thanked the reckless older woman for.
Makoto looked you over for a moment before sighing softly, nodding. “Alright, well. Set your things down. It’s not a lot to do today, but that could change.”
You gave a brief smile and nodded, entering her office. It was simple, resembling a hospital room with shelves lining the walls and a long black bed off against the wall. You placed your bag beside her own, turning around to spot Makoto at the door, talking to someone.
Moving closer you quickly realized it was Kashimo. His expression just like yesterday, bored with a snarl pointed towards the older woman— who was currently nagging, just like yesterday. You swallowed a breath, flashes of the previous night entering your mind, far too quick and vivid to ignore. It didn’t help that in the midst of her words his eyes traveled to you, causing you to still; wishing to fall through the floor right then and there.
The corner of his mouth twitched, “Don’t you have someone to mentor instead of wasting your time, naggin’?” Hajime questioned, finally releasing you from his gaze to stare back at Makoto. The physical therapist’s voice rose in pitch, Hajime turning on his heel and walking off much to her annoyance..
And your relief. You hoped he was too busy training to acknowledge you today.
Two hours passed with you following Makoto around, writing down a few notes on people’s charts and even tapping some people. They were nice and encouraged you even when your hands shook a little or you stumbled over your words. You really did like this job so far.
It was the afternoon now, Makoto letting you go on a thirty minute break. You entered the lounge room of the gym, hand clasped around the black container of food you had grabbed from your bag. Approaching the microwave, you opened it open and slid the container inside— shutting the door and pressing a random time. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone for a moment before an idea creeped into your mind.
Assuring no one else was in the room, you clicked onto the app you used last night, going to your previous search and beginning to scroll. It took about five minutes before you finally reached where you wanted; the video you watched last night. Taking your food from the microwave, you clicked onto the account of the video, waltzing over to a chair and sitting down.
You attempted to rationalize looking at porn — or rather a porn account at work. It’s not like you were actively watching the videos, or touching yourself; you were simply searching for something, anything that signified this wasn’t Kashimo’s account.
But, you weren’t given much. Firstly, the account’s icon and header was blank while the bio was empty too. Despite this, it had quite a few tweets and followers, highlighting this account was quite popular. You bit the inside of your cheek once again, looking around you for a moment before clicking on the media section of the page. You scrolled, leaning your cheek into your palm. Most of it was solo stuff, showcasing his lower half and never his face. Your heart thumped however; when you noticed the spiky, cyan colored hair that rested behind him in a certain video. You bit the inside of your cheek, jumping when the lounge room door opened.
To your horror, Kashimo entered— giving you a brief glance before walking over to the fridge in the room. His hand reached for something, snatching it from the fridge and rising to shut the door, moving over to the microwave. While opening the door and placing his food inside, you watched his other hand fish his phone from his sweats.
And that’s when a idea popped into your head. A very, very stupid one. Your face turned back to your phone screen, biting your lip. You were still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t him, this was just some random man you’ve never met before.
And so, if you were to like a tweet of his where— your name was completely visible, you were sure he wouldn’t react at all. Your plan seemed solid, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.
Taking a shaky breath, your thumb pressed against the hollow heart of a random tweet, slowly placing your phone back onto the table. Maybe.. maybe you were imagining it but, you could have sworn you heard the soft buzz of a phone.
One that wasn’t yours.
Fear shot up your spine, head moving slowly to the side, eyes traveling to the only other person in the room.
Who was already staring at you, cradling his black cased phone.
Your eyes locked, watching as a grin pulled his features. It was him, oh it was definitely him. Your eyes widened as the realization set in, quickly turning forward to snatch your phone and food from the table, getting up on shaky legs and heading towards the door.
“Not hungry, [Name]?” His tone was mocking, far too teasing for you to ignore. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you quickly shook your head, snatching the door open and exiting the lounge.
The realization of the situation finally dawned on you as you sped over to Makoto’s office, nearly crushing your container of food in your hand.
You had found Kashimo Hajime’s twitter, his.. special twitter. And he knew, you knew it was him.
. . .
About three weeks had passed since that fateful day. You were, surprisingly— okay. The day after it happened Kashimo seemed normal, not ignoring you but focused on his training. You remained on edge for the rest of the week expecting something. Maybe a big blow out or a private conversation, but you got neither.
And if you weren’t sure if you were happy, or upset by that. Either way, three weeks went by with radio silence and you growing accustomed to your job.
It was about forty minutes until you would clock out, seated at Makoto’s desk and flipping through papers. Your eyes scanned the page, assuring each chart was up to date and nothing was out of order. Luckily no one has gotten injured majorly these last few weeks, but the necessary procedures had to be done.
You heard movement beside you, eyes drifting away from the stack for a moment to spot your boss grabbing her things and placing them into her bag. Noticing your stare, she turned with an apologetic smile— “Sorry, [Name]! My daughter needs to get picked up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
You nodded at her with a smile, glancing at the clock. You would have been nervous to be left alone, but it was only thirty minutes. And once you clocked out anyone that stayed back for training were on their own.
The door closed behind Makoto as she exited the office, your head turning to focus back on the papers. You hummed softly to yourself, pressing your cheek into your palm as you scribbled something on a page, flipping to the next.
Several minutes passed with this continuous routine, eyes finally shifting away from the work over to your phone. Five minutes until your shift was over. With that, you stood, collecting the papers into a neat stack before placing it back into its manila folder; placing that into your tote bag. You glanced around the area, assuring you weren’t leaving anything behind before grabbing your bag, pulling it onto your shoulder. Turning on your heel, you approached the door and opened it; letting out a soft startled noise.
“Oh, I was expecting Makoto..” Kashimo spoke, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his usual attire; a black tight shirt with white sweatpants. His dark eyes traced over your form, tilting his head at you. You attempted to ignore the way his lips twitched a bit, as if holding something back.
You quickly cleared your throat, “Did you.. uh— need her for something? She left early is all.”
Kashimo hummed softly, “No..I think you’ll do.”
“What?”
“Think you could get the kink out my arm? I must have.. punched the bag wrong.” Kashimo claimed, smiling down at you. You withtook a breath, clenching the strap of your bag tightly. He was lying, and he knew he was lying too. Kashimo Hajime, punching the bag wrong? You could almost laugh at the thought.
And that smile? Oh— it was far from genuine, far from pure. Every alarm in your head rung, warning you to refuse and leave. Yet, you didn’t listen to a single one. Your body instead turned, waltzing over to the desk and setting your things down. “You can sit on the bed. I’ll take a look at your arm.”
The words barely escaped you before the deafening sound of the door closed behind him, a soft thanks, escaping him as he sat down. You felt his eyes on your every move, watching as you approached the sink and began to wash your hands— shakily, you might add. You spent extra time there, afraid to face the man.
Soon enough, however, you grabbed a paper towel from beside you; drying your hands and turning the faucet off. Tossing the soiled towel in the trash, you turned and walked over to him. “Wh—which arm?” You questioned softly, watching as he lifted his right one. You nibbled on your cheek, gently grabbing his bicep, thumbs pressing against the muscle carefully.
“If it starts to hurt, tell me..” You murmured softly, room back to being silent. This was stupid really; you making such a show of things. You knew he wasn’t hurt, shown in the way he reacted little with each squeeze you gave him; even pressing harder to see if he would react.
Like you suspected, Kashimo didn’t react at all.
“I wonder..” You blinked as his words interrupted your jumbled thoughts, blinking over to him. He was already staring at you, a small smirk pulling his lips. One that caused your stomach to drop. One that he wore in the lounge room that day. “—when you connected the dots, when you found out it was me.. did still watch me?”
You breathed softly, releasing his arm. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” You played at acting dumb, a useless facade he didn’t fall for at all. Instead, Kashimo chuckled softly, turning to glance away from you.
“Oh, don’t play dumb sweetheart. You know I’m asking if you fucked yourself to my videos.” His tone was harsh, eyes turning back to you; gaze intense. You swallowed heavily, watching him slowly lift himself off the bed. You stepped back, murmuring as he met your step, backing you against the cabinets. “Bet you wished it was my cock instead of your fingers; splitting you open, fucking you until your nothing but a crying mess.”
“Kashimo..” You spoke softly, rising your hands and placing them at his waist. You needed space, air— you felt like you would suffocate with his large form covering; with his smell swarming your senses. You gasped softly as his lips moved to your ear, cool breath tickling your skin. “Please..”
“Haven’t even touched you and you’re already beggin’ for me.” His words were mocking, a breathy chuckle escaping him shortly after. “Go on.. tell me what you want, [Name].”
You could nearly moan at the way your name fell from his lips, eyes pinched closed as your hands crumbled his shirt in a tight grip. You struggled for a moment to form words, eyes pinned to the floor to avoid his gaze. Unfortunately for you, this was one of the few times Kashimo was ever patient; hands seated perfectly on the porcelain cabinets, refusing to touch you until you answer his question.
Finally, after what seemed like moments you glanced up at him, rising to lock your lips with his own. You, please. Was what you whimpered into his mouth, feeling him react immediately. A hand rose to wrap around your neck, the other coming to the underside of your thigh. Kashimo’s clenched around your throat a little, driving his tongue into your mouth and marking it as his own. You whined softly at this, gripping his shirt so much the fear of ripping it entered your mind briefly. The heavy makeout continued only his hand dropped from your neck, grasping your either thigh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him walk backwards until he sat on the bed.
Your pussy rested just above his crotch, feeling his hardening length through the fabric of your stockings and his sweats. Your arms wrapped around his neck, murmuring against his lips as you slowly ground against him. To your dismay; the man rose his hand, slamming his palm against your ass— the sting causing you to jump, pulling back as a whine escaped your throat. “Kashimo—!” You hissed softly, glaring at the man who grinned back at you.
His fingers soothed the path, rubbing slowly circles into your covered skin, gripping every once in a while. “I suggest you fix your face or you won’t be coming at all tonight.” Kashimo breathed, slapping the same cheek once again. You lurched forward, gripping him so harshly as a soft cry escaped you. “Gonna take my time with you.. explore every inch of you under these clothes,” He hummed softly, hand reaching under your black dress, running his fingers across your thinly covered ass.
“— and i’m not gonna rush just cause your slutty pussy is desperate for my attention.”
“Kashimo…” You whined softly, pleading with your eyes. The man only smiled at you, a sinister smile; highlighting how much he enjoyed toying with you.
“It’s Hajime, princess.” The martial artist corrected, leaning to place wet kisses against your cheeks and neck. You moaned softly, feeling his fingers curl under your dress, slowly pulling it up your body. You moved uncomfortably as the cool air hit your bare skin, feeling him reach behind you; fiddling with your bra for a moment. Once he had unclipped the undergarment he tossed it aside with your dress, pulling back to glance at your exposed chest. You grew nervous under his gaze, having half a mind to cover yourself. Only, he didn’t give you enough time to do so before his large hands grabbed the soft mounds, leaning down to suck a kiss on your collarbone.
His thumbs pressed against your slowly hardening nipple, nicking your skin with his canines. You breathed softly at this, hands rising to curl your fingers into his hair, gasping as you felt his kisses lower; soft lips grazing your areola before he opened his mouth— wrapping his lips around your nipple. The unfamiliar feeling caused you to gasp, eyes pinched closed as you felt him began to suck; gently grazing his teeth across your heated skin while his tongue slid across your pretty bud. Hajime’s other hand was busy playing with your unattended breast, groping and rolling your nipple between his fingers.
Your moans grew, rising your chest into his face more; chasing after the pleasure he was giving, searching for more. All he was doing was sucking your breasts and yet, your pussy was clenching around nothing— feeling as if you were an inch away from release. You gasped out as he gently clamped down on your nipple, rolling the tender bud to hear you squeal. The ministrations continued as a hand traveled down your body, tracing the stretch marks that lined your skin— rubbing across your rolls before his fingers collected your stockings; pulling them down your body with such force they began to rip.
“Ha—hajime, they’re ripping.” You whimpered softly, words ignored as he snatched the rest of the ruined fabric from your body, tossing it to the forming pile. Your breath hitched as his hand traveled between your legs, two fingers gliding across your covered slit, feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. A soft swear escaped you as he pushed down, pressing against your clit, slowing rolling circles against it.
The added pleasure caused you to lean your head back, eyes pinched close as the feeling consumed your body. This was wrong, more than wrong actually. He was a patient and this was your boss’s office, the bed used by several others when being checked on. Yet here the two of you were, dirtying it with your own selfish desires. You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed.
Maybe you would feel so after he was done with you.
A soft pop escaped him as he rose away from your chest, the pretty mounds now tainted with his saliva. His eyes carried down your form, enjoying the sight; your hips moving at an attempt to find more friction in his hand, biting your bottom lip to cover the soft, pretty breaths threatening to escape your throat. Hajime hated himself for waiting to touch you like this.. to make you his. His eyelids lowered as he leaned close, pressing hot kisses against your skin again. “Using my hand to get off, huh? How pathetic..”
In any other situation you would have been offended by his choice of words, but now? It only caused you to moan softly, hips moving fast against his hand— feeling Hajime’s lips move over to your throat. You gripped him as you felt yourself grow more and more aroused, a band forming that was ready to break. Your moans grew louder as you got closer, digging your fingers into his shoulders before your eyes widened; feeling him move his hand away from between your legs.
The band slowly faded, high slipping through your fingers. You nearly sobbed— his name exiting you in a soft whine as the man did nothing but grin down at you. Hajime’s hands traveled up your form, soon tenderly wrapping his fingers around your neck, leaning close.
“Quit whinin’..” He cooed, stamping a kiss against your skin. You gasped as you felt his hood tighten a bit, hand drifting right back between your legs, breaching your panties. Without much warning he curled two fingers inside you, feeling your wet walls clench his thick digits. You swore softly, feeling his fingers reach much deeper then your own could; stretching you out and working you open.
Your pussy began to squelch with each thrust of the digits inside you, thumb rising to push against your engorged clit; hand continuing to hold you steady by the throat. Hajime enjoyed the way your pretty broken moans escaped your throat, voice vibrating against his palm. He curled his fingers once more, watching the way you jumped, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you dumb just from my fingers..” The words came out in an astonished coo, cock twitching under the confinements of his sweats and pants. Oh he couldn’t wait.. wait to see the way you fell apart as he split you open with his length.
But he needed to be patient. Needed to warm you up properly before completely ruining you.
So the pace of his fingers quickened, sounds of your messy pussy surrounding the room; acting as background noise for the high-pitched moans that escaped you. Your hips met each thrust, gripping his wrist to ground yourself. Your thighs squeezed his forearm, head knocking back as you came all over his hand. The man’s fingers soon slowed to a complete stop, withdrawing them from your wetness.
You barely registered him sticking his fingers into his mouth, sucking your mess off them. Once they were clean he leaned forward, kissing you softly— allowing you to taste yourself. So dirty..
Your lips moved slow, his thumb tracing your throat as a soft praise pushed from his lips. Soon enough you felt his hips rise, pressing his clothed cock against your wetness, grinding slowly. Even if you were still sensitive from just a few moments ago, you wanted, no, needed him desperately. So much so it nearly physically hurt.
Hajime rose, switching your positions to slowly lay you out on the bed, pushing you up higher. You whined as he body left you for a second, the sound quickly dying down when you noticed him unclothing. First was his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso and that damned happy trail. The man smirked at you as he tossed his shirt to the side, reaching for his bottoms next. Pushing them down, you watched as his length was revealed. To have it right infront of you rather then on a screen, well.. your phone didn’t do him justice at all.
“‘S not gonna fit.” You mused softly, eyes snapping back to his face, nervous. Hajime almost felt prideful from your words if it wasn’t for your tone of voice. He leaned close, pressing a kiss to your chin. “I’ll make it fit.” He mumbled, pushing close against you, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other grasped your thigh. Rubbing the tip across your slit, he smoothed your juices down his shaft, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he pushed inside you, watching the way your eyebrows twitched, how your legs began to close.
A pained sigh escaped you, Hajime smoothing his hand up and down your heated skin. “Taking me so well, baby.. Just relax.” He spoke softly, hissing when he felt your walls clench from the praise. Soon enough his hips stilled the moment he pushed all the way inside, grasping the underside of your thighs— eyes closed. It took everything not to fuck you into the bed right then and there, feeling the way you carefully moved to adjust yourself; but each clench caused his resolve to wither away more and more.
Moments passed before Hajime opened his eyes, glancing down at you and searching for any sign of pain. When he realized there was none, he experimentally pulled his hips back so only his tip was inside, pushing back in— watching in delight at the way your mouth fell open in a ring O.
Nothing else held the martial artist, soft ruts quickly changing into slams. His cock bullied it’s way inside you, filling you completely. Your legs shook in his hold, gripping the fabric underneath you as broken moans escaped you. Hajime was knocking the wind out of you; pushing your legs up higher so that your knees were touching your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, something you would surely feel in the morning— but you didn’t care. The pleasure this man was giving you overshadowed it all.
Your walls clenched him with each drag of his hips, his dark eyes captivated by the way you hugged him so tightly. “Wanted me so fucking bad, didn’t you, princess?“ Hajime hissed, grinning as he watched your eyes attempt to focus on him. The man chuckled softly to himself, leaning over you, trapping you under his body. “Oh, you don’t have to answer sweetheart— I already know the truth.”
The man was drilling into you at this point, tip kissing your g-spot as shameless cries escaped you. Tears treaded down your warm cheeks, grasping his arms for stability. Your breaths were hurried, stomach clenching as you felt yourself get closer and closer. “H—haji.. Fuck, I’m so close!”
He relished under the nickname, slamming you into the bed as he planted hot kisses against your skin. “Go on, then. Make a mess on my cock, sweet girl.” With his permission you came, gushing around him; arousal dripping down his length to the floor. You trembled from the feeling, gasping once you realized he hadn’t stopped moving. So sensitive you were, crying out to him as you reached to grip his arm.
“I—I cant, Haji—!”
“You can..“ The man corrected, angling his hips to push deeper inside you. “Waited so long to fuck you like this, to watch you go dumb on my cock— ‘M not stopping until I repay you for those three weeks.”
And he wasn’t lying either. It was almost felt like hours passed with him putting you into different positions, driving you deeper and deeper into the bed to the point it began to creak. By now you could barely speak, could barely form a sound other then a jumbled babble of his name and a soft gasp.
In the midst of it all you were suddenly pushed against the wall, thighs wrapped around his form as he shoved himself into you; a spark of pain washing over you each time he brushed your cervix— pain that melted away rather quickly.
From the way his hips stuttered you knew he was close, his face pushed into your neck as he gripped your skin harshly. Skin on skin contact filled the room, desperate sounds of pleasure following until Hajime swore; spilling into you. The warmth alone pushed you over the edge, cumming for the upteenth time that night— walls milking his cock.
The man’s hips finally came to a halt, breathing heavily as he simply held you there up against the wall. After a few moments he walked backwards, sitting on the bed; the two of you groaning in sensitivity. He pulled your hot body against his own, cradling your lower back with his fingers tracing the dimples there.
The room was silent as the two of you caught your breath, simply enjoying holding the other.
Soon enough the man pulled back, continuing to smooth his hands across your skin. “You’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.” Hajime murmured, grinning at the soft chuckle that escaped you.
“Yeah.. you’re probably right.”
409 notes · View notes
mediumgayitalian · 17 days
Text
“I want you to have this.”
“Will —”
“Nico,” Will interrupts, voice stern, “take it.”
He fiddles with the clasp of his watch, sliding it off and holding it between them. The Celestial bronze frame has long since worn smooth, leather straps molded to the shape of Will’s wrist after years and years of use. He can even see the indent on the side of the bottom strap, where the Ace bandage Will often fidgets with has worn a groove.
“Please.”
Nico glances up to meet Will’s wide, pleading blue eyes. They’re darker, in the setting sun; almost midnight blue. Like the Raleigh reflection that colours the sky happens somehow in the tiny rings of his irises, too.
He sighs, holding out his wrist. Will’s expression melts into something almost relieved, corners of his lips turned up in a grateful smile. He wraps his warm hands around Nico’s forearm and fingertips, flipping over his arm, and presses the cool watch face the the middle of his wrist, buckling up the straps. Nico’s wrists are thinner than Will’s, and the worn-wide hole third down from the tip of the strap is skipped for the long-forgotten fifth. The watch fits comfortably and snugly, light enough that Nico almost — almost — forgets it’s there.
“It’s nothing like Percy’s,” he says quietly. His hands linger on the skin of Nico’s forearm, blunt fingernails picking at the watch’s grooves. “It can’t protect you. It doesn’t have a shield or a sword or anything like that. It’s just a watch.”
Nico hums. Gently, careful not to shrug off Will’s hands, he brings the watch closer to his face, inspecting it. There are nicks and chips, as expected for a watch Will has worn longer than Nico has known him, but there’s not a flaw in sight. It even ticks, pleasantly, a sound almost musical.
“Beckendorf?”
A tiny, punched-out sigh slumps from Will’s mouth.
“Yeah.”
“I can tell.” He taps his thumb on the face. “He did good work.”
“He gave it to me when I was eight,” Will says softly. “I used to — freak out, a lot. My anxiety was a lot worse as a kid. I’d panic if someone was late to breakfast, if I woke up late and no one was in the cabin. I didn’t like not knowing when things were supposed to happen.” Will’s lips quirk up. “Set it on the table when he walked by me one day. Didn’t say a word, just mussed my hair and smiled at me like he didn’t just fix my shit better than Xanax ever could.” His smile turned wry. “I had the hugest crush on him for years.”
It startles a laugh out of Nico, the admission, imagining Will’s motormouth trailing after Beckendorf, his bemused indulgence.
“There’s no way he didn’t know, either. I am not a subtle person.”
His shoulders shake. Gods, what a sight. He’s almost sad he missed it — he’ll have to ask Clarisse or Annabeth about it. Hell, maybe even Chiron. Will even looks like he’ll allow him, wide grin on his face, red as his ears may be.
“Not a bad choice,” Nico agrees, calming down a little. The watch feels heavier, now, knowing the significance, and he looks at it, lips pursing. “You sure you want me to take it?”
Will’s hand drags down his his arm until it rests in the palm of his hands for one, two, three seconds; glancing up at Nico, glancing down, nodding to himself. He twists their fingers together, squeezing. Nico’s breath hitches.
“You know how my energy kinda — goes everywhere?”
Nico nods. Will has more healing ability than pretty much anyone the camp has seen — and the more power, the harder it is to control. He’s got a pretty good handle on it, but if you stand near enough to him while he’s healing it’s impossible not to feel the affects; the ease to your joints, soothing of your tense muscles, pleasant warmth over your skin. Nico has been healed of scrapes and bruises just by virtue of one of Will’s beaming smiles, he’s gotten so good. Nico only wishes it didn’t drain him.
“I’ve been wearing that watch over seven years,” Will says. His fingers twitch. “The bronze is magic, of course, but that leather — that leather was living, once. Beckendorf made the whole thing with his bare hands ‘cause he saw me struggling. As far as ordinary objects go —” Will shrugs helplessly. “Might as we’ll be a sponge. It’s been absorbing my magic nonstop for nearly a decade. It’s as connected to me as my eyes, my hair.”
Almost absentmindedly, his free hand reaches out for Nico’s. He curls their fingers together, meeting them in the middle, and squeezes, hard enough to ground. Will blinks back into focus.
“I can feel you wearing it,” he whispers. “Your — heartbeat, vitals. Your life force.” He brings their clasped hands close to his chest, tapping right above his heart. “Here. I can feel you.”
Nico holds his breath. “Not just ‘cause you’re close to me?”
“No. I’ve never felt it like this before. Started the second you put on that watch. Focus for a second, can you feel it?”
Closing his eyes, he tries — imagining the click of the watch, gentle and soft, and the rise and swell of Will’s breathing. It’s in his hands, at first, every place they’re clutching Will’s, but in a second he can almost feel it pound — the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of Will’s heart, right next to his. The knot of anxiety in his stomach that isn’t his. The worry, golden and protective, spilling over him in waves.
“An empathy link,” Nico breathes. He stares at Will in pure awe. “You — you made an empathy link.”
That kind of life-force magic…you have to be deeply connected to the core of basically everything to access it. Satyrs have it easy, being nature spirits. Gods spend so long grappling with time that they can manage, too.
But mortals? Even half-divine ones?
Nico has spent a lot of time with the mythical, alive and dead. He’s met theoi from pantheons forgotten to every living soul, foreign to even most of the dead. He knows his history twice over and backwards.
He’s never heard of that before.
“Holy shit, Will.”
“Just — come back to me,” Will says. He tugs on Nico’s arms and faces him head-on, eyes now almost black that the sun has set down. “Promise me, Nico. Stay safe. Stay outta trouble as much as you can. Keep your head on straight. And —” He squeezes their hands together, to hide the tremble in his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Come back to me.”
Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Nico frees his hands, sliding them up to cup Will’s face. He pulls him down, standing on his tiptoes to meet him halfway, and lingers, breath mixing, warm, in the millimeters of space between them.
“I promise,” he whispers. “I swear it, Will, I’ll come back to you. I swear it on the Styx.”
Thunder rumbles above them.
“Good.”
Will closes the tiny stretch of space separating them, and their hearts beat in tapping harmony.
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bunnylovesani · 4 months
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Miss Congeniality
Chapter 4
Content warnings: MDNI, soft dom ani, smoking weed, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, humiliation kink, dirty talk, ani likes getting slapped, aftercare, general smut with fluff
WC: 2.7k
Your last competition marked the end of pageant season, giving you plenty of time to figure out how you were gonna break the news to your parents that you were done with it all. You’d finished high school over a year ago and were now stuck in a rut; what’s next for you? If you weren’t going to college and weren’t competing for any more titles, what did life have in store? You struggled to imagine a world beyond the 4 walls of your room and your plushy pink bed laden with stuffed animals.
You'd gone out with your family last night to the fancy new Italian place- with your pageant victory and Jaden landing his first job since dropping out of college, there was plenty of cause for celebration. It quickly went awry when you made some distasteful jokes alluding to your status as the golden girl; your father didn’t much appreciate your increasingly rebellious attitude and left the restaurant before dessert could be served.
To your surprise, his displeasure didn’t affect you nearly as much as it normally does. When someone’s mad at you, you’re unusually unbearable about it: you follow them around like a puppy who’d lost its ball, whining and apologising until they caved and showed you affection. But not today. How could you when all your thoughts were consumed by someone else? You looked for him everywhere, sitting on the chair at the edge of your bed or round the table at dinner- Anakin’s absence was sorely felt now that you'd grown accustomed to his frequent pop-ins and tag-alongs. You wondered if it would be strange for you to be the one coming over for once.
You'd always imagined him living in either a frathouse hovel or some kind of unsanitary bachelor pad- but standing in front of the steel gates of the apartment complex, you were pleasantly surprised. You punch in the code he texted you when you announced your arrival and the gate doors swung wide open. Climbing into the elevator to reach the 7th floor, your hands feel clammy and there's bile rising up your throat. You'd never visited him before and the fact that you'd invited yourself over on an impulsive whim had you second-guessing everything.
The elevator doors open and he’s right there, leaning against his apartment at the end of the hallway. You wonder if he waited outside for you so that you wouldn't have a chance to turn back at the last minute. Clearly, he knew you better than you gave him credit for.
“There you are. Took you long enough.” He smirked, leading the way into his apartment as you followed behind him like a lost puppy.
As soon as you stepped foot into the place, your nostrils filled with the musky scent of weed, smoke wafting over from the sizeable brown blunt he held between his silver ring-clad fingers.
“It’s barely noon.” You scolded him as you took a seat on his black leather couch.
“Did you come here just to nag me? Maybe you should take a hit, it’ll chill you out.” He plonked onto a bean bag opposite you, spreading his long legs out and inhaling another drag.
“I didn’t come here to get high.” You huff, wondering why you were acting so high-strung when in fact, you weren’t opposed to the idea.
“No, I don’t suppose you would. You probably couldn’t handle it anyway and I have no interest in spending the night babysitting. In more interesting news, I heard you had a fight with daddy last night.” He spat cockily- damn Jaden and his big mouth.
“Bold of you to assume I’d be spending the night. And it’s none of your business.” You cross your arms, slowly filling with regret for coming here. Why was he being such a dick?
“Wow, you’re acting even more bratty than usual. Didn’t think that was possible. Why are you even here?” He puts the blunt out half-smoked, leaving the remainder resting against the ashtray.
“I, I don’t know…I just thought-“
“Let me take a wild guess. You wanted to piss daddy off by sneaking off to see your brother’s older, bad influence of a friend. Thought you’d push some boundaries and try to prove to yourself that you’re not just a stuck-up little good girl. Well, you failed.” He cocks his eyebrows at you.
“I am neither stuck up nor a good girl! Just because I choose to behave myself instead of acting like an animal doesn’t mean I’m not capable of all the things you are.” You feel your blood pressure rising.
“Prove it.”
“Oh and I bet you would just love it if I put out and debased myself for you. All you want is to get me high and fuck me- I know what your intentions are and it’s not gonna happen buddy.” You get up, marching across the room and heading for the door.
“That’s rich coming from someone who screams my name when she cums.” He states matter-of-factly and you stop in your tracks.
“That’s right, sweetheart. I heard you. Acting all high and mighty when you’re the slut here. Admit it, you want me.” He walks towards you and turns you around to face him. Before your brain can catch up with your body, your palm swings around and makes contact with his right cheek, smacking him with the intensity of a whip cracking.
“Feisty. I like it.” He holds his hand up to his reddened face, somewhat shocked but not angry. “Are we done now? I’m really not in the mood to argue.” He smirks at you, pulling you in by the waist and instantly softening your attitude.
“I’m so sorry! Oh Ani I don’t know what came over me, ‘m sorry!” You attentively caress his cheek, inspecting how hard you slapped him. You acted like your reaction was a result of him calling you that word- but if you were honest with yourself, you knew it was because he was right. If you weren’t in denial, you’d realise you loved the way the insult rolled off his tongue and loved how it made you feel even more.
“I’m so embarrassed.” A blush creeps over your cheeks at the thought of him eavesdropping on your most intimate moments.
“Over assaulting me or over touching yourself thinking about me?” He traces his hand along your shoulder.
“Both.” You give him a snarky glare. He was enjoying this too much.
“Well if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who’s done that.” He flashes you a grin before relighting his blunt and scurrying down the hallway into his room.
“Huh, done what? Ani? Not the only one who’s done what?” You follow him down the hallway giddily and stop outside his bedroom door. Blunt in mouth, you see Anakin right before you - taking off his hoodie, shirt getting caught by the tight material and revealing his tanned v-line and happy trail on full display. You couldn’t help but stare at the veins trailing down his lower stomach and leading into his boxers, gulping as you admire the perfect dark blonde tuft of hair growing in a neat line below his belly button.
“God it’s hot in here. What were you asking again?” He asks, folding away his hoodie and taking a long drag.
“Umm, uh it’s nothing. Hey, can I have a puff?” You point at his blunt in curiosity, trying to banish the sinful mental images flashing through your head.
“But princess, it’s barely noon.“ He berates you mockingly and you roll your eyes.
“I was a little tense earlier, ‘m sorry.” You sigh and twiddle your thumbs. “It’s just that I’ve never tried it.”
“Come here.” He beckons you over to his bed and sits you on his lap. “You can try a few drags but only a couple. I don’t wanna see that attitude of yours come out when I cut you off. Now are you gonna be a good girl and listen?”
“Yes Ani, I promise!” You nod along and wrap your arms around his neck.
“Alright sweetheart, here ya go.” He hands you the joint and you take your first hit, coughing and spluttering as a burning sensation spreads through your lungs.
“Ani, this is awful! How can you smoke this?!” You scrunch your face up, disgusted by the strange new feeling.
“That’s because you’re doing it wrong, silly. Inhale slowly, like this.” He demonstrates and you follow his lead, taking a smoother drag this time.
“There you go baby, you’re a natural.” He chuckles and snakes his hand round to rest on your bare thigh. “What kind of outfit is this, huh? Are you trying to seduce me or something?” He snorts, playing with the short frills of your mini skirt.
“No! I just thought it was pretty.” You chirp innocently.
“Pretty slutty, yea.” You gasp and slap his chest.
“Will you stop hitting me?!” He exclaims, digging his fingers into your thighs.
“I will, just as soon you stop calling me a slut!”
“Why, when I know you like it.”
“So do you.” You’d noticed him shuffling around and adjusting his sweatpants every time you’d playfully hit him and you weren’t that oblivious as to what that meant.
“Is that why you do it then?” He says after a little pause, gaze dropping to focus on your parted lips.
“Um…uh, I” You stutter as you feel your panties getting wet and your brain getting hazy- partially from his intense gaze and partially from the blunt.
“Aw, is it getting to you now? I see your eyes glazing over.” He takes the blunt out of your hands and takes another puff himself before putting it out. “That’s enough.”
You’re too busy fixating on his thumb which is rubbing feather-light circles into your inner thigh to notice.
“Stop it, you’re making me feel tingly.” You bat his hand away.
“Oh yeah? What kinda tingles?” He disregards your command and returns his hand to its original position.
“The kind that make me feel fuzzy inside…” You utter in a hushed tone, starting to sway a little now that your high had hit you.
“Lie down f’me babe.” He guides you off his lap and onto his bed. “So you’ve never had anyone help you make those tingles go away?”
“Nuh uh.” You shake your head innocently and he grins, starting to lift your shirt and press light kisses up and down your tummy.
“And would you like it if your Ani was the first?” He looks up at you, speaking so softly you could barely hear him.
You choked out a “yea!” before covering your face with a pillow, embarrassed by Anakin’s insistence on eye contact as he slid your skirt off and started fiddling with the waistband of your pink panties.
“Don’t be shy baby, I wanna see that pretty face of yours.” He groans as he hooks his fingers around your underwear and slides them off before spreading your legs and admiring what’s between them.
“Anii, what are you doing?” You squeal, face burning with shame, barely able to meet his intense gaze.
“Stop squirming, will ya? I’ve been dreaming about this moment for months, let a man take in the view before he dives in.” He grazes his thumb lightly over your clit and lets out a moan. “Goddamn baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked. You have a habit of ruining your panties, don’t you?”
You whine at his patronising comments, feeling overwhelmed with arousal and embarrassment.
“What a pretty pink pussy…” He mutters to himself and you feel yourself being pulled into a narcotic-induced daze, everything around you growing hazy and numb.
You’re brought back to life when his tongue dips into your folds, licking a wet stripe up your clit that makes your body jolt with pleasure.
“Fuck!” You yelp unexpectedly as your thighs start trembling- you don’t ever swear. He looks up at you as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your swollen pussy, maintaining a tight grip around your hips to ensure you can’t escape.
“Already shaking, princess? You virgins are so sensitive.” He sneers before resuming his torturously pleasurable routine. You moan and pant as waves of euphoria wash over you like never before. You’d touched yourself a few times but you’d never experienced such mind-numbingly sensual gratification.
Just as you thought the pleasure couldn’t possibly escalate, he pushes one of his fingers inside your tight little hole. You gasp at the intrusion and before you can properly adjust, he shoves another one in until he’s massaging your insides with a beckoning motion.
“Shh, baby. Shh, it’s okay.” He hushes you comfortingly as you squeal and whimper. He resumes tonguing your bundle of nerves as you grab onto his unruly blonde curls, needing something to ground you in case you floated away in ecstasy.
“You taste so good princess…you like my fingers, huh? I can see you do, you’re gushing all over me.” You blush at his crude words as he slaps the side of your thigh and dives back in, continuing to eat you out for what felt like hours. He worked you up to the brink of your orgasm several times- before stopping abruptly, ensuring you were sobbing with pleasure before he even considered releasing you.
“Bet you’re gonna think twice now before coming to my house with that attitude again.” He grunts, silver rings pounding against your pussy as he continues stroking you with increasing intensity.
“Mm, please! Please Ani, please let me cum. You were right, I am a good girl, I’m your good girl! Please daddy, I can’t take it anymore!” You wail, half out of your mind and nauseous with pleasure.
“Daddy, huh?” He smirks, satisfied that he’d tortured you for long enough. “Alright baby, let go for me. Cum all over my fingers sweetheart.”
With one final resounding moan, you cum so hard the world starts spinning and you see stars, glistening brightly and jumping across the room. You take deep gulps of air to try and calm your erratically beating heart as Anakin lifts himself up to lie down beside you.
“Breathe baby, just breathe.” He pulls you into his arms and places his hand in an open palm over your heart. “You did so good. Here angel, drink some water.” Handing you the bottle, you only then realise how dry your mouth feels from the blunt.
“Ani? How did you manage to get it all so wet after smoking?” You ask weakly after taking a few sips.
“Most of that wetness wasn’t from me, sweetheart.” He mumbles into the crook of your neck, before planting a few kisses there. “Do you wanna spend the night here?”
“Mhm! Yea Ani I’d love to!” You chirp sweetly.
“Alright baby, why don’t we get you changed into something more comfortable and then we can watch something?” He plants a delicate kiss onto your lips and gets up to peruse through his wardrobe. “How about this? It’s my favourite band tee.” He throws you a black shirt with a metal band graphic printed across it- you recognise it instantly as one of his most worn articles of clothing and your heart swells with joy. Eagerly, you throw it on and giggle at how oversized it is on you.
“I love it!” You wrap your arms around yourself and take a deep inhale: woody cologne, weed and peppermint gum. “It smells like you too.”
“Oh no I’m sorry, maybe I forgot to wash it- let me get another one-“
“No Ani, I love it! You smell amazing.” You pull him back down into the bed with you and roll on top of him, wanting to be as physically close as possible. “Baby? I feel bad, you made me feel amazing and I haven’t...well, done anything.”
“I couldn’t give less of a fuck, princess. Now, what do you want to watch?” He rolls you over, wraps his arm around you and reaches for the remote.
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